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cayofdreams · 3 years

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Establishing the Monocracy

~(Brat!Reader x Bakugou)~

Words: 3.4k

Rating: 🌊 18+, Smut

Warnings/Tags: cunnilingus, teasing, slight degradation

Notes: I was writing this req and just got inspired cuz Bakugou. Ended up being somewhat a preface to my Down with the Monocracy (which ofc is not a req reading to enjoy this)

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“Ohhh~! Yeah baby, right there!! So good!!”

The obnoxious moaning of the actress through your phone’s speakers made Bakugou quickly turn around from his desk to glare bullets into you. You were sitting on his bed, looking nonchalantly at the events transpiring on the screen.

The two of you were supposed to go out later to hangout with friends so you stopped by his place to kill time. Two hours of time. A normal occurrence for you considering you liked to annoy your friend-and-rival whenever you could, and admittedly his surprisingly cozy room was comfortable to just laze around in. Usually you’d read manga while he did whatever but Mina had sent you a rather vulgar clip with the caption ‘how i hope my night ends 😝😝!!’.

“Oi! What the fuck are you looking at in my room?! Turn that shit off!” More than the fact that you were boldly watching porn in his vicinity, he was more perplexed at how you were still playing the video after he called you out. “Why the fuck are you watching that?!”

“I just don’t get it.” Scratching your head, you continued to look quizzingly at the actress’ performance. “I mean, people actually find this stuff arousing?”

“Are you just gonna ignore my question?!”

“Oh my goodness, calm down. Mina sent me a video. She’s acting like its the hottest thing ever but it isn’t entertaining at all.” You rolled your eyes before concentrating once more on your phone’s screen.

Finding it useless to ask if it was normal for friends to send porn to each other he instead questioned just what you were looking at to elicit such a response from you.

“What? You used to some kind of extravagant sex or some shit?”

“No. Rather what’s happening here is extravagant. Literally no one does this in real life. It’s so unrealistic.”

A million questions ran through Bakugou’s head at this moment. Why were you watching porn in his room? What the fuck kind of porn is so bizarre that a deviant like you is confused? And Jesus were to trying to start something right now? Was he literally in a shitty porn introduction and didn’t know it?

“Fuck~!! Hyahhh!! I’m gonna cummm~~!!!”

The sounds of the video continued to penetrate through Bakugou’s room. Mentally he was annoyed at the fact that he just wanted to get ahead on some paperwork before going out and your idiocy was preventing that, but physically the boner that was rising in his pants was only more and more intrigued. The woman he’d been undressing with his eyes for longest of times was now in his room, laying on his bed, watching porn.

“I mean seriously, only an idiot could think guys do this.”

“What the hell crazy shit are you looking at??”

“That thing that’s in like every porn. Where the guy is like licking her down there. Cunnilingus, if you will.”

Bakugou raised his eyebrow at you. “You mean eating pussy?”

“Oh my god…you’re so vulgar.” Rolling your eyes, you turned on your side, back faced towards Bakugou.

“You’re the fucking one in my room watching-“ As he glanced at your figure, he wondered just what the fuck you were getting at. Were you weirdly trying to seduce him? By playing porn and then pretending as if you were inexperienced in oral sex just for his sexual interest in you to pique? Were you trying to sexually outsmart him? Bakugou chuckled as he got up and walked towards you. “You think you’re so fucking sneaky, huh?”

You felt the increasing weight on the bed as Bakugou pressed his knee into the mattress to close his torso in on you. “What?” Quirking your eyebrow and turning towards him, you pondered his sudden shift in demeanor.

“Don’t fucking play dumb. I know what you’re doing.” Bakugou gripped his fingers around the collar of your shirt, forcing you to directly face him. “Since you pissed me off, I’m not doing shit with you even if you asked nicely.” He let go of you to walk back toward his desk, slumping himself in the chair. “Pretending like guys aren’t lining up to worship your pussy with their tongue just to get me to pity you. Pathetic.”

You paused as you analyzed his mood. Clearly he was upset at you, but you didn’t have the slightest idea why. “I agree that I should be worshipped but I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”

Bakugou clicked his tongue and shot a glare at you. “There’s no fucking way you’re gonna sit here and tell me some loser hasn’t been down on you. Didn’t you just get out of a relationship?”

“Mmm…yeah.”

“And you fucked, yeah?”

“We had sexual relations, yes.”

“And he never went down on you?”

“No. He said it wasn’t necessary.”

“W-What?”

“Well, he said since I’m quote-on-quote, horny all the time, it wasn’t necessary.”

Bakugou knew you were a trickster of sorts, but the way you just nonchalantly talked about your bitch of a boyfriend like it was normal told him you weren’t lying. Did someone like you, the prissiest, most self-absorbed chick in the universe really date someone who wouldn’t go down on you. Fuck, did you miss out.

Or rather, the bastard missed out.

Some snobbish prick didn’t hop on the chance to make you squirm under them? The one chance they’d probably have in asserting their rightful dominance over you, and they were too fucking stupid to not take it? It’d be a lie to say that when Bakugou saw those soft plushy thighs of yours peeking out from under your tight skirts he didn’t fantasize about the dripping mess he could create underneath.

Hell, you practically put your pussy on display whenever you wore those so-called ‘athletic’ shorts that helped you move faster as you’d claim. Bullshit. As if you weren’t tempting every loser in your vicinity with those faint imprints of your pussy lips through those shorts. Fuck, if he had known the whole time you were dating that piece of shit that he wasn’t going down on you, he would’ve fucking shown you what you were missing out on.

Well he wasn’t going to make the same shitty mistake as your boyfriend.

With a small curl of his lips, he cocked an eyebrow towards you. “You wanna find out what you missed out on?”

“Huh?”

“What your shitty ex was too stupid to not do, you want me to do it?”

After taking a moment to process Bakugou’s advances, you erupted into laughter. “No way!”

“Why the fuck are you laughing?!” Here he was, practically stripping his ego away for you, and you were just going to laugh in his face? Refusing his incredibly generous offer? Nevermind the sadistic value he’d receive from having you completely fall apart under him, it was still you who’d reap most the benefits.

You wiped a tear from the corner of your eye, trying to stifle your snickers. “Okay, and I suppose you’re going to make me scream obnoxiously like the girl in that video, are you?” You face turned from amused to stern. “Unfortunately for you, I’ve already had sex and its nothing like what’s portrayed in that silly pornography. I’m sure it’s the same for- what do you call it? ‘Going down’? So, don’t even waste my time, Bakugou.”

Bakugou chuckled at your ignorance. Not only had you not had the pleasure of your pussy being smothered by some bastard’s tongue, but he wasn’t even fucking you properly? You poor thing. Honestly, he was a little offended you were only just now relaying this information onto him.

While you were trying to go back to whatever random things you were doing on your phone before Mina interrupted you, Bakugou strode back over to his bed, this time climbing on top of it, maneuvering your thighs so that he’d be seated between them.

“Oh no, did I awaken the challenger part of you? I’ve said what I said now get off.” You tried to kick you foot at him but he caught your ankle in his grip.

“Going against your weak excuse of a boyfriend is hardly a challenge, princess.”

“Oh ho-ho, so getting me to actually feel pleasure from what-ever you’re about to do is the challenge?”

“That’s not a challenge either.”

Sucking your teeth, you hastily took off your skirt and spread your thighs for him. “Fine. You have one chance, Ba-KA-gou.”

“Tch. Just do me favor and-“ Bakugou placed your hands around your knees and further spread your thighs apart. “keep ‘em fuckin’ spread.”

Rolling your eyes, you silently complied. You weren’t shy in the least about your body but the way Bakugou was intently zeroing in on the clothed folds of your pussy made your breath a bit shaky.

Just when you were about to say something about his odd silence you felt the soft peck of his lips on your thigh. That peck was slowly followed by another, this time slightly closer to your center. As you tried to ease your breathing each peck made you more wet than the previous. By the time Bakugou was at the lining of your panties, you were practically pooling through the fabric. Smirking at your trembling he looked up at you.

“Shy?”

“N-No! You’re just incredibly slow. I bet you’re just h-hesitating because you don’t know how to- Owwch!” Bakugou had sunk his teeth into the softness of your thighs. Not enough to break skin, but enough to make you kick your heel into his back in retaliation. “What was that for?! You brute!”

“You’re getting on me about going slow but you’ve been the one wasting everyone’s time, Y/N.” He stroked the tip of his index finger along the slit of your panties, making more of your juices spill through the fabric. “Dating some shitty asshole when you could’ve been wetting this glorious cock the whole time.” He circled his finger around the clothed hood of your clit, reveling in the broken whimpers you couldn’t help but let out. “So now I’m gonna take allll the fucking time I want. So just lay there and try to make this a challenge for me.”

Bakugou then wrapped his lips around your pussy, soaking his saliva through your panties. He wasn’t even directly touching you but the rampant motions of his hot tongue through the now drenched cloth made your hips squirm underneath him. He went back and forth from licking to sucking you over your panties, pausing when you quivered too much or moaned too loud. He didn’t want to accidentally make you cum before his main act.

Unconsciously, you had let go of your knees to glide your fingers through his spikey locks, slightly pulling him forward as if he’d be able to ghost his tongue through your panties. He looked back up at you, pleased with your erotically joyous face.

“Didn’t I tell you to keep your hands there? You’re distracting me.”

Letting out a noise somewhere between a scoff and a whine, you re-placed your hands around your knees.

“So surprisingly obedient.” Bakugou slipped his finger around the crotch of your panties, gliding his knuckle around your swelled clit. “Probably because you’re just desperate to have your pussy played with. What a slut.” He increased the pressure of his knuckle around your clit and the feeling of it made you lean your head back against Bakugou’s pillows. “How about you tell me what you want, princess?”

Regulating your breathing enough to form a sentence you rose your head again to meet his vermillion eyes. “G-Go down on me. Prick.”

“Go? Huh? Where? In a car? Fucking clarify.”

You clicked your tongue and turned your head, annoyed at his feigning. Seeing as how you’d require a little encouragement, Bakugou pressed a kiss against clothed pussy, rubbing the tip of his nose where your clit would lie directly underneath. “C’mon. You’re college educated, right? Use your fucking vocabulary.”

You slowly turned your head towards him, the twitching agitation of your eyebrows only fueling him more. “Will you perform cunnil-“

“Finish that sentence and I’m leaving.”

Not wanting to test him on that threat, you reluctantly parted your lips. “…Eat my…” Bakugou licked stripe along your completely soaked panties, stopping to wiggle the tip his tongue against where your clit would be. “Mmnnn~…my pussy...”

“What? Can you fucking speak up? You can present shit in front of a whole audience but now you’re being as quiet as a damn mouse.”

“F-fuck…Bakugou. Damn you.” Your eyes became watery at the mix of humiliation and pressing desire to be touched directly. Were you really going to soil your ego for this bag of cockiness? Surely it wasn’t worth it. Is what your mind would probably say. But right now, your pussy wore the crown. And the queen was craving attention. “I want you to- to e-eat my pussy.”

Bakugou placed another bite on your inner thigh making your body jolt. “Can’t even add a damn ‘please’ to that? I’m sure your type was taught manners.”

“Pleeaassee~ Fuck! Please eat my pussy, Bakugou!”

A small burst of laughter left him as he slapped your thigh. “Well take ‘em off, princess.”

Begrudgingly taking off your panties, a shiny string of your wetness that connected you with the fabric broke as you threw them on the floor. Reassuming the previous positioning of your thighs, your now bare pussy was left open and vulnerable to your rival.

He leaned down to hover over your pussy, his nose trickling against the hood of your clit. You were already so wet for him. Your pussy was just glistening with juices that begged for tending to. Steadying his position between your thighs he glanced at you one more time. “You better not move.” He then licked a stripe up your folds, stimulating your clit in the process.

“Hyaah~!” The feeling was too much for your somewhat-inexperienced pussy and caused you to involuntarily push Bakugou back with your feet. The annoyance of being stopped was promptly displaced with satisfaction as he peered at your pitiful form.

“What did I just fuckin’ say? Open your legs again.” His voice that was rasp with frustration didn’t match his look of sadistic gratification. You were giving him just the reaction he wanted. Did you really think your meek little pussy was any match for him? He had barely touched you and this is how you’re acting? And the fact you were still hesitating on presenting that little pussy to him again only drove him more eager to ravish you.

“Dammit, Y/N. Do I have to do every fucking thing?” Bakugou pulled you up by the waist so that you were in a piledriver-like position, with your back arched and ass raised in the air, and of course your pussy now directly presented up towards him. The crook of your neck was nothing compared to his tight grip around your hips, the squish of your flesh plunging from between his fingers. You couldn’t even use your legs to fight against him as his grip was too secure. “All I’m doing for you, and you can’t even follow simple fucking directions.

“’C-Cuz it felt too-Hmmnngh~!” You were cut off by the ravaging of Bakugou’s tongue over your pussy folds. He went back and forth from slurping up your juices to flicking his tongue over and over on your clit. If you weren’t already embarrassed by the position you were in, the absolute filthy sounds Bakugou was making with his mouth were achieving that. “Hnnggh~Baku…Bakugou!” You tried flailing your legs around in the air but Bakugou quickly grasped them in his hands.

He ran his nails down the silky surface of your thighs, making for a sweetly masochistic pleasure mixed with his obscene lapping at your pussy. Continuing his gorging on your sweet pussy, he could feel you shaking from below him. He looked down below at your face, chucking into your pussy at how wretchedly delirious you looked.

“Gonna cum?” You vehemently shook your head no despite the swelling you felt within your pelvis. He slithered his hands down to glide them up your shirt, lifting up your bra above your soft breasts. “Well I’m not fucking stopping until you do. So give me something to play with until then.”

Bakugou roughly kneaded at your breasts between his fingers, squeezing them to hear your pitchy whines at the pain. The mix of his saliva and your slippery essence drooled from your pussy to pool at your tummy and breasts. He gathered a bit of the mixture and slicked his fingers in circles on your nipples. The erotic feeling of it sent a surge of pleasure straight to your pussy. “Ahahnn~ Bakugou…I-I’m gonna cumm~”

He locked eyes with you, continuing to slick his tongue around your clit. “From what?” Boosting your urgency to reply, he pinched a little harder at your nipples. “Tell me what you’re gonna cum from, princess.”

“F-From you eating my pussy~! From Katsuki eating my pussy~!!” The sounds of hearing you use his name for the first time made him pink in the cheeks and twitch in his boxers. Bakugou came up from between your hips, enticed to make you say more lewd things. You were rarely one to speak vulgarly so he’d make the best of your blissed-out state.

“Ahaha-! You sound like those silly pornos!” Not thinking your face could feel even more hot, you felt your cheeks rise with even more heat at his teasing. Bakugou took one of the hands from your breasts and palmed it against your slippery folds. “You still think every guy is like your stupid fucking ex, Y/N?” He ran his palm back and forth against your slit to keep you right on the edge of an orgasm.

“Noo~! Katsuki is so m-much better! Katsuki is sooo much better than my stupid ex~!”

He chuckled at your admittance, but of course, he couldn’t leave it there. “I’m kinda the fuckin’ best, aren’t I?”

“Hmmnn~! Yesss! ~the best! K-Katsuki is the bessst~!”

“You wanna cum on my tongue?”

“Please! Please let me-! Please let me cum on your tongue, Katsuki~!”

“You better fuckin’ listen to me and stay still, then. And don’t look away from me.”

Bakugou threw you back on the bed before lying on his stomach to place himself once more at your quivering pussy. Making sure your eyes were locked with his, he enveloped your folds within his mouth, sucking directly on your clit. He not only feasted on your pussy, but on the entranced look in your eyes. Your e/c eyes that looked at him like he was the only one that could gratify your carnal desires.

And from now on, he’d be sure he was the only one.

You gripped your fingers at the bed sheets beneath you as your orgasm rapidly creeped up on you. The intensity of Bakugou’s tongue coupled with his eye contact was sending you over the edge more fiercely than any pathetic ex or cheap sex toy ever could. “Ohhhmygodd~ Fuckkk-! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! I’m-“

Forced to break eye contact with the unconscious jerk of your head back on the pillows, your pussy convulsed violently around Bakugou’s tongue. “Katsukiii~!” If you had to say, this was the most powerful orgasm you’d ever experienced. All at the hands- or tongue rather- of Bakugou Katsuki. Your ego would surely be disappointed in you choosing your pussy over it.

Bakugou slowly licked his tongue up and down your folds as you came down from your high. The corners of his lips lifted into a devious smile at your disheveled appearance. When your body finally stopped trembling, he completely separated his mouth from you and slid his body on top of yours to be face-to-face with you.

Silently, without care of you still gasping for air, he pressed his lips against yours, eventually intensifying the kiss with the slip of his tongue between your lips. Happily obliging, you glided your tongue against his as your fingers slithered up to once again fumble with his locks of hair. The taste of you on his tongue almost seemed sensual as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Sliding his hand up to gently grip at your jaw, he separated his lips from yours, licking away the chain of saliva that still connected the two of you. As he sat upright to take his shirt off, he looked down at you, embellished with yearning to relieve his own build-up.

“Should I prove you wrong on fucking too before we hang out with those losers?”

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#bakugou x reader #bakugou #bakugou smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha smut #bnha smut

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spiked-tea-writing · 3 years

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and they were roommates?!

SapnapxFem!Reader

Summary: Imagine being in love with your roommate, couldn't be you.

Pronouns: She/her

Warning: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k

A/n: I don’t watch or know anything, I just like these people and I had a concept. Also, he and Dream aren’t roommates in this for the sake of I can’t figure that out. Also also, my timeline is probably fucked but who cares

The dynamic in the apartment was...interesting to say the least

In the two years of living together, it had shifted a lot

In the beginning, you and Sapnap had been... less than cordial to each other

Both eighteen, fresh out of high school, off to college thinking that you knew everything.

There was lots of fighting, to say the least.

All of the “No it’s your turn to vacuum”, and “I swear to god Sapnap I will punt you halfway across the world if you eat my pineapple again”

The only reason you didn’t slit each other’s throats was that if the other person was dead, who would pay rent?

It was the summer before college started at the time, and you were working long hours minimum wage so coming]’/ home to an annoying prick caused a crap ton of conflict

After a few months of being little bitches to each other, y’all got piss drunk in the apartment and it all just sorta fell apart

Got that good drunk therapy, spilling your deepest secrets

(y’all were underage but shhh)

So by the time college started, the two of you had become actual friends and started enjoying each others company

A few months into the friendship, you encouraged him to post the video of “Minecraft, but it’s Raining Cats and Dogs” on a whim

Lmao little did you know what you had created (we’ll get to that later)

You mocked his train of thought constantly, laughing at the timing of it all.

“Ahhh yes, I am Sapnap, the genius who thought it’d be great to become a YouTuber while in my first year of college.”

He’d always just laugh and roll his eyes, playfully shoving you while stealing your chips.

The next few months were a haze of studying, work, and him.

It was truly a friendship of convenience since you guys were so busy, him starting his youtube career, and you working restaurants, then school on top of that, it was just easy to find friendship in your roommate.

Of course, he had his close friends which he spoke to over the internet, and you had your friends from back home, but as for college, it really was only him.

You guys had a fun time just hanging around the apartment, and it became so easy to be friends with him

And it WAS truly platonic (we’ll get back to that as well)

The best thing he brought to the friendship was his animals

You got on fabulously with Cash and the cats

They were all so cuddly and honestly loved you more than him lmao

You guys were just trying to get degrees and not be too stupid, was that too much to ask???

Well to a certain 2020, it was

The beginning of that year was great.

He was sorta realizing that he liked putting himself on social media, but on top of that, it seemed like a great start to a year.

February brought him to twitch, which you loved

You found it hilarious how he would just sorta play games and have people watch him live.

But you were incredibly supportive, as a friend, of course

He really liked it so, you tried to ignore the shouting at three am, and the loud anthems at night

Sure you’d give him hell in the morning, but why kill his fun?

March started great, as it was his birthday.

You got him a glittery lighter as a gag, but it was the perfect gift for a broke-ass college student

Then a certain pandemic came a-knockin’ on y’all’s door

It was a hard hit on both of you.

An executive decision was made that you two would stay put, but being away from your families was incredibly tough.

That spring was the birth of The SMP.

It brought him so much joy, which in turn made you happier.

The rest of the school year was a blur of zooms and test

Nick nearly killed you on multiple occasions when you made fun of the fact that he was learning computer science over the computer or made him help you figure out what the fuck zoom was since it was tangentially related to his major

“SAP HELP ME YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS ITS YOUR FUCKING MAJOR!!!”

“NO, IT’S- AHHHHHHHHH”

Yall got more than a handful of noise complaints shhhh

That summer was fill was spent trying to fill the time in weird ways

Note to self, he can’t cook (which you learned the hard way)

Yall spent so much time trying to cook and bake, then sweating off the calories working out with The Fitness Marshall lmao

As sucky as the situation was, that summer was so incredibly fun for the both of you, and truthfully the only arguments were about what music to blast

“Y/n I swear if I listen to Cosmicandy one more time I will drown you.”

“Well if I hear American Idiot one more time someone’s knee caps are getting harvested.”

(that argument was settled with Elton John.)

When school started up again that fall, something shifted

After a year of actual friendship, you guys were no longer just friends, and the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife

You had watched every single one of his streams since day one, but within 2 seconds of his Love or Host, you felt the need to hurl for some peculiar reason

It was bizarre because there was no way you could ever like him, of course not.

Within the apartment, you guys suddenly got a lot more touchy, but only because it was getting cold with winter and all that jazz.

It wasn’t because yall were secretly in love, what is this, a romcom?

The number of times you guys woke up on the couch, definitely not cuddling was too many to count

You started sitting in his room while he streamed, definitely not watching him with heart eyes because of how excited he got

He always had a pot of coffee full and a 6-pack of monster in the fridge since he knew you ran on spite and caffeine, and definitely not so that he could spend more time with you in the early hours of the morning.

The laundry started getting all mixed around, resulting in just sharing any sweats, hoodies, or socks.

The same thing went for food.

No longer was anything labeled with a name, if it was in the fridge, it was fair game (unless there was a post-it because come on, yall weren’t monsters)

But no, y’all were just roommates, not dating, lets make that clear.

Feelings? We don’t know her.

This entire time, his friends have had to hear about you rip.

But they got front row seats to your relationship development

“OMG my roommate is the worst she ate all of the frozen strawberries”

“Y/n kidnapped Storm all day while she studied and I thought I lost the fucking cat asjvdk”

“I had to run down and talk to the landlord because we dropped a pot of pasta sauce all over the carpet and couldn’t get the damn stain out.”

“She is so nice in preparation for a family dinner zoom, she ran out to the local Filipino food place and pick stuff up.”

“Sorry I’m late I overslept and didn’t want to wake up Y/n.”

They weren’t stupid, and could clearly see how whipped he was.

Dream and Geroge teased him about it constantly.

“Woah, calm down Sap, you should probably tell her you love her before you propose.”

“Yeah Dream’s right, it’s kinda weird that you’re living together before ever dating.”

He always flushed and denied it with a shake of his head.

He wasn’t into you, are they crazy?

Quackity and Karl messed with him in more unorthodox ways

There are a solid number of clips where they are fake crying over how he’s cheating on them, and even more tweets to match

It only got worse when you met them accidentally.

He was chatting post-stream on a video channel with George, Dream, Karl, and Quackity, and just his luck, you came into his room.

Like of all the times you could walk in, it was the time he was with his five closest friends but I digress

“Yo I got some extra tips yesterday so I picked up some extra Red Bull if you want to do one of your weird all-nighter streams.”

“Y/n I’m on channel.”

“Oh shit sorry my b. Catch.”

All the guys heard was a thud and a groan from Sapnap as the six-pack hit him in the chest.

Dream was the one to recognize your name.

“WAIT IS THAT Y/N I WANT TO MEET THEM!”

You could hear Dream’s voice through his headphones

“Sap… who is that?”

“No one. I’ll be out in a sec to help with dinner.”

You could hear a British voice come through.

“Oh so we are no one now, huh.”

Another voice piped through.

“Common... ¿Qué intentas ocultar?”

You cut in.

“Your headset it shit my guy. I can hear everything. I’m down to talk to them.”

He let out a groan.

“Fine. But you’re gonna have to do the dishes tonight.”

“Deal. Now move.”

“What? No.”

“Fine bitch.”

You collapsed onto his lap, plucking the headphones off of him.

“Hello, Sapnap’s friends. I am Y/n. A pleasure to meet y’all. Can you hear me?”

You heard a series of laughs through the headset, and a voice came through.

“Yes, we can see you too. I’m Karl, it’s so nice to finally meet his girlfriend.”

A blush rose on both of your faces, and another voice came through.

“Yeah, we’ve heard lots about you. Plus we can’t see your face in that picture Sap sent us. I’m Quackity”

That remark stopped your embarrassment in its tracks.

“What the fuck? How do you guys know me? I’m not even his girlfriend? And what picture?”

Sapnap grabbed your arm to calm you down as another voice cut in, but his one you recognized as his friend Dream.

“Hey, it’s okay. He just talks about you a bit, and the picture I believe was of you holding like three cats with like a red bull can on your head.”

“Jesus fucking christ why do they have that photo??”

He looked guilty but chuckled.

“Because that photo is a damn masterpiece.”

Karl’s voice came back in with a giggled.

“Soooo, Y/n we’d love to hear about you. Specifically anything funny or embarrassing that you have learned by living with him.”

Sapnap let out a groan from behind you as you went off.

“WELL lemme tell y’all, he has no cooking knowledge, well I mean, now he does, but one time, about a year ago, I had I been keeping a pot of water boiling for about an hour, soft boiling eggs, cooing noodles, blanching bok choy, etc. but this fucking genius is like ‘oH tHe HaNdLe Is StIcKiNg OuT. LeMmE mOvE iT wItH mY bArE hAnD.’ Needless to say, he burnt the crap outta his hand and kept the bag of frozen blueberries on it for the entire night. It took me like a solid five seconds to actually help him because I was laughing.”

By the time you had finished that story, you had seen Nick roll his eyes like 5 five times while the rest of the guys were wheezing.

“Yeah, well remember the time you were trying to imitate Rapunzel after we had watched it over Zoom with my sister, and you swung the edge of the frying pan into our head and got a nasty bump on it? At least I moved quick enough to put some ice on it.”

“Ice? It was the damn leftover Slushy that I had been freezing.”

“True, but you got to drink it after, so it was a win-win situation.”

“Sap, I had a bump the size of a golfball coming off of my temple. There was no winning.”

“Fine, you’re just making me sound like such a shit roommate.”

“No that’s not true, you do all of the talking to the landlord, and you at least tried to muffle the noise when you stream.”

“I guess that’s true, but you do like 80% of the cleaning.”

“Yeah but only because you’re working. Plus in the past 6 months, you’ve made coffee every morning, AND made sure I was taking my meds.”

“Those things aren’t that hard and I do it to make sure you don’t die because I lo- care about you.”

“What?”

You heard Dream’s wheeze laugh and remembered that you guys were still on call.

“Smooth.”

You both went red, and Sap moved his arm around you to leave the channel.

The next few moments were complete torture, the two of you just sitting in silence.

You were wondering if he meant what he was about to say and he was scared that you had heard it.

He was the one to break the silence. (mind you you’re still sitting on his lap lmao)

“I’m sorry about that.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. Should you ask him if he meant it? Because that wouldn’t be that bad. Or just pretend it never happened. Nah that’d be hella awkward. Or-

“I love you too.”

“You what?”

Wow, okay your brain is being a little bitch rn, but fuck it. Balls to the walls baby.

“I love you, and I have for a while now. I just want you to know.”

You finally looked him in the eye, and he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Thank god. I love you, and nearly fucking told you for the first time in front of my friends accidentally. Damn, I’m smooth.”

You laughed and he smiled wider.

“Can I kiss you?”

After a quick nod he swooped in and holy hell his lips felt great. His arm wound around your waist and your hands made their way to his jaw as he pulled you closer to him.

The only thing playing in your mind was “and they were roommates”

#sapnap x reader #sapnap #sapnapxreader #sapnap fluff #sapnap fanfic #sapnap fanfiction #sapnap x you #sapnap x y/n

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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

Text

My Mistakes - Henry Cavill Smut

The one where Henry Cavill was your married professor and he appears on your door one night after his life falls apart.

Warnings: smut, no actual cheating in Henry’s end (althought that’s open for consideration), professor-student relationship (the student’s supposed to be in the process of achieving a PhD), dirty talk (hello, it’s me), sir kink, praise kink, actually quite a lot of fluff because these two are idiots in love

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Henry? What are you doing here?”

Behind him, the rain poured in what would probably be the last summer storm of the year. Once in a while, loud thunder echoed around my empty house, making me jump every single time. Lord knows how much I hated lightning and thunder.

His curls stuck to his head, some strands in front of his beautiful eyes that held so much emotion I couldn’t identify, but reacted to it nonetheless, goosebumps traveling across my body and my heart speeding up at the sight of my advisor in front of me, in my apartment, on a Saturday night. Granted, he had been here before, but those days of carefree conversations and shared nights where we’d bond over work to grade had disappeared the minute he said ‘I do’ and hid once more behind the shell I had worked so hard to break when we first met. Sure, I missed him. But I also understood the situation, especially now that he had a kid. He was someone else, he had new roles to fill and he was still getting used to his new responsibilities. I was just glad he still confided in me once in a while, allowing me to catch glances of the Henry that I used to know, the one I considered a friend.

Still, it was probably for the best. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to continue our relationship as it was without suffering considerably, knowing I could never have him, now that he was married. When it was only dating I could deal with it, deluding myself into believing we could actually have something more, that he felt the same way I did when our hands eventually touched while sharing a bottle of wine.

And there was that night. God, it seemed like a million years ago. We had managed to bring one of his colleagues to do a guest lecture to our class and the whole research group was in a frenzy, the relaxation after so many months of hard work and organization finally starting to hit us. They had all come here, to my house, even the invited professor and his students, and we drank together and laughed for hours. I couldn’t bring myself to care about the fact that I had an exam first thing in the morning, I was having too much fun.

And not because of our honorable guest, my friends, or the new people I had the opportunity of meeting, oh no. It was all because of Henry. That night, it seemed like all his walls had completely disappeared, leaving a funny, breezy, touchy man behind. I had seen glimpses of this personality before, the one I assumed was his true personality, the one that he never showed to anyone, not even his wife or his mother. It only appeared when we were alone and he was drunk and something incredibly sentimental had happened, like when we had achieved the publication of one of our papers.

The last two boxes were checked, only this time we weren’t alone. But we might as well have been. He clung to me the whole night, even offering me scotch from his own glass before pulling me to him by my waist and wrapping his arms around me, warming me up from the cold breeze of the early morning on my roof. Daniel softly played something on my old guitar and in that moment I knew I would never love anyone just as much as I loved the broken, lonely, needy man holding me.

But then in the morning, he was back to his usual aloof self. And I was left wondering if I had imagined the whole thing, until suddenly he’d look at me in a certain way and I was right back to that moment, in his arms.

Yep. I had it bad for the guy. Good thing ever since he had become a father, we barely saw each other anymore. Whatever little meetings we had, shared cups of coffee and laughter, had vanished the moment his wife found out she was pregnant. It was cute, even, how dedicated he was to little Frank. But that also meant that whatever complaints about marriage and her, that he used to confide in me during those first months after they tied the knot, had simply vanished. They were suddenly the perfect little family.

And I was happy for him. Of course I was. All I ever wanted was for him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me. After all, what right did I have over him, when we had never even shared a kiss?

Which is what left the whole situation of him appearing in my house in the middle of the night, during a storm, even more bizarre.

“What are you doing here?” I finally let out, rushing him inside. “Come in, you must be freezing.” He didn’t budge. Still staring intently at me, his eyes, that I used to be able to read so well, now indecipherable.

“He’s not mine,” he whispered, so quietly I barely heard him over the sounds of the storm around him.

“What? Henry, you’re not making any sense right now. Come in, please, you’re worrying me.” Still, he didn’t budge. His tongue came out to wet his lips and I found myself briefly mesmerized by that sight, wondering not for the first time how it would be like to kiss him.

“Frank,” he spoke, breaking me out of my little fantasy at the name of his child. “He’s not mine… He’s not my kid.”

My heart stopped briefly. I knew my eyes had grown twice their usual size, trying to process that information that was so randomly introduced to me in such a weird situation.

“What? Wait, are you sure? But…” My breath was coming out in quick, shallow huffs, the weight of what he had just shared threatening to asphyxiate me. “How are you feeling, Henry? Wait, that’s a dumb question… Just… Come in, please, let me help you. Let’s talk.” I reached for him, aching to feel him, needing to check his physical integrity for myself. That kid was all he had thought about for the last four months. I knew this discovery had to be killing him.

He shook his head, one of his hands moving his hair out of the way. For a moment, I thought he was refusing my touch and so I let my arms fall next to my body as I pondered just what the hell he was doing here in the first place.

“You don’t understand. He’s not mine.” He rubbed his eyes and I felt a wave of anger wash over me. Of course I understood what he had said, I wasn’t stupid. The only thing I didn’t understand was what the hell he was doing at my door at two in the morning with this kind of news. “I have no connection to her anymore. To them,” he finally declared and I blinked twice, confused by what precisely he meant by that. “I’m free,” he proceeded, his eyes never leaving mine, still clouded with emotions I remained unable to understand.

“You were never tied to her, or even to him, Henry. You chose that life. You walked into that marriage with your own two feet,” I reminded him, my voice a bit colder than I intended.

“True,” he admitted, nodding quickly. “But the minute I said ‘I do’ I realized my mistake. What I had left behind, and thought I would never be able to have anymore. And feeling that way… It was worse than any physical imprisonment, Y/N. ”

I had grown impatient by then, my fingers tapping a random pattern at the wooden door I still held onto.

“And what was that, Henry? What did you leave behind?” I inquired, sighing.

A beat. Outside, the storm roared, announcing its intention to stay for as long as it could. Inside, the tension was so high I started to wonder if lightning was about to fall between us, separating us for good.

“You,” he finally confessed and before I could fully comprehend what he had just spluttered, he had latched himself into me, his lips finding mine and his arms pulling me to his wet body.

A gasp of surprise must have left me before I responded to the kiss, but the sound had been lost in the rain the minute it left my lips and his joined mine. They were cold, as expected, but softer than I had imagined, and oh, how had I imagined this moment. He kissed me sweetly, patiently, like he was savoring his favorite wine that we had shared once. His fingers trembled against my waist as he held me close and I absentmindedly worried about the possibility of him catching pneumonia when he, at last, broke our kiss to catch a breath, still leaving his forehead close to mine, his eyes closed and I suddenly realized he was nervous.

I shivered, not entirely due to the fact that he was freezing from the weather he had subjected himself to and had left me drenched too. “Henry,” I mumbled, trying to get him to look at me.

“Shhhh…” He pulled me even closer, our foreheads still touching, his eyes never opening. “Just… Let me have this moment, please,” he all but begged, and I felt my heart breaking into a thousand little pieces. He was hurt, understandably so and he had come here looking for a way to make his wife feel the way she had made him feel.

Another type of cold filled me as I took a step back from him, forcing Henry to release me. I caught a glimpse of his expression, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at me just before I turned my back to him, hugging myself and trying to control my thoughts before I started crying.

“You should leave.” I hated how my voice broke, how weak I felt as I murmured what my mind knew I should say, despite the way my body felt.

I heard the door close behind me after a few seconds and allowed myself to release the breath I was holding as I waited for his reaction, the tears breaking free by then. The first sob had just escaped my chest when I felt arms wrapping around me, a freezing body hugging me from behind.

He waited patiently as I cried, his face hidden in the crook of my neck, his breath tickling me and warming me up as I sobbed. I cried for what felt like hours, the anger of what he was putting me through subsiding and leaving me lamenting for this man who had lost his entire family in a few seconds.

“You can’t do this to me, Henry,” I wearily breathed out when the tears finally stopped rolling down my cheeks, still not turning around to look at him, who still hugged me.

“I know,” he confirmed, as he finally raised his head from my neck to rest it on the top of my head. I pursed my lips, wanting to leave him yet again but lacking the strength to do so a second time. “Believe me, I know, darling.”

He finally let me go, walking around me to catch my face in his hands. “You deserve better. So much better than this. So much better than me. You deserve someone who will admit their feelings the minute they lay their eyes on you because you’re intoxicating from the first sight, Y/N.”

I couldn’t uncross my arms, afraid that if I let at least this last barrier between us go I’d crumble in front of him and let him devour whatever was left of me.

“You deserve someone who won’t cower in a loveless relationship because they are too afraid to pursue the love of their lives, because they’re scared they’ll disappoint you. I already did. I know.” He sighed, his thumb caressing my cheek with the lightest of touches.

“You especially deserve someone who doesn’t hide all the time, despite wanting to break free every time you smile or glance my way.” His eyes searched mine, trying to make me see the sincerity in them, but I refused to acknowledge it. This time, I was the one who refused to let him in.

I broke the connection between our gazes, looking down. I heard his sigh, feeling its echoes on the walls of my heart.

“I know I lost my opportunity with you,” he whispered, his voice laced with so much pain I had to bite back a whine. “But as soon as I heard the news, as soon as I figured it out… I didn’t even feel angry or sad. I know I should have felt miserable. In a way, I lost a son tonight. But all I could think about was that night I told you I’d be stuck in my office all night grading papers, when in fact I just didn’t want to go home and deal with Olivia, and you appeared with pizza and my favorite bottle of wine, despite the fact that I know that you had Smith’s exam the next day. You stayed with me all night, making idle talk that distracted me to the point I forgot I was engaged and that I had someone waiting for me back home. All I could think about was how that is how it should be. That’s how I should feel every night when I come home. But I only felt it with you. And now that I was given this second chance, this opportunity to go back to a life without the responsibility of being a father, forever connected to a woman I don’t love, I could finally have what I wanted. You.”

My eyes had closed sometime during his remembrance, lost in the flashback too. I had fallen asleep sometime during the early hours of the morning and he took off his jacket to cover me, as I lay on the sofa of his office. The same couch I had found him asleep so many times, as well. I still hugged myself, at last starting to believe he might feel the same way as I did.

I felt a cold kiss against my forehead, one of his hands gripping my nape tightly to him before letting go. “But I should have known I lost my opportunity. You will find happiness in a relationship sometime soon, with someone good, someone who deserves you and I will be here, wishing you all the best because you deserve it.” I heard his footsteps walking away from me. I wanted to turn around, to open my eyes, to pull him to me and talk about this, talk about how I was feeling about this whole situation, but I felt stuck. And then I heard it.

“Because I love you,” he heaved and suddenly I was not frozen anymore. I was connected to him again, our lips furiously dancing together as I clung to him for dear life. He moaned against my mouth and I felt as if the flames of hell had come to consume me in that precise moment.

His hands slowly traveled down my back until they found my ass. He pulled me to him and I jumped, wrapping my legs around him as I caught onto his signal. My own hands were occupied, one pulling on his hair as I tried to win control over our kiss while the other supported me around his shoulders.

He wobbled a bit, blindly walking backward until his back hit the wall. He turned around then, supporting me against it as he once again disconnected our lips to catch his breath, pressing his forehead to mine once more. “Are you sure about this?” I couldn’t help but to slur, my fingers holding the edge of his button-up shirt tightly. “I can’t be just a revenge plot against your wife, Henry. I honestly don’t think I can take it,” I confessed, inciting the tiniest of smiles on the corner of his lips.

“Darling, you couldn't be more wrong,” he whispered against my lips, quickly kissing them before continuing. “I am the one who wouldn’t be able to live without you for a single minute more. I can’t remember how I lived before you, Y/N. I don’t want to remember it. I’d rather die than cause you pain and make you leave me. I know how lucky I am for getting this second chance.”

I accepted his words, not being able to deal with the separation of our lips another second. We were eager now, trying to make up for all the time we had to keep our desires in check. His hands held my jaw as he possessed my mouth and I clung to his shirt tightly as I tried to deal with the desire burning my lower belly.

“I have never wanted anyone to fuck me this badly,” I admitted, licking my lips as he chuckled, caressing my cheek as he laid warm open-mouthed kisses against the skin of my neck.

“I have never wanted to fuck anyone this badly,” he confessed, biting in a particular spot in my neck that made my legs feel like jelly. “But tonight I think I will make love to you first.”

His eyes searched mine then, looking for any sign of indecisiveness, but there was none. I knew I wanted him since he first smiled at me, three years before. I kissed his thumb that played with my cheeks, nodding my acceptance to his proposal.

“I love you too,” I finally professed and he rewarded me with the sweetest of smiles.

Henry’s P.O.V.

I captured her lips again, not quite believing this turn of events. I finally had her. She was finally mine.

We kissed feverishly, our hands never stopping too long in one single place. It was like she felt it too, this need to feel every piece of skin, of guaranteeing the other person was really there, was actually real. Before long, I felt her trembling hands make their way inside my shirt and I sighed, barely believing this was real. She pulled on the fabric and I all but ripped the buttons off of my work shirt before throwing it somewhere behind me and returning my focus on the exploration of the gorgeous woman that was now looking at me with those wide eyes I loved so much.

“Don’t give me that look,” I warned her, only receiving the cheekiest of smiles as a response and a growl rose from under my chest. I pulled her to meet my lips again, this time taking us away from the wall and into the old leather couch just behind us. I laid her carefully on the warm material, pushing away a few rebellious strands of hair that insisted on shielding her eyes from mine.

For a few seconds, we simply stared at one another, our eyes silently communicating what our mouths didn’t seem to be able to speak in the moment. She looked so beautiful, even more than I already thought she did, with her lips red from my assault and a dark bruise already forming in her silky skin from my bite.

I had to take a few deep breaths to control myself, already feeling my pants tighten as the reality of what was to happen hit me. Y/N licked her lips, her eyes showing every bit the same desire I felt run through my veins. “Like what you see?” she teased me, earning a breathy laugh that let on how nervous I actually felt.

“You have no idea,” I admitted, leaning down to kiss her forehead sweetly before laying kisses across her face, over her lids, on each side of her cheeks, on the tip of her nose before deciding to nibble on her jaw. She shivered, her hands coming up to my curls once again, holding me to her.

I inhaled the sweet perfume that often overtook my senses whenever she was near me. It was like an aphrodisiac to me, it never failed to get me hard. Many times I had to abruptly leave her talking by herself to tend to my member in my bathroom, imagining my hands were hers.

“You make me crazy,” I confessed, my voice hoarse as I continued my path across her skin, now licking her neck, trying not to lose my mind over the tremulous moans she let escape every time I discovered a particular spot that seemed to get to her. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive.” Teasingly, I bit right over one of her collarbones, immediately regretting my taunt as her hands found the bulge in my pants and rubbed it.

“I could say the same thing,” she retaliated, tongue stuck between her teeth as she watched with focused interest as I threw my head back and groaned.

“Damnit, woman, I’m trying to make this last,” I tried to lecture her, failing spectacularly as she managed to pop my button and reach inside my boxers to find me, bare and hot, pulsing for her.

“Not interested,” she raised her back off the couch, forcing me to sit back on my heels, as she took control of the situation. “I’ve waited too long for this. If you want to make love to me, as you say, do it quickly, I need you now.”

It was impossible not to react to her. This sweet, bubbly woman, suddenly dominant and sure of herself and what she wanted. Fuck, if that didn’t make her even sexier to my eyes.

Still, I managed to control myself, slowly caressing her thighs with my trembling fingers until I reached the edge of her nightgown, raising it up as I continued my path across her body. Her heavy breasts came into view, her nipples hard and begging for attention. I was quick to connect my lips to one, caressing the other with one of my hands.

She moaned then, her hands coming up to pull on my hair once more as she ground down against me and I groaned at the sensation of her wet panties against my member. I had half a mind to pull my jeans all the way down, take her to bed, do this sweetly and romantically like I had planned I would do if I had the opportunity to lay with her at least once, but she was making this too difficult for me. Her tiny whimpers escaped her lips freely as I changed nipples, slightly biting on one, making her throw her head back and whine.

“Stop teasing me so much,” she begged, rubbing herself against me once more, making the decision for me, as I couldn’t stand to feel her heat and not be inside of her any longer.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I heard him growl before I realized I had finally broken him. In a second, he had thrown himself at me, forcing me to lie down on the couch as I shivered against the cold air as his hands made quick work of my nightgown. When the sounds of his belt coming off at last rang in my ears, I couldn’t help the moan escaping my lips at the realization that this was finally happening.

“I wanted to do this nice and slow, take my time with you, worship your body in the way it deserves to be cherished, but did you allow that?” His voice was so raspy it kept reigniting the goosebumps across my skin, and as his fingers finally pressed my soaking wet panties against that spot that had been throbbing for attention, I felt like I could come right then and there. “Of course not,” he answered himself, his focus directed to where his fingers were now exploring. “Everything has to be done in your time, isn't it, miss Y/L/N?”

Growing tired of the cotton barrier between us, he finally pulled it aside to softly collect the evidence of what he was doing to me, but didn’t make any movement towards actually relieving me of my needs. “Answer me, darling,” he whispered in my ear as softly as possible, but I knew that tone and it hid danger.

“Y-yes, sir,” I babbled without thinking and by that point, I would do anything to have him inside of me.

“Good girl.” That was all the warning I received before his member pushed its way inside of me, but as it provoked a whole new wave to pour out of me, it wasn’t as difficult as it would have been otherwise. Still, it took me some time to relax and allow his full length to penetrate me, as it was considerably large and thick.

I gasped as the head of his cock bumped my cervix. “There you go, sweetheart.” He smiled down at me, giving a quick peck to my temple. “I knew you’d be able to take it.”

I moaned at his words, incredibly excited about the fact that he apparently knew I had a praise kink. Maybe I wasn’t as cautious as I thought I was being when he complimented my work? There was no way I would dwell on this any longer, however, as he finally started to slowly thrust in and out of me, his little grunts and pants making me all the more horny.

“You’re so tight, baby girl,” he groaned, throwing his head back for a second, his eyes closed, giving me the perfect opportunity to admire his jaw and neck. “I don’t know how I managed to fit inside of you, but let me tell you…” his head had returned to my ear, before finding a nook on my neck and hiding there. “Now that I’m here, I’m never gonna leave,” he whispered against my skin, picking up his thrusts just as I started to need a little more from him.

“Good,” I managed to moan out, to which he chuckled. He continued to fuck me against my couch, permanently ruining my pussy and the fabric underneath us, as our juices slowly dripped onto it. It didn’t take long for him to bring me close to the edge, and I was trembling in his arms after a few seconds of feeling the head of his cock bumping against my sweet spot.

“Feeling needy, baby girl? Do you want to cum?” I struggled to nod, but it seemed to suffice him. “Then come for me, darling. I’m right behind you. Cum for me.” His thumb found my bundle of nerves and just like that, I was falling down the pits of desire. Throwing my head back, I pulled his chest to me, my nails certainly leaving marks across his back for him to remember me later on.

I absentmindedly noticed the sounds I was making, but as my walls throbbed around his cock, I was too far gone to care. Henry kissed the side of my face as I came until I was capable of focusing my gaze on him once more. As I did, I found him looking at him with a particular glint in his eyes, a look so soft that made my heart feel twice the normal size.

“Is it possible to love too much?” He asked, and I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came. Instead, he simply adjusted to be able to speed up into me, now fucking me into my couch in a way that made it sure I would never be able to sit in it without thinking about him again. I heard his groans of pleasure as he reached his own high, and I felt him spill into me as he did so.

We stayed connected as he calmed down. As we both calmed down, because my heart was still beating as fast as if I had been running a marathon. After a while, he kissed my shoulder and sat up, his cock leaving me. “You’re perfect,” he whispered into the night.

I followed his movements, also sitting up on the couch, enjoying how he immediately pulled me into his lap, like he couldn’t bear the thought of our skins not touching. The rain had almost stopped, I realized. No more lightning or thunder had echoed throughout the house for a long while.

“Do you really love me?” I found myself whispering into the quiet of the night. For a few seconds, he said nothing, but then he was pushing me away from his chest just enough so that he could stare back at me.

“You ask me like you have given me any other option.” My giggles echoed throughout the house.

“I love you too.” And for once, everything felt right.

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill smut #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill insert #henry cavill insert fanfiction #henry cavill x y/n #henry cavill writing #my fics #smut #henry cavill

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sta-bright · 3 years

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My First Tumble

Hi Tumblr,

I was inspired to get a Tumblr account, believe it or not, from Netflix's 2021 four-part docu-series "Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel." Although I highly doubt anyone cares enough to read any of my posts or has the attention span to read anything longer than a few sentences written by a 23 year old with her boobs out, *just in case,* SPOILER ALERT.

The (main) topic of the show focuses around Elisa Lam, who vanished in early 2013 when she was staying at the Cecil Hotel and was then found dead in one of the four water tanks on the roof 19 days after being reported missing (I think I have that correct but don't hold me to it, imaginary readers. It was something like that.).

Anyway, "...to make a long story short"... "too late" #cluereference, Elisa had a Tumblr blog. It seemed to be a good setup for how she was writing very personally, which is what I want to do, so here we go. I have a blog page for the business I own, but to be honest, it's geared more toward, well, business, so I don't feel like I can write freely, or only like the "good" or "normal" part of myself, the good stuff geared at an audience without scaring people away or whatever. So for this one, I don't really care as much about proper grammar or spelling, just somewhere to write my real thoughts if and when I can focus enough to sort them out enough to put them down. I have a bunch of journals, but they are all over the place and I can't write fast enough, so I'm going to try this out. I have a lot to say, and I think even just putting it out there even though I know no one cares might help me feel a little bit of relief, even if anyone does read it and might think I'm an idiot or whatever.

I wasn't sure what to name my blog, and I'm not sure if there's a way to change it in the future, but for now I have decided on "Sta-Bright." Most of my family and some of my close friends call me "Sta" and my partner David calls me Sta Bright, which I think is really cute and makes me happy, so here we are. I use the word partner because I think the word boyfriend is a little too young for us and our relationship warrants a higher level than that. ANYWAY, there is the background information for you, my new friend, Tumblr. I already feel better.

So, this show really pissed me off for a few (many) reasons. I've legitimately been pacing around all morning. First, even the title of the show is misleading. The death of Elisa Lam was not a "crime." It was a devastating incident of accidental death highly likely (as confidently confirmed by all professionals involved) related to a psychotic episode of her mental illness, Bipolar I, which I also happen to have. Netflix using the title "Crime Scene" to lure watchers in is disgusting within itself. Good for you, Netflix. Holla for the dollas! Make that money, baby.

Then, beyond the fact Netflix milked four episodes out of a glamorized case that was ruled an accidental death for this reason not even long after finding Elisa, it is the whole ordeal of the reality and dramatizing of this saga that is so sad.

Upon the release of the famous elevator footage the day she went missing, it went viral almost instantaneously.

*Hold please* I actually just read an article by BBC.com where director of the series, Joe Berlinger, says, "For the average viewer it's another compelling story you watch and then move on to the next. But for who this happened to, it's the worst moment in their life. It's a real tragedy for that person and that family." LOLOLOLOL OKAY JOE!!!! Is this why you spent FOUR EPISODES talking about bullshit theories to keep people hooked and open more discussion? You know that this is not out of respect. Shame on YOU!

"If you look at the other tellings of the story, you'd see she's the victim of some horrible, evil presence that took control of her.

"Those kinds of narratives, I think, are incredibly disrespectful and probably why the family just didn't want to deal with another show that was going to exaggerate the circumstances of the tragedy."

So is this why you made a show exaggerating the circumstances of the tragedy? Lol. "We need to talk about the ghost stories" Or do you need to talk about them to open a can of worms to more losers who fixate on the case? OR IS THAT JUST ME? I don't know. Lemme tell ya what. If anything ever happens to me, please make sure this Joe Schmuck doesn't make a pathetic docuseries about it.

Then, aside from the pathetic profit of Netflix, the actual details of what happened and how society and the "web sleuths" investigated, obsessed, and chimed in on this case is a whole other ballpark about society's minimization and lack of knowledge or respect for mental illness on its own.

THEN, there is a quote by Amy Price, the manager of the hotel during the incident, who is now profiting on a book she is writing about HER experience:

"I want to share my story," she says.

"But this isn't a horror story or anything like that. This is a story about struggle."

Okay, Amy. Whose fucking struggle are you writing about here? I legitimately don't know if she is referring to hers or Elisa's, but either way, it's gross.

It makes me so sad that this whole situation warranted MILLIONS of theories, millions of internet trolls writing articles about the "BIZARRE" death of this girl. This case is not fucking bizarre. It is unfortunate but it is not bizarre. This case was plastered all over internet lists with the titles "bizarre, unexplained cases of missing people." It's not unexplained, and it only was not for long.

These "web sleuths" were busy having a blast, going to the crime scene, smiling as they recorded, posting videos about their stupid theories. Trolls posting their dumb, far-fetched theories without knowing all of the facts, thinking they know better than the professionals, who DO have the findings, did do the labs, did do the investigations. And people still insist that THERE HAS TO BE MORE.

Of course, I don't know all the facts either. BUT, according to the actual professionals involved rather than the entire population of people who love a good "mystery," Elisa's toxicology results showed that her levels of the medications she was supposed to be on signified she had not been taking them as she should have been. They also found bottles of her medicine that had more pills than prescribed, also showing that she had not been taking them.

THEN, she was removed from the room she had been sharing with a few others due to "odd behavior" leaving weird post-its telling them to go away, or whatever. THEN, apparently going into the hotel lobby and screaming "I'm crazy!" or whatever it was.

Although all experiences with mental illnesses are unique, all of these details plus the footage, both detailing erratic behavior, leave no doubt in my mind that the professionals, SHOCKINGLY, CRAZILY, may be right! Who thunk it! I have legitimately acted in the ways described and shown in the video. I don't and couldn't understand HERS, but I understand MY paranoia, hallucinations, experiences I have had, and the actions that are presented, and I guarantee some would look very similar to that footage. Ask the few people who know me best what it's like when I'm not on my meds or fuck them up. I legitimately saw myself in her actions.

Yet, the internet losers had to fixate on a death metal artist who had stayed in the hotel for a few days A YEAR before any of this happened and legitimately ruined his life. His alibi was completely valid and he was dismissed by investigators. He was out of the country, he had tons of substantial paperwork and proof that he was, but that didn't matter.

Because no one takes bipolar disorder seriously, dismissing it as just mood swings, people being dramatic, seeking attention, being lazy, and everyone needs something more sensational, THIS wasn't even an option. They needed to fixate on crazy, fun conspiracy theories, watching the footage over and over and over again, sitting in their caves with their thumbs up their asses writing about their ballpark theories, internet bullying innocent people instead of doing any research on bipolar disorder, instead of defending or considering that it was a psychotic episode, which literally all of the official facts and footage present.

Clearly I'm not a professional either, but like... watch the show and you tell me. You tell me what you think is likely. You tell me what the professionals agree on. But before you make that call, try reading a little bit about bipolar disorder. Try reading about the psychotic episodes that can come with it. It probably won't change your mind, but oh well. It probably is just the hotel being haunted, ya know. Right? This is just my little rant that doesn't matter.

If you want to think it was a ghost, a demon, if it was a murder even though she literally had zero signs of any physical violence and there was zero evidence of it and all evidence the other way, you do that, boo. Have a blast. Hey, I 100% could be wrong, right? Absolutely. Who am I? Just a little dramatic, stupid, crazy nobody.

That's just my take, no better than any other internet trolls, I suppose. When all is said and done, in my little fantasy world, I guess people would just take bipolar disorder seriously and understand the severity of it. People would take it to consideration for the actions and words of those who have it. That's not fun, though. Everyone loves money, everyone loves a good story. Everyone loves making fun of people. Everyone loves a disability you can see. Everything I do is just me being an oddball. Everyone loves to be an internet bully.

I'm sorry for Elisa and her family who have had to deal with years of this. Years of people dismissing the severity of mental illness and obsessing over ghost stories, obsessing over the number of likes or views they get, money they make off of it.

Wow, that was a blast. I'm fairly confident no one will read this, but I feel a lot better that I put that out there. Again, I'm a little nobody, so nothing I say matters, but that's just my take on all of it. I've given up trying to convince anyone that I'm anything but weird, because I know no one will care or accept that. I'll just keep making people feel uncomfortable and keep looking like an idiot. Woe is me, am I right?

You have a blessed day now.

#mental health #mentalhealthmatters #bipolar disorder #bipolar 1 #fuck you netflix

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 4 years

Text

Girl of My Dreams

Title: Girl of My Dreams

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3828

Square Filled: Friends to Lovers

Summary: Sleeping together turns into actually sleeping together when a sleepy confession breaks all of Dean’s walls.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (18+ ONLY), then back to Fluff! Unprotected Sex (wrap it up kids!), Oral Sex (Female Receiving), Masturbation, and Slight Language.

Written for @spndeanbingo

A/N: Sooo… when I started writing this, my intentions were for it to be so incredibly fluffy it would rot your teeth, but then things took a different turn and now you’ve got something fluffy and smutty. Not a bad combination if you ask me. However, I did get carried away. Like way away! Lol. Oh well! I hope you enjoy it! Happy Reading!xx

Sleepovers weren’t uncommon for you and Dean since the two of you were best friends. You’d always get comments like, “you guys act like you’re dating”, “you guys are such a cute couple”, or “you guys argue like an old married couple.” Eventually, it started to become a natural thing, and those comments no longer affected any of you. Neither tried to deny or rectify the truth.

Dean woke up first, light mossy eyes slowly fluttering open in the dimly lit bedroom, the only stream of light coming through the haphazardly closed curtains. His eyes instantly landed on your sleeping face only inches from his. He couldn’t help but smile. There was no doubt he loved you, but how far that love went, he never thought about it.

“Dean…” you mumbled. Dean’s ears perked at the weak sound of his name. “You’re an idiot,” you continued. Dean chuckled knowing you were talking in your sleep, obviously dreaming about him. It wasn’t a frequent occurrence, but when you did, you always had something interesting to say. Last time you spoke in your slumber, you were apparently a male wrestler, trying to rob a bank. It was bizarre.

“Why am I an idiot?” Dean replied, his voice thick with sleep – deep and raspy. He knew you’d respond. You always did.

“Because…” you voice trailed off, your nose scrunching as you snuggled closer to him, most likely searching for more warmth. It was a little chilly in the room.

“Because what?” Dean asked, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in closer.

“Because you are,” your breath fanned against his neck, sending shivers and goosebumps throughout his body and sending a wave of arousal to his already hard member. He groaned at the sensation, willing to shake the feeling away. The feeling rarely happened, and when it did, he always manages to sate it. You were his best friend; he couldn’t be thinking about you that way. He shouldn’t.

“Dean…” you whispered again, hot breath warming his sleep induced heated skin.

“Yeah, Sweetheart,” he struggled to say.

“I love you.”

A small smile graced his lips as he squeezed you tighter, your words melting him. “I know.”

“No…”

“No?” Dean questioned, moving his head slightly so he could look at you.

“I’m in love with you,” you revealed in your latent state. Dean almost felt guilty, as if hearing something he shouldn’t have. “I’m in love with you, you big dummy…”

Dean’s stomach began to flip, swirling like a hurricane. He felt his cheeks heat up, and his cock become painfully hard. His senses heightened and he could feel every curve and soft skin of your body pressing against his. As if Pandora’s box was opened. In that moment, he wanted you, needed you. In that moment, he realized that he was in love with you too. All this time you’ve been by his side, and it took him till now to realize it. He really was a “big dummy.”

“Shit,” he groaned, gently pushing you away and rushing into the bathroom.

Once the door was closed and locked, Dean turned on the showerhead to hot, stripping out of his clothes, and jumping in, feeling the lukewarm water pierce his skin before turning scalding hot. Dean altered the water again so it was hot enough to not cook him alive. His chest was heaving as he saw visions of you every time he closed his eyes.

Frustration took over him and he needed to satisfy himself, so he took his thick and heavy member into his palm, pumping slowly before ramping up his speed. He came with your name falling through his lips repeatedly. His release painted the walls as he breathed heavily. He had never come so hard and so much from just his hand before, it was ridiculous. And the fact it was to you.

When he stepped out of the bathroom with a towel hung lowly around his waist, he saw you sitting on the bed, hair messy, and crop top tousled and draping over one of your shoulders from your movements through the night. His eyes were locked onto your form as if in a trance. He bit his lip when your stretched, raising your arm over your head, the motion lifting your top and exposing your soft stomach. Dean growled softly, feeling his cock begin to stir once again under the towel.

“Morning,” you smiled lazily, eyes still half closed. “I’m hungry,” was the next thing you said, making him chuckle. He felt ridiculous for having such dirty thoughts about you, when you were acting as if nothing happened. Completely innocent, unlike Dean… who had gotten himself off at the thought of you. “Make me tea, slave!” You ordered, the same drowsy look on your face, before you fell back onto the used bed.

Dean couldn’t help but eye you up. Your shirt had risen just high enough that he could see your under boob, and immediately Dean was hungry too… but not for sustenance.

“Yeah, sure…” Dean muttered, his voice coming out strained, as if he was being tortured, which he technically was. He wondered how this was happening so fast… and all at once.

Dean quickly shoved on a pair of running shorts, forgoing underwear since he was only staying in house, and heading out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

By the time the hot water was done, and he was pouring the steaming content into your favorite mug that said, “my house” even though it was his house. The notion didn’t seem as funny as it did before. Now… Dean wouldn’t mind having his house being yours as well. The two of you were best friends after all. You knew everything about him. You’d seen him at his best and worst, and have stayed by his side no matter what. You were his constant. You were his rock. You were his.

“I want Jasmine,” your voice interrupted his thoughts, making him jolt and dropping the Jasmine tea bag into the mug.

Your body made it’s way beside him, your warm skin brushing against his. Your head lulled over, resting on his arm, just below his shoulder because you were that short. His eyes fell on your figure as he watched you gracefully grab the mug, bringing it up to your nose and inhaling deeply, before letting out a content sigh.

He continued to watch you as you brought down the mug to your lips, taking a sip before letting out a yelp. “Hot!” You shouted, setting the mug on the table before covering your mouth with your hand, as if that was going to do anything.

Dean let out another exasperated laugh, lightly slapping his palm on his forehead. He felt utterly ridiculous. He’d been around you for so long, seen you do stupid things so many times, and yet… he hadn’t realized just how adorable you were. Just how much you filled his heart like no one else did. How could he have not noticed before? How could he be that fucking stupid?

When he looked over at you again, you were looking up at him with that annoyed pout you always did. God, he wanted to kiss you, and then without thinking, he leaned in and did just that. Sealing his lips to your unsurprisingly soft ones. When he pulled away, a dreamy sigh left your lips and before he knew what was happening, you were on your tippy-toes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another.

Dean groaned into the kiss, his arms easily encasing your figure and pressing it flush against his. The kiss became desperate, and Dean bent his knees and lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping themselves around his taught waist.

“Bed,” you manage to say against his lips, and Dean wasted no time in following orders, especially when it meant he would get to kiss you like this all day.

Dean dropped your bodies onto the bed, eliciting an excited squeal from you. You giggled before Dean covered your lips with his, slanting perfectly over yours. He grinded his hips between your legs, the sweatpants you were wearing doing little to hide the heaviness and largeness of what Dean had been blessed with below the waist.

You moaned at the feel, allowing Dean to shove his tongue into your mouth, tongues languidly caressing with one another. Just the kiss alone was enough to make your eyes roll back and take every breath away from you. Unable to breath, you shoved Dean away, gasping for air. Instead, he moved his lips to your neck, licking, nipping, and sucking, searching for your weak spot.

It was the sound of your shaky inhale that alerted him that he had found the right spot, worrying the area until it was prominently red. “Dean,” his name fell through your lips like a purr, the sound driving him more crazy than he already was. He wanted to hear it again. Needed to hear it again.

He trailed his lips down to your exposed shoulder, yanking down your shirt until one breast was fully exposed. Without wasting any time, he took your nipple into his hot mouth, shoving as much as he could take. He sucked hard, his tongue fiddling with your hard nub, causing you to arch your back. “Dean!” You breathed again, this time a little more winded.

Dean didn’t relent, ripping your shirt in half like a savage and tossing the ruined fabric behind him so he could get to your other breast. He gave the same treatment as he did the other, and his hands gripped your waist, keeping you still so he could have his way.

“Please,” you begged, the word coming out strangled. Releasing her nipple with a wet pop, his eyes met yours briefly, both of you sporting lust blown looks.

Dean dragged his tongue down your torso, circling around your bellybutton, which resulted in you bucking your hips to his, rubbing against his strained cock, making both of you moan. Dean slithered lower, leaving a trail of wet kissed down to the soft elastic of your sleeping pants. In one swift motion, Dean was on his knees, peeling your pants off of you and dropping it somewhere in the room, delighted to find out that you weren’t wearing panties. Dean groaned as his cock twitched. Regaining some composure of what little he had left, he resumed his position, and he could feel you shaking. You wanted this. You wanted it so bad, and Dean could tell.

His vision locked on your bare, soaked, pussy, deliciously waiting for him to devour it. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the warmth of his breath grazing over the heat of your needy cunt.

“Please,” you begged again, rolling your hips upwards in hopes you’d reach his mouth, but to your disappointment, Dean just held you down. “Dean, please. I need you!”

Dean groaned, watching your strung out expression, reveling in the thought that it was all because of him. Knowing that he was the one driving you crazy. With new found confidence and hunger, Dean flattened his tongue against your folds and lapped up your pussy, starting from the bottom all the way up to your clit with a playful flick.

Your body convulsed in surprise as a loud moan filled the room. The sound was heaven and Dean needed to hear it over and over again, so this time, he wrapped his mouth over your clit, sucking and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. Slowly but surely, he was making you fall apart, just like the thought of you made him fall apart during his morning shower.

The more Dean continued to taste and lavish your increasingly sensitive pussy, the louder you became. He never pegged you for the loud type, but it did nothing but spur him on. A sweet serendipity. By the end of his ministrations, he wanted you screaming his name. He wanted his neighbors to know who you belonged to, who made you feel this good, that he was the only person that could tear you apart in the best way possible.

Seconds later you were shaking under his face, your juices spilling into his mouth while your hands tugged on his hair, trying to pry him off. You were so overly stimulated that it was too much, but Dean didn’t falter, continuing to ride out your orgasm with slow strokes of his tongue against your clit, delving into your vagina now and again.

Your body continued to twitch under his ministration, your hands still locked in a vice grip in his hair. By the time your body simmered down to deep breathing, Dean pulled away, a warm smile on his lips, which was covered with your slick.

Your eyes met and instantly you both knew things were different, but it didn’t feel alarming. Instead, it felt peaceful, as if everything was now right with the world. Like what was meant to be finally was.

You watched intently as Dean got off of the bed, his eyes raking over your body. The massive tent in his pants made you bite your bottom lip, anticipation adding pressure to your core and making the butterflies go from a flutter to a downright whirlwind in your stomach. From what you could see, he was huge.

Dean shoved his shorts down, exposing him in all his glory. A gasp left your lips and you felt your pussy pulse at the sight. Dean was gorgeous and well endowed, much more intimidating that you thought he’d be. There was no doubt in your mind that Dean would end all men for you.

No words were shared as Dean crawled back onto you like a predator, his hips resting perfectly between your legs, his cock pressed just as perfectly between your folds. Dean’s lips connected with yours in another heated kiss, both your hips gyrating against each other, his cock teasing your pussy delectably as his tip brushed against your clit with purpose.

You purred under him, your hands roaming down to grip his ass, but as quick as they found their purchase, they were above your head, each of Dean’s hands threading through yours, lacing them together.

With one final suck of your tongue, Dean pulled away from the kiss, his hair disheveled and lips swollen, just like yours. He slip your hands down to either sides of your head, pushing himself up as his eyes drank you in. Dark emerald orbs moved from your own, tracing down to your lips, over your perky breasts, then down your torso till they landed on your pussy, where his leaking head was waiting at your entrance.

“Please,” you pleaded for the millionth time. “I need you inside me.”

Your whimpers were a challenge of it’s own, testing Dean’s self control. It was already a thin line, barely hanging by a thread. It was such low hanging fruit that you could simply pluck it off and toss him into blind lust, but he was determined to behave himself, even just a little. He wanted his first time with you to be more than just feral need. He planned on dragging this out, mesmerizing your body, making up for lost time, apologizing to you for making you wait so long for him. He was going to show you how much he was in love with you.

Dean groaned, eyes rolling back, as he slowly entered you. Both of you watched as your pussy engulf his massive cock, his member unable to submerge all the way in. Dean’s eyes met yours, noticing the need in them and pushed himself in deeper, seeing just how much you could take. Your eyes rolled back while your head dropped to the mattress, a string of cuss words filling the room. Dean stopped, holding himself there, waiting for you to adjust.

“Please, don’t stop. Put it all in. All of it, please!” Your plea ended up sounding like you were crying, and you were. You were desperate to have all of him. To take all he had to offer. “Please!”

Dean growled, his control about to snap. At that point he knew what kind of lover you could be. One who likes it a little rough. One who likes a little pain with the pleasure. Giving into your will, Dean pushed in, trying to force the rest of him in, his tip already pressing against your cervix. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks before disappearing. Dean noticed the tears but continued to burry himself to the hilt.

“Fuck,” he huffed. Dean could see the bulge in your stomach, the sight enough to almost make him lose it. “I can’t,” he gritted, “Sweetheart, it won’t fit.”

“No!” You shouted. “Don’t stop, please. I need all of it.”

“Fuck,” Dean hissed. He was definitely in love. Following your orders, Dean pushed himself in, fighting the barrier to shove all of him in. In the end he was too big. “Shit, baby, I can’t.” Before you could say another word, Dean rammed against your already stuffed cunt, hitting his head roughly against your cervix, earning a loud yelp from your parted lips. “Baby…” his voice came out low and gravelly, maybe even dangerously. “I told you, I can’t fit it all in.” He rammed against you again, a sharp cry ringing through the room as more tears were shed. “My giant cock can’t fit in your tiny little pussy,” he hissed, as if scolding you yet taunting you.

You were at a complete loss for words, and Dean took it upon himself to pull out, then slowly push back in, using all his weight to push as much as he could inside of you. It had already been established that he wouldn’t fit, but that didn’t stop him from trying with every thrust. You sang every time, your sweet moans driving him near insane.

His thrusts went from slow and deep, to steady, deep and rough. You were screaming in bliss, your pussy tightening around him with ever plunge. No one had ever filled you up so full before, and no one had ever made your body sing like he did. Every thrust bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

With one particular hard thrust, Dean forced as much as he could, not stopping until he pushed you up the bed a little. A scream tore from deep in your chest and suddenly you fell apart, your body violently trembling beneath him. As you fell apart, Dean did nothing to retreat, only continuing to shove himself deeper, even if it was no use.

He grunted, reveling in the feel of your sweet cunt pulsing around his dick. You were so fucking tight, and so fucking perfect. Dean felt as if he was losing his mind, and maybe he was. He pulled out and your body jumped at the emptiness.

You opened your eyes and met Dean staring down at you. “Turn over for me, Sweetheart,” he ordered, his voice low and sensual. Just the sound had your pussy clenching around nothing.

Obeying his wishes, your turned over on your stomach. You felt his soft lips against your shoulder and back and then back up to your earlobe where he took it into between his teeth, tugging softly. “You ready?” Dean asked.

“Fuck me, please.”

Once again, Dean filled you up. You screamed as your eyes rolled back. Dean slipped his arms under yours, his hands wrapping around your throat gently, adding a little pressure as he continued to slowly pump inside you.

Dean was trying to control himself, wanting to feel your smooth walls slide over him. He wanted to mesmerize the feeling, lock it into his memories forever. Wet. Warm. Fucking tight!

“Harder,” you gasped as Dean met your cervix with every thrust. “I need it! Give it to me harder!”

As if something snapped inside of him, Dean’s grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your airway slightly as he slammed into you. He was so deep, so overwhelming and overstimulating that you were already coming, squeezing him so tight that it almost hurt.

Dean grunted, trying to fuck you through your orgasm but was suddenly met with his own. His hips pressing flush against your ass as he filled you up. Your eyes rolled back, your entire body falling limp as you felt him gushing. You had never had anyone come so much inside you that it dribbled out of your pussy as he still came, ropes and ropes of his seed. It was mind blowing.

Your body fell completely limp as Dean continued to ride out his high. Dean wasn’t sure if you had passed out or not. “You okay there, Sweetheart?” He asked, releasing your throat but keeping himself lodge inside of you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, having a hard time breathing with his weight on top of you, but you didn’t dare say anything about it. You liked his weight. Welcomed it. “That was so fucking good.” Dean chuckled, slipping out of you and making you gasp. You could feel clumps of his seed dribbling out of your vagina, the sensation making you smile.

You turned your head to the side, meeting Dean’s gaze. He was smiling back, his eyes blazing with something you’ve never seen before. You could tell he was happy, but the way his eyes shined, you knew it was beyond that. Your own lips stretched wide, marveling at the man before you.

“I love you,” you blurted.

“I know,” he grinned.

“No. What I mean is that… I’m in love with you,” you clarified.

“I know,” his grin only widened. “And I’m in love with you.”

A dopey grin spread across your face, your eyes closing with contempt. You’ve loved Dean forever and now you knew he felt the same way. “Since when?” The words slipped out.

“Honestly… I think I’ve loved you even way before I met you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You giggled, unable to understand where he was getting at.

“You’re the girl of my dreams,” he revealed, pearly white teeth on display as he smiled, waiting for your reaction to his hopelessly cheesy confession.

A string of giggle left you, eyes squinting close before your eyes locked on his. God he thought you were beautiful. A fucking goddess.

“Dean Winchester, you are one sappy son of a bitch.” Dean boomed with laughter, an arm snacking under you back and hauling you above him so that you were straddling his hip, his cock already hard between your stomachs. It hadn’t even been five minutes. “Wanna know what else you are?”

“What?” Dean asked, watching you flick your eyes downward to his raging boner.

“Insatiable.”

“Damn right I am,” Dean agreed with pride, lifting you easily, readying his cock at your entrance for round two. “Now ride me.”

A/N: If you liked it, please reblog and leave some feedback. Reblogging is the only way to help me get my fics to reach more readers, and feedback pretty much feeds my writing soul! And I would really appreciate the love! xx

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callioope · 3 years

Text

Continuing my reactions to Avatar: The Last Airbender.

This post is about Book 2. See my overall impressions and thoughts on Book 1 here.

Quick/General Thoughts

Uhhh pretty wild there is both a solar eclipse and a super comet happening in the same summer… anyways!!!

Ba Sing Se was so messed up omg

Aang

SMH more adults trying to take advantage of Aang. I was furious with the Earth Kingdom general who tried to force Aang to fight the Fire Lord well before he was ready. Clearly he was not ready! And then the audacity for him to attack Aang and then Katara to provoke the Avatar state was whole levels of messed up.

The Great Appa Kidnapping: Yeah, so, as soon as the sand traders took him, I was like, “Oh no. I’ve heard about this. They are going to be in trouble!” But even then I didn’t know it stretched out over so many episodes. These episodes broke my heart! Aang’s complete distress at having lost Appa. Then the episode from Appa’s POV. Poor Appa! He goes through so much. It’s devastating. And then both Appa and Aang both dream of how they originally met each other? UNFAIR. CRUEL. HOW DARE THE CREATORS DO THIS TO ME. (I’m being facetious I love it I live for this kind of drama this is how i express they were doing good storytelling)

The whole “final chakra” being about letting go of attachments… hmm that felt VERY Star Wars of them… Filoni is this your doing? (Although actually I don’t remember seeing his name on any Book 2 episodes.)

Sokka

My fave continues to be the long-suffering Sokka, just trying to get his family to Omashu, it shouldn’t be this hard!!! This was literally what I wrote at the time of watching “Chapter Two: The Cave of Two Lovers,” and OH LITTLE DID I KNOW!!! [cut to Book 3… lmao… anyways]

Sokka making a map to help keep track of the maze-like cave/tunnel is actually really clever. I can’t believe people think he’s stupid. I mean, sure, it didn’t end up working, but that’s because the cave was magic or whatever, and that is beyond his control!

Side note, but lol at Sokka’s purchases and love for shopping. His ridiculous belt! How excited he was that it matched his bag!

Second side note, I was pretty excited to see that gif where Sokka is making that “I’m watching you” gesture and then goes “Water tribe!”

Katara

Yeah, notice how I don’t have much to say about Katara? It’s not that I don’t like her or that I don’t think she’s interesting, but. I just don’t really have a lot to say about her.

I was amused by how she handled those bullies. My impression before I started watching was that she was going to be this like, pure and GoodTM character, but she definitely has her flaws and that is better.

I really liked the scene where she is able to calm Aang down while he’s in the Avatar state. There was good build up to that, showing her worry every time he entered it and her awareness of the fact that he only ever enters it when feeling upset. The fact that she was able to do that clearly Meant Something. So again, I suppose, I really feel up to this point that the show is very much like “Aang/Katara Endgame!” it felt very obvious to me. And I knew before starting the show that Zuko and Katara are a thing — but Aang and Katara is just so heavy handed that it was impossible for me to ship them with anyone else. They were just foundational to the show. Like it always felt like a foregone conclusion to me, almost as if they were established from the beginning although they obviously weren’t.

Toph

I spent like, the second half of Book 1 thinking “WHEN TOPH WHEN TOPH!” Imagine my ire that she still isn’t around for the first five episodes of Book 2, which is titled “EARTH” my goodness.

But OH was I delighted by “Chapter 6: The Blind Bandit”!!! I loved her intro, I loved how Aang is just immediately in awe of her skills when he sees her. He knows she’s exactly the teacher he’s been waiting for. “She waited and listened!” he says. Yes. I love it. (But also, lol at Sokka booing Aang.) Despite this, Aang really does not handle that first interaction very well!

So frustrating how her parents were treating her. “She’s fragile and helpless!” what a thing to say about your daughter. [Also you literally named her “tough”?!] And he is basically going to imprison her, wtf. & how do you get off saying “the avatar is no longer welcome here”?! smh children whose parents try to “control” their kids always end up being the most rebellious.

I was amused that “my dad changed his mind” apparently was a popular lie daughters use on this show. *facepalm*

I liked the contrast between how Toph wanted to teach Aang and how Katara thought he should be taught! That was interesting. And yeah, Toph certainly lives up to her name.

Zuko & Iroh

Spent a good portion of the early part of this season wondering how Zuko and Iroh could possibly be related to the awful Fire Lord (and Azula for that matter — jeez she is nuts!), and longing to know what happened to Zuko’s mom. (Obviously that would be answered soon!)

Knowing that Zuko eventually joins the Aang crew, but also remembering that I never saw Iroh with them, made me SEVERELY worried that something terrible would happen to Iroh. And I spent the entire rest of the series worrying about that. Uh, especially since, apparently Iroh is hopeless at Survival 101. Honestly that was surprising to me.

Zuko deciding they needed to split up was devastating!!! No!!! I loved the adventures of Zuko & Iroh!! He said, “There's no reason for us to stick together,” and I was like, “Yes there is you idiot! Because you’re family and you love each other!!!” I was so sad. I mean, also Iroh is currently the only person who likes Zuko, so, you know, that might be a good reason to stay with him. Just a thought.

The last thing Zuko needs is to be alone, that will NOT be good for his issues. And lo and behold, look! Immediately, he’s struggling on his own. But I did like that episode (“Chapter 7: Zuko Alone”) because we get to see Zuko’s mom! (Uh, did she have a name?) Turtle ducks are so cute.

“Everything I’ve done I’ve done to protect you.” THIS. SLAYED. ME!!!!!! I mean, y’all know Rogue One is my jam so this parallel with Zuko’s mom and Galen Erso????? I lost it. I just lost it. Plus, though it isn’t confirmed until later, we can tell she’s sacrificing herself to save Zuko and just. (A) what a completely messed up family, but (B) MY HEART. SHE BETTER BE ALIVE is all I’m saying.

Interesting side note: they never show Ozai’s face in the early seasons.

If you assumed that I was delighted to see Iroh has been tailing Zuko this whole time, you’d be correct. I had hoped that was the case and was very glad it was. Although *facepalm* again at Zuko. I suppose he had no way of knowing Katara had healing powers but it was so frustrating knowing if he had just listened to them for one minute they could have helped Iroh after Azula blasted him. At least he made him tea and nursed him back to health.

If the evil advisor of Ba Sing Se had files on everyone and knew everything that went on… I mean… did he know about Iroh and Zuko?

I didn’t jot down any notes about this at the time, BUT. Man. Did I ADORE Zuko and Iroh’s adventures in Ba Sing Se. I mean it was a nice relief from all the other crazy stuff happening. (Not happy to see Jet though. Ugh.)

Finally, though, Zuko’s betrayal at the very end of the season totally shocked me. Because of spoilers, I knew he’d join Aang’s crew, and so it was so confusing! And such a regression, I really didn’t understand it and was very worried about what it would mean for his redemption arc — but more on that in the next post, don’t want to get ahead.

Azula

Oh. Boy. Again, I knew she was going to be crazy, but I don’t think I was prepared for just how messed up she is. “Do the tides command this ship. You said they would not allow us…” Jeez that is pedantic in a very bizarre way and obviously not what was meant… Yikes.

Also, Azula is much better at finding Zuko than Zuko is at finding Aang. Just a stray observation.

“Father regrets your banishment. He wants you home.” [insert IT’s A TRAP gif here]

“If the Earth Kingdom finds us, they'll have us killed. If the Fire Nation finds us, they'll turn us over to Azula. Earth kingdom it is.” Yeah, this line was hilarious but also sad. It really said a lot about Azula, and Zuko and Iroh’s relationship with her.

Had no idea Azula had her own crew. It was incredibly clear that Ty Lee felt coerced to join her and didn’t really want to, but that was less clear to me for Mai. Mainly seemed like Mai was bored with where she was and was just like “shrugs might as well do evil stuff.”

I did know that a character named “Mai” would eventually be Zuko’s love interest (and it is pretty heavily portrayed that she has a crush on him), so at this point, I was very much like, “Hmm. This character is too apathetic and annoying, I don’t want her to end up with Zuko!” Plus, the fact that her name was pronounced “May,” (which was not how I thought “Mai” was pronounced) and I knew Zuko would have a thing with a lady in a tea shop, I wasn’t 100% sure Zuko/Mai were end game.

“She’s crazy and she needs to go down.” I think Iroh said this. I just don’t know what to say. Why is Azula the way she is? That’s never entirely clear to me. In some ways, it’s implied she was just Like That (in the flashback where mom is like “What is wrong with you?”) and perhaps she’s just her father’s daughter. I don’t need a reason, per se. Idk. I just don’t know what to say to her. She clearly needs help.

#avatar the last airbender #avatar: the last airbender #atla #a:tla

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border-spam · 4 years

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Was gonna write a thinkpiece on this, but I'm not sure if it'd just be me thinking it, so I'm asking your opinion - would it be fair to suggest that a reason for BL3's shortcoming was the heavy ~girl power~ being forced, and ultimately being done horribly wrong? I'm worried bc I used to be internally misogynistic and idk if it's me noticing a major weakpoint in writing, or if I need to keep working on myself. Strong women was huge thing for BL3, but it felt so...poorly done.

Oooof what a question!

It’s gonna be highly based on opinion here so if you’re doing a think-piece on this, definitely go with your own thoughts on it, but personally I think it wasn’t so much “Girl Power” that screwed things up, it was just poor writing in general. Now when I say poor writing, I don’t mean poor writers. The writers had to be competent or they wouldn’t have the job, the final edit together of the content from the game was a trainwreck and absolutely slaughtered any writing it contained, so keep that in mind as I go on. Bl3 massively focused on women, it’s impossible to ignore that. Almost all men in the game were relegated to side chars, punchlines, or guest appearances. Most of the men were either depicted as woefully incompetent, stupid, not in a position of leadership, of highly flawed in one way or another ( Bar the minor male chars, which is weird? But again I think that’s due to editing and their content was relatively untouched). The women were depicted as powerful, intelligent, leaders etc, BUT, that was only how they were depicted. How they acted, was as flawed as the men. There’s the crux right there. Why did other characters react like these women were flawless while us as as the players were watching and rolling our eyes at them as much as the men? Vaughn and Rhys struggled just as much, but they weren’t in the spotlight for most of the game or part of the cutscenes and ending, so we don’t put as much weight on them as the women. Why was Lilith’s ending acted out like we should be crying our eyes out at the noble loss of a fantastic leader, when we never experienced her actually acting that way? The writing acted like we should feel one way about a character, while actually making us experience them very differently. Were we meant to feel hatred/empathy/a sense of loss for Tyreen? The game sure seemed to imply we should care about her “hard hitting moments”, but in reality there was nothing actually there most of the time so we were being prompted to react in one way while experiencing them another. Were we meant to actually be happy for Ava and see her as a blossoming leader when we’ve had no experience with her bar irritation? Was Tannis’ big reveal as a Siren meant to actually have gravitas, when she’d spent the whole game bizarrely uninterested in Sirens and turned into a Mary Sue problem solver for plot points as soon as she was revealed?

Because BL3 had a LOT of main women chars, these problems appear to be related to them, that they were “pushing Girl Power” and screwed up the story over it. I think they just screwed up the story while happening to have a lot of women there to take the brunt of the backlash because they for some reason didn’t have any men as main characters. We go through Bl3 seeing men and women both be flawed, terrible, irritating people, but for some reason the writing tells us we should be in awe of those women and not the men. That Lilith is an amazing leader, Ava a flawed girl who’s grown into something stronger, Tyreen a broken, monstrous entity we should pity and fear, Moxxi a powerful sexual being with more brain than bust, and Tannis a genius with an incredible secret. But they gave us bland, irritating, mary-sue esque leads, so it feels like we are being treated like idiots. We don’t like these women, they don’t feel like powerful women, but we are being told over and over they are. That’s a writing issue, not a problem with “Girl Power”. Strong, fleshed out, flawed, real women are amazing and you can’t have too many of them in any content. It’s just that we didn’t actually get that, while being told we did.

Asks are Open!

#borderlands #moxxi #tannis #lilith #tyreen #critique #garlicbreadbowl

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minervahopebeyond · 4 years

Text

Blood Petals.

Hello!! I hope you like this one!! Tell me in the comments what you thought! It’s so fun to read them 💕

Ps. I’ve checked but sorry if you find any errors in this one (grammar or vocabulary)

Chapter 19: The charade.

The firsts weeks back at Hogwarts were difficult. Potter had adopted this attitude with him that Draco did not like.

He nearly hadn’t talked to the green-eyed boy since New Year’s Eve. Potter only spoke to him if necessary, and would (deliberately) find excuses to not spend time with the Golden Trio if the Slytherins were there.

He found himself in a dilemma. If he told the truth, Potter would talk to him again (which was a good thing), but strategically speaking... Weasley thinking that Draco was in love with Theo was the best thing that could ever happen to him. The redhead had stopped writing in that stupid notebook and if Draco didn’t keep up the charade, he was bound to start his little investigation again.

Draco had to admit that Theodore was the most logical choice to explain the Hanahaki. If he denied Weasley’s theory, eventually his friend would put two and two together and Draco’s life would be over. Well... He was already dying, but at least he could die with dignity.

He didn’t have a chance with Potter; his only comfort was being close to him, in the way he had been this last couple of months. And Weasley said that he would come around eventually... So Draco just went with it.

He always had this thing for Theo. It was really insignificant compared to what he felt for Potter, but it was there. He just really hated to admit it. The blond boy always thought that the brunette was beautiful, Pansy even used to tease him for staring from time to time.

There was also something about the way he treated Draco... and no, he didn’t mean when somebody was watching them, because Theo would get really defensive and say stupid shit all the time. He meant the way he was when they were alone, the gifts he gave to him on his birthday when everyone was sleep, the way that he would crawl into Draco’s bed when he had a nightmare, and things like what he did for him at the hospital... Looking for solutions, breaking rules just to see him safe; even if they were in this limbo of friendship right now.

Draco always had his doubts with Theo. What he said on the Hogsmade weekend was true: homophobic bastards tended to be just scare little boys still in the closet. The brunette made really clear ,everyday, that he was disgusted by homosexuality and he only liked girls. But then, he would treat him like that... he didn’t care if Draco hugged him in his sleep and honestly, he just couldn’t understand how someone that homophobic could be so comfortable with the affection of his gay best friend. This were all the his reasons to put him on the list with the question marks; he truly didn’t know.

Weeks turned into a month and a half and Valentine’s Day was here. Potter was still avoiding him. He didn’t treat him badly if he saw him, but... Draco noticed the difference with before; he didn’t smile warmly at him anymore and he didn’t reach out to him if he had a problem, not even to talk about Ginevra. The blond boy couldn’t understand how he got to a moment of his life where he wished that scarhead would tell him about his stupid crush on Weasley’s sister.

He was with the weasel outside, the disgusting lovey-dovey thing that was happening on the Great Hall was just too much.

“Are you sending him something?” The redhead asked curiously. He looked at him like he had lost his mind. “I just think that maybe you could approach him anonymously, at least.” Draco snorted.

“He would know it’s me.” And that just put a smug smile on Weasley’s face.

“Yes, because you have this weird connection that only you two can understand.”

And Draco almost cried because that applied to Potter as well. He coughed a few times right next to Weasley.

—————

Ron’s birthday came and Draco looked like shit. His coughs were more regular because Potter was putting this distance between them.

He checked himself on the mirror one last time. The make up almost covered the dark circles around his eyes, he still looked kind of tired but he could say that he had stayed studying the night before. He grabbed Weasley’s present and went to meet everyone at the Great Hall.

Blaise and Pansy were already at the Gryffindor table with the Golden Trio and some of the other Gryffindors. It was kind of bizarre to see them with green ties in a sea of Red and golden.

He walked to where they were, and sat right between Weasley and Potter. He knew it was a desperate thing to do, but he couldn’t help it; the daffodils were moving inside of him, begging him to be close to the boy. He could feel Potter shifting in his seat, uncomfortable. ‘I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me around but I think I might just die if we keep this up.’

He put the little box in front of Weasley. The redhead smiled at him as he opened it, then, he stared at it confused.

“This is a necklace, ferret.” Draco snorted.

“How observant, weasel.”

Then he heard Hermione hissing at the redhead.

“Ronald! Don’t be ungrateful! Say thank you.” And the poor weasel was looking at him, trying to lie and thank him for the jewelry but he couldn’t. Draco laughed and showed him the little note inside the box. Weasley started to read it.

Happy Birthday, weasel.

The necklace has a drop of my blood inside of it (yes, I know it’s gross).

For whatever shit that you and the other two idiots are planning... I wanted to have a way of knowing that you were alive.

-Ferret.

Suddenly Ron was pulling him into a bone crushing hug, Draco widened his eyes before returning the hug.

“This is brilliant. Thank you.” Then he let the blond boy, to put on the necklace and hide it inside his shirt. Draco smiled.

Pansy and Blaise already knew what it was, but the rest of the Gryffindors were all asking about the gift. Weasley said that it was confidential and as the birthday boy he was demanding the subject to be dropped entirely, so they could enjoy the rest of the breakfast. After all, this was the only moment in the day where the Slytherins could be there since they didn’t share classes on Mondays.

Potter didn’t talk to him, not even once. Draco thought that being Weasley’s birthday he would be a little kinder but the boy seemed to be even more distant with him. He was almost getting used to the awful feeling inside of his lungs, to the petals burning them constantly. He just wished he didn’t have to.

————————-

The next day, Draco was called by Severus to his office. He thought that maybe it was his weekly report on his mother... He couldn’t have been any more wrong.

“The Weasley boy is unconscious at the infirmary. Apparently last night he drank something that was poisoned. I’m giving you the first two periods to visit him. I’ll ask Miss Parkinson and Mister Zabini to take notes for you.”

Draco just stood there. Trying to process what Severus just told him.

“Is he alright...? I mean-“ He asked in a strangled voice.

“He is stable. He was with Potter and Professor Slughorn. Horace says that Harry gave him a bezoar right on time, honestly I’m shocked that Potter even knows what a bezoar is.”

Draco glared at his godfather.

“It’s first year level, Severus. He is not stupid.” The man didn’t even raise his eyes from what he was writing.

“Yes, Draco. I’ll be careful not to insult our savior in front of you.” Draco rolled his eyes and exited the office.

When he got to the infirmary, Potter and Granger were the only ones there, right next to Weasley’s bed. The boy had his eyes closed, if Draco forgot about the bad news, he could imagine that the redhead was just sleeping.

He got closer to look at him. Poor Weasley, on his birthday of all things.

“You can thank your one true love for this.” Potter hissed behind him. Granger reacted faster than Draco, the only thing he could do was coughed because of the boy’s tone.

“Don’t, Harry. This wasn’t Draco’s fault.” Then, the dark-haired boy went from not talking to him, to yell at him, really fast.

“I don’t even have doubts that he was the one who poisoned the Mead. It was a present for Dumbledore, you know?” His green eyes were livid, he was so angry with him. The petals were hurting the blond boy, and he couldn’t help but to cough again. That only seemed to make things worst. “Nott is trying to murder a person, Ron got poisoned in the process and what do you do?? You just cough those fucking flowers.”

The tears started to form on Draco’s eyes. The air was not getting in. Potter always thought that the Hanahaki was a poetic thing, something that spoke deeply about the blond boy’s love. Now, he was looking at him like he was disgusted of the petals that fell from his mouth.

He couldn’t speak. His lungs were burning, the familiar feeling of the daffodils cutting the walls that were keeping them in. He tried to breath but it was impossible.

And he didn’t want to be a burden to Potter. He knew that this was the most ridiculous disease ever, that nobody needed him coughing all over the place. He knew that the petals were ugly when they were covered with his blood. Draco was extremely aware of it all and he didn’t need the love of his life saying that he found him disgusting.

The tears were flowing from his eyes he didn’t know if they were from sadness or from the incredible pain he was experiencing. Draco turned around and coughed his way out of the hospital wing, trying to find somewhere where he could have the bloody coughing fit in peace.

He didn’t get too far, just the nearest bathroom, and soon enough Granger appeared. She casted some privacy spells around them, before sitting with him on the floor. Draco was surprise that she didn’t even care that this was the boys’ bathroom.

She waited for the blond boy to stop coughing; maybe between the coughs, she would vanish the petals that were lying on the floor.

“Are you better? Do you need your potions?” Draco shook his head, he hated those, they made him nauseous.

“I’m okay.” His voice came out rough. “You can go back to Ron, Granger.”

“Hermione.” The girl answered. “I call you Draco, you should call me by my name too.”

He understood why Weasley loved her. She was passionate about things and about the people she cared about... It was amazing that the blond boy was now one of those people.

“I’m sorry.” The girl looked at him with confused eyes. “For calling you that word. I’m sorry.” He said in a low voice.

Then, the girl smiled at him, kind eyes on her face.

“I don’t care anymore, Draco... But thank you for apologizing, I appreciate it.” He did a short nod and looked away.

They kept sitting there in silence for a while until the girl spoke again.

“I’m sure Ron already told you... But sometimes Harry just gets like this. I know it’s hard to see it now because you two are fighting, but really, you shouldn’t feel responsible for his own anger: that’s on him.” Draco looked at her curious, waiting for her to keep talking. “In third year Sirius sent him a Firebolt and we didn’t know that he was innocent yet. I was worried so I gave the broom to McGonagall... I think we didn’t talk for like two months or so. Maybe more, I don’t even want to remember.” Draco chuckled until he saw the girl’s face.

“You are not kidding...”

“No.” Draco snorted.

“What a prat, Merlin.” This time it was Hermione the one who laughed.

“Indeed.” She said as he looked at him. “So, believe us when we say that this will pass.”

Draco could only nod again.

————————

He was having an internal debate about if he should confront Theodore or not. He had been acting really weird this couple of weeks and Draco just couldn’t forget what Potter had said.

He checked if the rest of the boys were sleep before going to the brunette’s bed. Draco opened the curtains to let himself in and shut them quickly behind him.

“What do you think you are doing?” The boy hissed as he took his wand to cast a muffliato. Draco only glared at him.

“Was it you?”

“I don’t even know what you are talking about, Malfoy.” The blond boy grabbed his arm to get his attention.

“Don’t do that. I asked you a question, Theodore.”

The hazel eyed boy looked at him, intensely; eyes full of mixed emotions. He removed his arm from Draco’s grip and slowly began to roll up his sleeve.

And there it was. The dark mark clashed with his white skin. Theodore’s arm looked corrupted and Draco wanted to cry from the impotence he felt. He looked at the hazel-eyed again.

“Why would you do this to yourself?Don’t you see? The Dark Lord is going to loose in the long run, and you are going to live the life that our fathers lived. Your children will be called the same disgusting things that they called us.”

He knew that Theo would be get angry but he didn’t care. He needed to understand.

“Not everyone can just runaway like you or your precious cousin. It’s just my father and me, what was I supposed to do?” And Draco lost his cool at that.

“<cite> Maybe</cite> you could try not to poison my friend in a lousy attempt to kill the headmaster.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “Do you realize that killing someone is going to change you forever? You will remember it for the rest of your life. Its’s not a fucking game, Theo.”

And that just made him really angry.

“I sure fucking hope that Potter remembers for the rest of his life that he killed you, so yes. I’m fucking aware of what is going to happen, Draco.”

The tears started to form in his eyes.

“Don’t fucking blame him for this.”

“Why the fuck not? I hate him. He doesn’t even deserves half of what you have done for him.” The boy hissed.

“He doesn’t know. No one does.” Theo looked confused, he raised one eyebrow.

“Who do they think it is?” Draco looked away, uncomfortable. He didn’t know how the brunette would react.

“You.” He said in a low voice.

There was a moment of silence, the blond boy was too scare of looking at him. Then he heard Theodore’s laughter.

“My my, how the tables have turn. Let me guess, he is fucking pissed about it.” The hazel-eyed boy asked with a smirk. Draco blushed and rolled his eyes.

“We were talking about something that’s actually important, Theodore.”

And the boy just looked at him with pained eyes.

“There is little that I wouldn’t do for you.” The boy sighed and laid on his bed. “Sadly, this is one of them.”

Draco felt so fucking sad, he knew that Theodore would regret this. He felt the brunette grabbing his hand, guiding him to lie next to him. The blond boy followed and put his head on the pillow, looking at him.

“I’m sorry about Weasley. He seems decent, makes you laugh.” Draco nodded and smiled at him.

They stayed in silence for a while. Theodore rolled down his sleeve and then he said:

“Can we forget about this shit just for a while?... I missed this.”

And how could Draco say no to him? His hazel eyes looking right at him, begging for at least some peace in the middle of this martyrdom...

“Yes. Now shut up and let me sleep, Theo.

—————

The next morning, when Draco gather all his courage to go see Ron at the infirmary, he was already awake and beaming when the blond boy crossed the door. Potter and Granger were beside him, like the day before. The Gryffindor girl looked quite happy too... Potter on the other hand looked even angrier than the day before.

He walked towards them, smiling at Weasley.

“It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling?” He asked.

“Oh, Who cares?? I mean I’m fine. But how are you feeling?” The redhead answered with an excited face. Draco frowned.

“Ron, shut the hell up.” Potter hissed at him, and the weasel rolled his eyes.

“What? I’m just asking.”

“I don’t think I’m following, weasel. You are the one at the hospital-“ But his friend interrupted him.

“But you spent the night with Nott!”

Draco blushed instantly, frowning at Weasley. Then, he turned to look at the rest of the golden trio; Potter was glaring at Ron and Hermione was looking at him, waiting for an answer. He stuttered a response.

“Ho-How the fuck do you know that?? And I- It wasn’t like that, I just was talking with him about something and fell sleep.”

“After he put Ron in the fucking hospital?” Potter hissed at him. He fought to keep the petals down.

“You have no proof of that, Oh Chosen One. Besides: it’s my life. I don’t know how the hell you spied on me, but back off. You can’t ignore my existence and then do this shit.” The green-eyed boy crossed his arms and lowered his gaze to the floor as he responded.

“Zabini told us. He was here before you got here.” The blond boy snorted.

He even had the audacity of lying to him. Did he think that Draco was stupid?

“You might try to lie to me a little better, Potty. Blaise had never batted an eyelash about me spending the night with Theodore. And he would most definitely not tell you about it, after the way you been treating me lately.”

The dark-haired boy was staring at him, dumbfounded. His eyes were a little angry, maybe he was pissed off about Draco catching him in his lies. Then he turned to look at the other two thirds of the Golden Trio.

“So? Is somebody going to tell me the truth?” He asked in annoyance. The three of them kept silent. “Fine, whatever.”

And he left the infirmary, fucking livid.

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

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lifeonashelf · 3 years

Text

...INTERLUDE...

Come to Vegas! We can make out, gamble, and forget all our troubles.

This is quite possibly the greatest text message I have ever received. Four days later, I hit the road.

I have never driven to Las Vegas by myself. Once I complete the journey I can’t fathom why this is, because despite the extended sprawl of nothing between us, Vegas isn’t nearly as far away as I picture it in my mind. I arrive in 3 hours and 17 minutes (which, oddly, is the exact figure Google Maps gave me when I checked the route before leaving my apartment—this is even more astonishing when you factor in that Google not only calculated my precise rate of speed for the entire trek, but evidently also predicted that I would be pulling off the road for seven minutes to have a cigarette at a rest stop just outside Baker). On the way, I listen to two volumes of a 10-disc playlist I made a few months earlier. When I burn mix CDs for myself, they are ridiculously schizophrenic—crossing the state line, I hear Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”, my favorite track by the death metal band Gorefest, and then “Cool For The Summer” by Demi Lovato in immediate succession, and I sing every word to each of them. Needless to say, it is an awesome drive.

Everything proceeds smoothly when I arrive. The Gold Coast has my lodgings ready for me two hours prior to the posted check-in time and they are able to accommodate my request for a smoking flat. I take my bag up to the 9th floor, set up my laptop at the table by the window, and then smoke a cigarette in my room just because I fucking can. I purposefully skipped dinner the night before so my stomach would be prepared to maximize the possibilities offered by the hotel’s Ports O’ Call Buffet. I tear that shit up, then head to the lounge to play a bit of video poker and get a cup of coffee—the machines at the bartop are not kind to me; that cup of coffee ends up costing me sixty dollars. Such is Vegas.

The day is uneventful, by Las Vegas standards. I drink more coffee, I gamble some more and win back my sixty bucks, I write a bit, I watch some basketball. But I am really just killing time. Because the passing hours are merely a preamble; the woman who sent me the text message which acted as the siren song for this trip is in the same town as me, and come “around 7ish” we will be in the same building.

She’s here on business. ___ is a reality television producer, and has been dispatched to Sin City to film the upcoming season of the show Hell’s Kitchen. I have not seen her in over two years, even though she only lives 30 miles from my apartment in real life and driving to Nevada is in fact way more effort than I would normally have to exert to visit her. But our real lives are rarely able to intersect. Besides, I love Las Vegas. And there’s something undeniably enchanting about the prospect of walking beside a beautiful girl amidst a panorama of brilliant dramatic neon and exotic stereoscopic night-sounds. Being in Vegas is like being in a movie, and the character you get to play has way more fun than you do when you’re not on-screen. Compared to my daily existence, and the daily existence of anyone who does not live here, the milieu of Vegas feels like an ethereal dream. That’s why it’s the perfect place to rendezvous with ___; being around her is so intoxicating that it feels much the same.

Our history spans nearly two decades. It is as complicated and messy and wonderful as any history I have ever shared with anyone. I cannot possibly recount all of it here, though I will tell you some. I lost a girlfriend when ___ and I became close because that girlfriend clearly identified that we were mutually attracted to each other. I would have never cheated, but my relationship imploded because I aggressively refuted her well-founded apprehensions and pretended like she was acting crazy for even insinuating I was drawn this person who I would 17 years later drive 230 miles to visit at the whim of a late night text. As a result I broke the heart of an incredible woman who deserved far better, and she broke mine by dumping me. Twenty-four hours subsequent, I was on a park bench making out with a girl who I swore up and down was merely a platonic acquaintance, and I was officially a liar.

I was 23 years old. I was also far more charming and attractive than I am now, and in the mindset to actively explore the positive corollaries which arose from that confluence. I spent a few years kissing a lot of girls because I was single and I was in my early twenties and it’s a good idea to kiss as many girls as you can when you’re single and in your early twenties because you won’t get to kiss too many more after that. Despite the sagacity I demonstrated by accurately predicting this, I was an unadulterated fucking idiot when it came to ___. I am horrified by my conduct throughout everything that ensued between us, and I will forever be haunted by the what-ifs brought about by the consequent brazen stupidity I exhibited.

From the moment we began groping each other at Cahuilla Park in Claremont, ___ became sort of a surrogate for the girlfriend I had sacrificed, a proxy upon whom I could bestow both the passion that had been extinguished and the anguish that had been stoked after the break-up. ___ did not kill my relationship, I killed it by being a callous asshole. But I think subconsciously I blamed her anyway (for having the audacity to enter my life and be the extraordinary girl she is, I suppose); that was far easier than owning up to the fact that I had acted like an irredeemable piece of shit toward the girl she supplanted. My pride and my heart were wounded and I couldn’t take it out on the person whose inescapable-in-hindsight decision had caused those injuries since she was no longer taking my calls. So I took it out on her replacement instead. And over the course of the several tumultuous months that followed, I proceeded to meticulously break the heart of another incredible woman who deserved far better.

I have never handled anyone as poorly as I handled ___. She was a dazzling and unequivocal gem, yet I treated her like she meant nothing to me at all. The mere thought of her being with anyone else drove me mad, yet instead of telling her this I told her time and time again that she could never have me all to herself and continued dating other people to underscore my assertion. More than once, I brought her to tears by stating in no uncertain terms that I never wanted to see her again, only to call her the very next night and ask her to come over as if that conversation never happened. I wasn’t simply emotionally abusive to ___, I was utterly fiendish to her. For every year of my life leading up to that one and every year since, I have been proud to conduct myself as a true gentleman, so I will never understand how I was even capable of hurting anyone as persistently and comprehensively as I hurt her. Rest assured, I didn’t understand it at the time, either. Nor did I understand why no matter how awful I was to her, she still saw the best in me and held out hope that I would come to my senses and acknowledge the singularly special thing that was standing right in front of me.

Unfortunately, I realized far too late that the reason ___ did so was because she was deeply in love with me. And I also realized far too late that I was deeply in love with her.

By then I had done about as much damage to her psyche as one person could do to another. Though she wouldn’t know it, my comeuppance was delivered by the next woman I entered into a failed relationship with, who put me through a lot of the same things I put ___ through and came up with several novel doozies of her own for good measure. ___ and I remained in sporadic telephone contact, though we rarely saw each other in person. Bizarrely, this had the upshot of emphasizing the indissoluble strength of our bond, since none of the interactions we had were stilted by our silence and distance—every time we came together, I felt as close to her as ever and she clearly felt the same.

Over the years, we’ve had numerous conversations about what happened between us. I wish to keep those private, but the essence of what has been expressed is that despite everything she considers me one of the people closest to her in the world. She also told me that “Perfect” by The Smashing Pumpkins is her song to me; I listen to it often, even though those beautiful and devastating lyrics always bring tears to my eyes.

Of course, along the way I finally did what she desperately wished I would have done 17 years ago. I came to my senses and acknowledged the singularly special thing that was once standing right in front of me. I made overtures to that effect on a couple of occasions when we once again found ourselves simultaneously single, but they were way overdue. She said she did still love me and always would, but the wall I forced her to build to shield herself from me had grown too tall and sturdy to tear down. A tacit understanding developed between us: we would be friends for the rest of our lives, but I had confused and harmed her enough for one lifetime and she was not willing to give me any chance to add to that abominable legacy. It’s a verdict I had no choice but to accept because it was a much better one than I deserved; she would have been undeniably justified in never wanting to speak to me again.

I know ___ has never wholly resolved the chaos of emotions I stirred within her, neither the amorous nor the angry. Some cuts are too deep to be sutured, and those tend to leave scars. Truthfully, I think she despises me as much as she adores me; she just adores me too much to let the other side win out most of the time. But this paradox is entirely fitting because our entire relationship is a paradox, a saga of two satellites which have shared each other’s orbit since they were launched and create a blinding explosion when they collide. Last night, she kissed me in the lobby of the Golden Nugget casino and we melted into each other just like we did that first time in Cahuilla Park, seventeen years erased by the touching of lips. When we came up for air, she wrapped her arms around me and buried her face against my chest and said, “god, I hate you,” with so much love in her voice that it made my stomach swim. It was the perfect thing for her to say in that moment, both because it is absolutely true and because it is the absolute opposite of the truth.

We had a delightful night on Fremont Street, both of us properly investigating that very cool region of the city for the first time. We had some drinks and we listened to some music and we played some poker and we held hands as we walked the promenade. For a few hours, we got to be the couple both of us wanted to be at one time or another, just never at the same time; we even fought like a couple for part of that span, since the resentment and pain she’s had to bury deep within herself to continue accepting me into her life despite my previous sins still gets triggered from time to time when we speak of the past. Regardless, I wouldn’t have changed a second of it. The night was absolutely magical, because ___ is absolutely magical.

But the spell of Las Vegas gets broken once you realize that nothing there is real. There’s an axiom people use to justify all manner of debauchery they engage in while visiting Sin City: “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Tonight ___ is out with a large group of people who esteem her, and I am alone in a smoky room sitting at my laptop, which is a lot closer to what our individual non-Las Vegas lives look like. This artificial vacation existence in which we were united as one happened in Vegas and will stay in Vegas, because it has to. Because, truthfully, the life she built for herself without me is much richer than the life I built for myself without her. Tomorrow morning I will get in my truck and exit this city of lights to travel back across a stretch of barren desert the length of two mix-CDs, and after I arrive home I will spend the next interminable number of days and nights sitting at my laptop in a room that is less smoky than this one but no less lonely. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning ___ will continue to work her fascinating job and then she will leave the country on some adventure, and no matter where she is and what she’s doing, she will be surrounded by people whose company is far more gratifying to her than mine ever could be.

The hours we spent holding hands on Fremont Street were unreal. But they were also so real that I am still reeling from the aftershock of our latest satellite collision. Our relationship, both the real and the unreal, befits that manner of contradiction. I don’t think ___ and I are still in love with each other, but I do still love her in a way that I have never loved anyone else. I have committed unconditionally to other women in her absence and redistributed the connection we share into a more manageable framework, but whenever there is no one in my life I can’t help but recognize that there very well could be if I hadn’t once been a soulless beast to someone who was merely pleading for me to appreciate them the way they sincerely deserved to be appreciated. ___ is without a doubt one of the most phenomenal and inside-out beautiful human beings I have ever known and I cannot conceive of my life without her in it, yet I still to this day find it difficult to face her. Every moment I spend with ___ feels like a gift, but those moments also sting in equal measure, because she is a walking reminder of me at my absolute worst.

I don’t think she has ever truly forgiven me. I’m not sure she really ever could, or should. Nothing I do today can undo what I did yesterday. I know that no matter how exhilarating it feels to look into her gorgeous and soulful eyes after we kiss in a glittering alternate universe, there are times when she looks at me and only sees a man who likely hurt her worse than anyone else she has ever known. I know there is a part of her that will always love me, but I also know there’s a part of her that wishes she had never even met me.

While I can only suppose what the world might look like if I had treasured her instead of trashing her all those years ago, I am positive that it would look far better and brighter than it does now. I’m aware that even if I had done the right things then, it’s improbable we would still be together today. Very few relationships go that distance, and despite our exceptional chemistry, ___ and I are not effortlessly compatible. I wouldn’t change a single thing about her, but there are unchangeable things about me I know she could not abide and no one should have to. She detests smoking; I enjoy smoking more than I enjoy most other things. She dreams of spending her days traveling and exploring; I dream of sitting in my easy chair and watching blu-rays.

She thinks I was worth falling in love with; I think strongly otherwise.

I don’t specifically wish ___ and I were together now. Yet therein lies another paradox. Because I got a little glimpse of what that might look like last night on Fremont Street, and it looked amazing. But that wasn’t real, that was Las Vegas; what happens there stays there. It was a magnificent movie, but that’s not what our actual lives look like. We could make out, we could gamble, but we could never forget all our troubles—no matter how much she loved me then and loves me now, I will always be one of hers.

So maybe what I do wish is that I could really be the person she was holding hands with in that unreal fantasy, the person who kissed her with abandon in the lobby of the Golden Nugget, the person she gazed at with unbridled tenderness during that joyful interlude when both of us were able to shelve our past and exist solely and safely in our present. The person she hoped I would become before I shattered her hopes by becoming a monster. Regrettably, untethered from our mutual orbit, I grew to be someone else entirely, someone with numerous regrets he can never completely atone for, someone she will always measure with a watchful and skeptical eye to protect herself. Someone who can never be anyone else except who he is. And that person simply would not be capable of making ___ as happy as she deserves to be, because he already had his chance to do that and made her miserable instead.

Besides, he can barely make himself happy most of the time.

###

The trip home is an inexorably depressing conclusion to every great vacation—you’re doing the exact same thing you did when you set off, except there isn’t anything to look forward to when you arrive. Fittingly, an unseasonable rain is coming down when I hit the 15 Freeway. The water-dappled windshield and the desolate unfolding highway ahead evoke another cinematic scene, perhaps a montage in which the central character takes a long drive to think heavy thoughts. At the risk of becoming a cliché, that is exactly what I do.

My mix-CDs play on, the music blurring past with the miles. I hear “Wonderwall” and I hear “Stairway to Heaven”, which are two songs that everyone should listen to extremely loudly on the open road at least once in their life. Seaweed… Tiamat… Purity Ring… My Chemical Romance… P!nk… The Dillinger Escape Plan... Fleetwood Mac… Each one of them imparts a decisively fantastic tune, but this time I’m not singing along. I am instead blinking away tears as it dawns on me exactly how much I am leaving behind in Las Vegas. Not the money I lost at the video poker machines, but the luminous girl I wagered at the age of 23 when I made a much more foolish gamble than I could have ever imagined and ended up losing the most precious thing I never had. The fortune that I lose over and over again every time ___ and I part from each other and return to the real world.

I discover that her hold on me, this cosmic magnetism we share, has not diminished with time. And I discover that the axiom is not absolute—not everything that happens in Vegas stays there; some things follow you all the way home.

That night on Fremont Street, she told me that she will never be completely over me. At least that makes us even in one respect.

Though the imprint I left on her heart was shaped like a bruise, there will always be a piece of mine that is the precise shape and size of ___. That piece belongs to her, and though it is a woeful consolation prize, it is the only one I will ever have the opportunity to give her.

But it does come with a vow: forever and always, whenever and wherever we meet, in Las Vegas and in real life, I promise we’ll be perfect.

May 9, 2019

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kingofdirtandnothing · 3 years

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@polyfacetious big ass Christmas Drabble Extravagaza: Day Twenty Two

Aerith Gainsborough has a gift. And that gift is talking people into doing something that they don’t want to do and making it feel like it was their idea in the first place. That’s the only reason Geralt can find for the fact that he’s sitting in a coffee shop on a Friday night, listening to slam poetry and geeks on guitars.

There isn’t even beer here. No spiked ciders or even Irish coffee. It’s a fucking travesty, and every time he builds himself up to say something about it, Geralt looks down at the tiny woman with a grip on his arm, and he swallows it.

Damn those eyes.

I can hear the cannons calling, as though across a dream-

Geralt pulls his sour gaze away from the top of Aerith’s head when he hears the first strains of the song. This wasn’t some hipster strumming along with a woeful little play at a folk song. There was something haunting in that voice that was drawing Geralt in.

The sight that greets him isn’t so bad either.

The man perched on the edge of the stool, a guitar propped on his knee was gorgeous. The line of his stong neck was curved as he looked down at clever, graceful fingers plucking at the strings. Brown hair brushed against his forehead, and when the singer looks up, Geralt feels a jolt in his gut.

Like the singer is looking right at him.

Distantly, he hears Aerith tell him that Cloud was there, a pat to his arm before she disappeared into the eclectic crowd. And any other night, this would have been the moment that Geralt left his seat and got the hell out of here.

But he’s pinned to the spot now, trapped beneath the stare of incredibly blue eyes and a voice that curled against the base of Geralt’s spine and laid down roots.

The song is sad, too weighty to just be called melancholy. It casts a spell over the room, most of the idle chatter and clinking of flatware and dishes falling away to the sound of it. And when it ends on a low, aching note, Geralt is pulled from the spell of it by the eruption of applause around the room.

The singer smiles, and it changes his whole face. Gone was the melancholy boy singing about lost loves. Unfortunately for Geralt, what was in his place was a disgustingly good looking man. Why did people have to be both talented, and good looking? It was unnatural.

Geralt watches him step down from the stage, cradling his guitar in his hands like it was something special, until he could slide it back into the soft case he had for it, propped up against the back wall of the coffee shop, far enough away from the lights of the makeshift stage that he wasn’t drawing attention away from the next person on the stage. (Geralt isn’t sure if it’s a man or a woman who’s taken up the stage now. He’d have to be able to look away from the singer to do that.)

Any thought Geralt might have stifled about going up and saying something to the singer is lost when people start to crowd around him. “Jaskier!” That’s Magnus, who owns the place, who swans up to the singer, this Jaskier and embraces him warmly, kissing both of his cheeks. “One of these days darling, I’m going to get you to play a happy song.”

Jaskier smiles, nose crinkling. “Oh, you know me Mags. Art is pain, et cetera, et cetera.” Jaskier waves the words away as Magnus turns back to answer a question from someone else. There was still a gaggle of people around Jaskier, and Geralt turns his glare down towards the Earl Grey in a steaming mug in his hands.

Stupid. What would he even do with a pretty little thing like that? (The back of his mind has a few vivid, sweat soaked suggestions. Geralt ignores those.) Nothing. It’s not like they’d have anything in common. It would be pointless to talk to him in the first place, and it would only end badly if he did.

Geralt downs the rest of his tea in three long scalding gulps and puts the mug down on the table. There was no reason for him to stay now, Aerith just liked the company on her walk over, and Geralt liked glaring at idiots who thought they might want to talk to her. She had her blonde boy there now, and Aerith would decide if she wanted him to walk her home. Which meant it was time for Geralt to go.

“I love the way you just sit in the corner and...brood.” The words startle Geralt from his thoughts, and he looks up to find himself face to face with those stained glass blue eyes. Damn, Jaskier was quiet on his feet. (Or Geralt wasn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings.)

“I’m here because a friend doesn’t like to walk at night alone.” He’s here, right now, because he couldn’t stop looking at the man in front of him. Now Geralt just has to convince them both that it’s a load of horse shit.

“Good. Right. Yes.” Jaskier takes a seat from the row in front of Geralt’s and straddles it, because Geralt’s life isn’t hard enough right now. (And his life isn’t the only thing that’s hard, either.) “Well. No one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance. Except you.”

It shouldn’t be charming, the bastard going from group to group around the room to collect his praise for a song well done. And yet, here they are.

“Come on.” It’s wheedling, Jaskier leaning the chair forward so that only two legs are still on the ground, his chin resting on his crossed arms. “You don’t want to keep a man with...bread in his pants waiting, now do you?”

Geralt knows better than to engage. He knows. And still the words leave his stupid mouth. “If that’s a metaphor, I don’t understand it.”

Jaskier grins. “Oh no, I never joke about bread in my pants. Watch.” Geralt watches, because what the fuck else is a man supposed to do when he sees a twink wiggling on a chair to pull a flattened piece of pain au chocolat out of his pocket, still wrapped in the plastic wrap that Bilbo used for his treats. He waves the bread around and takes a hearty bite before he speaks again. “You must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

‘I want you’ are the first three words that come to mind. And as much as Geralt is starting to get the impression that it’s mutual, he’s not putting himself down that road. Fucking some out of towner was one thing, or the girls in the red light district. It was a means to an end, a way to scratch an itch.

Fucking a local meant seeing them again. It meant feelings getting involved and everything getting messy. Geralt didn’t need anyone, and the last thing he wanted was someone needing him. “It’s not right.” There. Three words, and as polite a ‘fuck off’ as Geralt can manage.

But the words don’t make Jaskier turn away. If anything, he leans in closer. Geralt subtly places the toe of his boot against the crossbar of Jaskier’s chair to keep it from dumping over forwards. Backwards, he couldn’t help with. “Ooh. Fun. Let me guess. Not a fan of love songs? Flowers? Go on, tell me.”

Bossy. Another thing that shouldn’t be charming but it was. Geralt watches him for a long beat, but the withering stare that seemed to drive people off in droves wasn’t doing a damn thing right about now. “It’s still a lie. Even if no one hears it, you’re still lying to yourself.” Geralt would know. He’s lied to himself more than he’s ever lied to anyone else.

Jaskier, for some bizarre reason, lights up at the words. “Oh, a pedantic. This is so much better than my guess of repressed heterosexual.” Geralt scoffs, but he’s fighting a smile as he does it. Damn it all to hell.

“I’m not repressed.” He’s not heterosexual, either. There were too many good looking people in this world to fuck to leave it just to one side or the other. His mother taught him to clean his plate when he was a boy. Geralt took that missive through all aspects of his life.

“You’re not? Well that’s good to know. You’re also very rumbly.” Jaskier gives him a thumbs up before he tears the smashed remains of his croissant in half and offers it out to Geralt. “If I lure you in with sweets, will you tell me your name?”

Geralt makes a low hum of a sound in his chest, to pretend like he was thinking about it. He plucks the piece of chocolate croissant from the cling wrap and pops it into his mouth. “No.”

“No?” That earns him a bright huff of laughter from Jaskier. “You sir, are a scoundrel and a cad. If I have to lower myself to your nefarious levels to find out your name, then so be it.” Jaskier leans back in his chair and calls across the room. “Oy! Magnus!” There’s a moment before Magnus turns away from a customer, brow raised. “You know his name?”

The entire fucking room is staring at them now. Geralt has never been the kind of man to shrink away, but he’s not a big fan of attention. There are too many eyes on him right now, including Magnus Bane’s bright eyes. God help him if Magnus mentions they’ve fucked.

But surprisingly, Magnus doesn’t call back across the room. He just sends Bilbo’s little brunette assistant over, who grins at the both of them and hands Jaskier a napkin. Jaskier snaps it open, the way you would a newspaper, and hums. “Well well well. It seems you’ve been outmanuevered, my dear….Geralt.”

It’s been awhile since he’s heard his name pronounced correctly. The Mediterranien influence was strong here. They were far from his part of Europe. But he should have known a man named Jaskier would at least be within spitting distance of the parts of the world that Geralt grew up in.

“Oh no.” Geralt’s delivery is flat, as is his expression. “I’ve been found out.”

And he’s never going to admit how much he enjoys the peal of laughter it gets him. Damn it all to hell. “It’s true.” Jaskier nods along solemnly, and Geralt can feel the weight of the chair against his toe. Jaskier would be flat on his face if Geralt wasn’t holding the chair in place. “I’m a master spy. James Bond often calls me for tips. But don’t blame me for his blasphemous taste in martinis. That’s all Jim.”

Jim. Geralt rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t do a fucking thing to deter the pretty little singer staring him down with those blue eyes.

Geralt was in trouble.

“I also taught him how to pick up beautiful, dangerous people.” Geralt wouldn’t consider himself dangerous, but the size of his arms tended to put that idea into people’s heads.

Geralt cocks a brow at him. “When are you going to show me that?”

Jaskier holds a hand to his chest, leaning far back in the other direction. Geralt has to shift his foot quickly behind the cross bar to the chair to keep it from going over backwards. “Oh ho ho, the pretty boy has a sharp tongue! You wound me, sir.”

Fuck it.

Geralt uses his foot on the chair to tip Jaskier back towards him, and he’s rewarded with a yelp. He catches the back of the chair with his hand, knuckles brushing against Jaskier’s forearm as he does. Leaning in himself, the next few words are only for the beautiful disaster in front of him.

“I can show you what else this tongue can do.”

#ch: geralt #polyfacetious | jaskier #polyfacetious #v: expats row #queued #carlota's christmas drabbles

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allmightyneed · 4 years

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Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 3/20

Link to part 1. Link to part 2.

Either you take too long to answer, or whoever is here to see you is impatient. Probably the second one. You have a pretty good idea who it might be. With a blast of air, the door is kicked in, ripping it off the hinges. You shriek. It narrowly misses hitting you. What the fuck?!

You wind up to yell at him but when you actually see him all the fight goes out of you. All Might fills the empty space in the frame, his brawny chest and shoulders blocking most of the daylight.

Well, this is what you wanted.

He’s wearing a striped two piece mustard-yellow suit which clashes with his hair, and a blue tie. No mask, no harness or pauldrons.

He’s grinning, but he doesn’t seem happy.

“You made a promise.”

You nod, heart in your throat. He’s going to kill you. He’s going to pick you up by the neck and smash you against a wall. Or maybe just punch a hole through your chest. He holds out an enormous hand, making you shrink back, and his smile widens. “Have you broken your promise? Or was that just a threat?”

“N-nothing,” you stammer. “It was nothing, I wasn’t thinking.”

He makes a low ‘hmm’. “You’re not going to tell anyone?”

You shake your head fearfully.

“So you lied.” His prominent blond eyebrows form an even deeper V.

“... yes.” You admit, your voice small.

“That,” he breathes, “was incredibly stupid.”

“I’m not! And that’s not fair. You made me promise, you forced me!”

“Bullshit,” he scowls. “There’s always a choice. Did I make you lie?”

“No,” you pout.

He takes his first step into your apartment, getting into your personal space. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Oh? So who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“Look at me, girl.”

Tears of frustration prick your eyes, you feel your face flaming under his intense scrutiny.

“Look at me,” he commands impatiently, before roughly taking your chin in his hand and lifting your face. You don’t try to wrench away from his touch. “Why did you lie to me?”

“I don’t know!” You insist, frantically searching for some answer that might appease him, but you really don’t know.

“You do,” he presses, his voice pitched even lower. “Tell me the truth now.”

“I… I lied so you would come find me.”

“Why?”

“I wanted you to pay attention to me!” These words burst out, a revelation even to yourself, and you exhale in defeat. It sounds so idiotic and self-centered and childish.

“Well,” he says silkily after a moment. “I’m not usually inclined to give liars the privilege of my time.” He lets go of you, and it’s the third time you’ve seen him turn away to leave. For some reason you can’t bear for him to do it again.

“I lied about not having a quirk!” You blurt out. That gets a reaction, so you go on quickly out of desperation. “It’s called Exponent. When I touch someone, it doubles their power.”

He pauses, looking at you in profile over his shoulder. “And? Booster does that and has rockets in his feet.”

That is an awesome quirk. You should know, you’ve analyzed it. Booster is a major threat villain with essentially the same stats as a mid-range ballistic missile. But you don’t tell All Might that.

“I can touch the same person again and double what’s already doubled.”

The one blue eye that you can see gleams. “How many times?”

You consider lying again— All Might doesn’t need any more of an advantage— but you can’t withhold the truth from him, not with what’s at stake now. “My record is seven.”

“Show me.”

“I—“ bizarrely, the threat of him leaving supersedes what you should really be worried about. “Give me your hand, please. It works best on bare skin.”

He turns back to face you fully, offering you his palm. You place just your fingertips lightly on his, marveling at the difference in size between the two of you. It takes very little to activate your quirk. A minimal amount of concentration on your part, willing your body to do something very simple: give up a little bit of your energy for someone else’s benefit. The way it works has been explained to you before, by researchers, quirk medicine specialists, but you’ve never really understood well enough to be able to remember.

A little tingle passes from you to All Might. When you feel a little more tired than you did a moment ago, you know it worked. The air around him now ripples and shimmers, like it’s coming off of pavement on a scorching hot day. However powerful he was before… you’ve now doubled it. You look up at his face with a mix of awe and dread. “I’ve never used it on someone like you before. Do you feel different?”

“Do it once more.”

You do, and another fraction of your energy slips away. Certainly not enough to exhaust you, but enough that you’re aware of it. A cup of coffee would be nice.

All Might’s very presence now sets you on edge, a current of power. He could take out half of Musutafu like this, if he were so inclined. He looks curious, though. Intrigued and thoughtful, his gaze altogether too perceptive. You avert your eyes, blushing, but he won’t abide that, it seems. He lifts your chin again, searching. “Exponent takes something out of you, doesn’t it?”

“A little. Hardly anything. It gives you much more than it costs me.”

He lets you go, and you drop your head, blushing even harder. His complete focus on you is electrifying, and though you find yourself squirming under it, you don’t want him to ignore you. You want more.

“It’s a very interesting quirk,” he pronounces, musing, before switching topics. He hasn’t forgotten your malfeasance. “How do you think I should reward honesty and punish dishonesty?”

“I-I don’t know.” Was that rhetorical? He sounded like he was talking more to himself than to you, considering what to do with a misbehaving pupil; your mind spins off to an indecent place before you can rein it in.

He smiles at you like he knows what you’re thinking. Oh dear. “Will you come with me?”

For better or for worse, you agree.

***

Link to part 4.

Tags:

@smokindoinksinthejungle

#villain all might #villain all might x reader #all smite #all smite x reader #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #all might #all might x reader

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marvelousmatt · 4 years

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The Accidental Comedy of Matt Berry

The star of IFC’s detective-series spoof ‘Year of the Rabbit,’ famed for his booming voice and over-the-top faces, never set out to be funny

Matt Berry as Detective Inspector Rabbit in 'Year of the Rabbit.' Ben Meadows/IFC

If you know Matt Berry from his most famous roles — such as The IT Crowd’s idiot boss Douglas Reynholm, Toast of London’s pompous struggling actor Steven Toast, or the preening and lascivious vampire Laszlo on What We Do in the Shadows — talking to him over the phone is sort of like meeting his un-evil twin. Where his characters are outrageous and inappropriate, Berry is circumspect and gentlemanly. While they pronounce every word as if they’re doing Shakespeare in the Park, with a ponderous theatricality, his signature rich baritone comes over the line from London sounding muted by comparison. It’s as though he’s playing the straight man in a sketch of his own life.

Whatever absurd and profane notions he has rattling around in his head, Berry saves them for his work. His latest offering, IFC’s Year of the Rabbit (a collaboration among Berry, producer Ben Farrell, and writers Andy Riley and Kevin Cecil), is a send-up of the period detective shows that are a staple of British television. Set in Victorian times, it centers on his titular character, Rabbit, a cranky copper who bumbles through every episode but slyly solves the whodunit in the end — a kind of gruff, English Columbo in a waistcoat. In the “why not” fashion typical of Berry’s comedy, the character is missing an eyebrow (a trait the show repeatedly explains away with the intentionally unconvincing line that it was chewed off by a dog last Christmas). He’s named Rabbit — his actual first name, with no surname — not because of any correlation with, say, the Chinese calendar, but because… well, just because.

“His father couldn’t be bothered giving any of the kids any normal names, so he just named them after animals and then left them outside a church,” Berry says matter-of-factly, as if Rabbit and his father are real. Pressed on the matter, he adds, “We have a huge history over here of these shows, Agatha Christie and stuff, and they all have these names, Inspector This and That. I just wanted to do something stupid with that — give him an animal name and not anything else. So he really is as earthy as you can get in that way. There’s nothing fancy about him at all.”

Rabbit is an inveterate boozehound with a colorful vocabulary. He beats up a schoolteacher on career day to demonstrate interrogation techniques to the children. He tells his rookie partner that the way to keep warm during a wintertime stakeout is to piss himself. He describes the London of his day as “a rat eating its own babies. Babies made of shit. And once it’s eaten its own shit babies, it shits them out again.” He is paired, reluctantly, with two bright-eyed and bushy-tailed colleagues to form a crack investigative team, a juxtaposition which only underscores his baser qualities.

“He’s basically trying to hide the fact that he’s incredibly hungover and not firing on all cylinders,” Berry says. “Whereas his younger sidekicks won’t be, because when you’re that young, you know, you get over a hangover by like 10 o’clock in the morning. I wanted him to be dull, in terms of reactions to things, but effective.”

Robert Bathurst, Matt Berry, and Harry Peacock in Toast of London. Photo Credit: Kuba Wieczorek/IFC/CH4

Ineptitude and buffoonery are much more the calling cards of Steven Toast, whose massive ego blinds him to his own failings. He is an oblivious object of mockery at the hands of his voiceover producers, a pair of douchey hipsters named Clem Fandango and Danny Bear, and his mistress, Mrs. Purchase (wife of Toast’s acting nemesis Ray “Bloody” Purchase), looks eternally bored during their trysts. His long-suffering agent has to force him to become a laxative pitchman, yet he complains that she’s not scoring him Oscar-caliber roles.

If Toast is the character closest to Berry’s heart, it’s for good reason. Despite a brand of humor that seems firmly rooted in the British tradition — the surreality and silliness of Python, the cartoonish prurience of Benny Hill — Berry, 45, maintains that he wasn’t especially interested in comedy growing up. He cites as his primary influence not comedic greats such as Peter Sellers or contemporaries like Steve Coogan, but “straight actors, people that normally weren’t trying to be funny.” The more “mannered” and “self-important” the star, Berry says, the funnier he found them. The line to Toast is clear — especially in his puffed-up diction and bizarrely exaggerated pronunciation of ordinary words (such as his praise of guest-star Jon Hamm’s “charismaaaaaaaeeeeeee”). Imagine the famous outtakes of a drunk Orson Welles filming a Paul Masson wine commercial, and you’re on the right track.

Berry’s career in comedy came as a complete surprise to him. He grew up in the hamlet of Bromham in Bedfordshire, about two hours north of London, in a wholly unartistic family who had “normal, decent jobs,” he says. “My mom was a nurse, my sister went into law — nothing like what I ended up doing.” Still, his parents were totally supportive — worried, but supportive — as he stumbled through temp gigs and patches of unemployment as a young man.

He was far more interested in painting and music — and, in fact, today is an accomplished musician who’s recorded eight studio albums (prog rock-ish, inflected with funk) as well as the scores and themes to numerous TV series, including Toast. That show’s frequent musical interludes, gonzo song parodies a la Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, speak to Berry’s true comedic beginnings. In between stints at the London Dungeon — a haunted-house experience where actors play figures from gruesome corners of the city’s past, like Jack the Ripper — he managed to book solo gigs as a singer-songwriter. But he found that spiking his performances with humor won over a crowd.

Natasia Demetriou and Berry in What We Do In the Shadows. Byron Cohen/FX

“I was playing before comedians, and the gigs just seemed to go quicker and better if I put some comedy into the songs or the bits in between the songs,” Berry says. “I only did it so I’d fit in with what was going on after. Then I really got to like it.”

Fellow performers Richard Ayoade and Matthew Holness noticed his act, and cast Berry in a horror/sci-fi spoof they created called Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace. From there, his television career exploded, with recurring roles in several series before his breakout in 2007 with The IT Crowd. Despite a nomination for “best newcomer” at that year’s British Comedy Awards and a 2015 BAFTA for Best Male Performance in a Comedy for Toast, Berry insists he doesn’t have any particular aptitude for the form, and draws a blank when it comes to defining his style. Mostly, he chalks it up to timing (“Whether it’s music or comedy, that’s the most important thing for me”) — as well as a lack of training.

“I’m not held back by any sort of rules and regulations in terms of performance,” he says. “I’ll just do what feels natural, and because nobody’s said in the past, ‘Well you can’t really do that, because of this,’ you just do it. If it works, it works, and if it doesn’t, you just try something else.”

He does acknowledge one foolproof stylistic flourish that may be deeply ingrained: a true relish for the scatological and sophomorically sexual. See: Laszlo’s vulva topiaries, or the preposterously elastic faces Toast makes while he’s shagging Mrs. P (“Hang on — my balls are about to fizzzz!”) or pleasuring himself to old-timey images of women in military uniforms. A key moment in Rabbit involves the inspector having a pocketful of dog poop.

“I suppose that’s the British toilet humorist in me,” Berry admits. “It doesn’t matter where you go in Europe, toilet humor is enjoyed by all. Being from the U.K., it’s in you, like, from birth. You know, if you’re little and people are laughing at something all around you, it kind of sticks. If it’s something that my granddad laughs at and my dad laughs at, there’s a good chance that I’ll laugh at it, too.”

#matt berry #year of the rabbit #what we do in the shadows

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gynandromorph · 4 years

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k here it is, a retrospective of 2019, i’m not doing the Whole Decade or whatever

because you know what? i don’t fucking remember the whole decade. i don’t remember most of it at all. i feel like most of my problems i can’t even talk about because i’m being haunted by the spectre of some random bad faith anon years ago asking me “do you have DID?” when i thought at the time the amnesia did not qualify as clinically significant enough and was therefore OSDD instead. so i’m just getting that out of the way now at least, i’m not somebody who’s like “i’m traumatized severely and also hear voices in my head and ALSO talk about how to write DID all while not claiming to have DID or OSDD” which i would categorize as kind of a bizarre take probably somebody who is mentally ill enough to qualify would make anyway, i would hate to have this one stupid off the cuff ask i answered to a faceless random on the internet hanging over my head for the next decade as well! like! my bad! i was a stupid fucking idiot about my own problems and somebody asked me a specific question to which i thought the answer was TECHNICALLY correct! thanks for letting me SLIP UP about how my own mental health issues are categorized pertaining to what i consider a relatively serious diagnosis not to be taken lightly. go ahead and fucking track every one of my perceived slip-ups that Proves I’m Faking It now, i can’t keep living in fear in my own fucking head about performing as a person who doesn’t have this disorder all the time just because i knew i’d probably have to find a way to communicate myself eventually. this literally isn’t even a NEW thing for me, it’s not like i suddenly fucking discovered it, i’ve known for years and i’ve just been dropping big confusing hints because i’m deeply fucking afraid of people and being vulnerable

anyway, most of this year was a blur and not even really an amnesia blur, i was just getting by, in terms of my conscious awareness of the situation it has actually been incredibly stable. not coincidentally this has been the first year of my life where i haven’t had contact with my mom at all. for most of the year i haven’t had contact with my dad either. after i figure out this next move cycle my wife and i are going to be changing our numbers and going no contact with both our families. if i’m being honest it’s something i’m pretty proud of. i think of her still and how much she’d think i deserve my worst moments, how much they would prove to her i’m filth like she thinks. sometimes i think about how public i have to be to sustain myself and how she could find me when she’s especially angry one day like she did my dad after years and years and make up lies about me to try to ruin everything i have, which is not very much at all, and it might work. but for the most part, i don’t think about her. it’s in my worst moments when i feel like i have nothing or everything to lose. idk how she feels about it, but i’ve never felt this level of... competence? there are so many decisions i made for myself this year that i felt like initially i wasn’t allowed to. when to get fucking groceries, whether/when to take my dog to the vet, how to manage bills kinda, buying myself a bed. i’m so trained to just tolerate an unbelievable amount of stress until it’s a crisis and it was especially obvious when the training wheels that kept me going that way were just gone and i could go any way i wanted including spinning out and crashing. it’s given me a bit of security and confidence in myself to know i can make these decisions when it comes down to it, and sometimes, i can start to notice before things get really bad and take care of myself and make a life that isn’t 90% Suffering and 10% cooldown, and that there are really people who care about my existence as a person. i still don’t know how to really process it but it feels like something that’ll add up over time, it’s unfamiliar so i can’t really predict what it will look like in the future.

back to the DID thing, i wasted the entire year with some petty feud with dupe and i’m pretty upset about it but it’s mostly worked out now. probably still a long way to go overall but i just genuinely can’t not feel upset about this when it’s like i know this is going to bother my Better Half in better years, to lose an entire year of what little time i have on earth. i have to do better next year and i feel anxious that i don’t fucking know how but i’ll see after figuring out the housing stuff ig. god i also became much more lucidly aware of many more parts of my brain this year (and the ending of last year). have you ever listened to a song w/headphones for the first time and you’re like oh shit there’s like 5 extra tracks in this song i didn’t hear before? no contact was putting the headphones on, even though i can’t say it’s like wow! new! it’s just like oh that familiar headspace/set of sensations followed by [wall of amnesia] is just juno/needle

i’m hoping to find an apartment i can afford on my income alone this time, i’m basically gonna start looking tomorrow at places because i know doing it earlier might give me better chances. it would really be a huge relief to not have to worry about housing year after year and i think this might be the way, i genuinely didn’t even think of it until this month that it might be a thing i can even do. i really... eh, i liked this place. i got over my agoraphobia A LOT too this year. i don’t go out by myself a lot, but i CAN do it. i haven’t walked around as much since the new pokemon game came out. it was really, really relieving to have somewhere right next door to walk mawkish, though. i’m genuinely not even sure if i want to live here anymore but i don’t even know where else i’d live. the summers are brutal and as somebody who has multiple instances of skin cancer as a thing in my family history it leaves me super on edge about going out in the summer. i’ll figure it out though. we have like, a healthcare plan that’s covering our shit right now. and there’s a rail here. i’ll honestly just be glad when rokko’s family no longer has our address. her mom is coming over at an unspecified time to give her “a gift” somebody else got for her for christmas and i’m dreading it lmfao, i fucking hate how this woman has come over unwelcome multiple times and i’m so ready to stop living in fear of these fuckin 40-50 year old weirdos on power trips

art-wise i can say objectively my work tightened up a lot, i mostly blame the refeeding + natural art progression tbh. i don’t feel like i did anything particularly extraordinary but holy shit did i do a lot of folie a dupe strips. meanwhile i didn’t do like, fucking any side comics for the whole year. the issues with dupe are a primary reason almost all work writing wise has stopped. fresh meat has been a huge struggle behind the scenes to do for this reason too. whatever. i personally like the folie a dupe strips, they’re fun and relieving. i hate being inconsistent with what i deliver but i think i just don’t have a lot of perspective about like how inconsistent other artists are on patreon. my confidence in being able to take and secure commissions has definitely felt fresh this year even though i feel like god i do not handle them as well as-- you know. i’m gonna stop there. i don’t want comments on how i compare my ability to function some days to other days. you know. i guess whatever will happen with the direction of my art will happen... it’ll probably be fine. i did do a lot of new things like more realism and traditional work and it turned out better than i thought it would.

still never found the funds to change my name legally, the grants i was looking to use always seemed to be immediately taken, i don’t know. i’m pretty sure this has been my resolution for multiple years, i guess i’ll try again this year now that i have some awareness of how a sudden need for hundreds of dollars looks with mawkish’s kidney infection. otherwise, no resolutions

haven’t self harmed or attempted suicide in years, this was another year i didn’t basically. the more insidious forms of self harm like the restriction and smoking i also stopped and haven’t slipped back into yet.

anyway i think that’s all i have to say. i’m kind of dreading getting into my later 20′s for reasons most later 20-year-olds have and i’m in the same situation with housing that i’ve been for like year after year now but now i kind of feel like it might end up alright anyway lmao

happy new year bitches

#suicide and self harm mention whatever it's very brief just you know mentioning i haven't done it

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 4 years

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Marvel #1 Story 2: Spider-Man: Make My Day Thoughts

This is a very tricky story to talk about.

First of all, I know this story has garnered some controversy from a social/political POV. I’m not touching on that here.

All I shall say is I do not like how MJ is handled her. I also think it was idiotic to root a story in references to the Honeymooners. The Honeymooners is an ancient TV show that the majority of the audience will only know about if

they remember a brief reference to it from the second ever episode of Futurama, a cancelled show that aired that episode over 20 years ago

They know the behind-the-scenes history of the Flintstones, which is another ancient TV show.

Even if they are aware of the show what it has to do with Spider-Man I cannot say. It’s just a bizarre subject matter to utilize.

In fact bizarre sums up this story. It’s incredibly unfocussed. It’s about the Honeymooners, Spider-Man’s webbing, Peter and MJ moving in together and Uncle Ben/Peter’s responsibility?

Sometimes it’s about some of those things at the same time but often it sort of flits back and forth between then arbitrarily. From a very brief google search the author seems to be a science writer. That’s all well and good for the scientific aspects of this story but if you aren’t a competent fiction writer what are you doing on this project?

Making a mess apparently. The author is clearly inexperienced in how to tell a story and as such we get a whole bunch of stuff that seems like it is trying to say something but doesn’t really know how to express itself.

The scientific aspects are sort of interesting. Taking a more actively scientific approach and emphasizing Peter’s greatest invention, his webbing, is a clever idea. The problem though is the writer throws around scientific terminology with no mind to the fact that the average reader won’t know what they mean. I initially googled some words but I got fed up of doing that and just ignored the scientific terms I didn’t understand.

There is a reason stories about very smart people often have audience surrogate characters to whom the protagonist might explain things to. Think Watson in Sherlock Holmes or most of Doctor Who’s companions. What is annoying is that this story is trying to be about Peter’s relationship with Mary Jane and as such she would’ve nicely served this function within the story.

Let’s talk a little about Mary Jane here. The irony of this story is multi-faceted. It’ a story set shortly after Peter and MJ got married. And it’s referencing the Honeymooners. However post-OMD Peter and MJ never got married, merely moving in together. Furthermore the story writes their relationship much the same way other stories during BND and Slott’s run did whenever they flashbacked to what would’ve been their marriage. MJ is framed as ‘shrew’ that the readers would prefer to be rid of and they bicker all the time. This was done to push an agenda of Spidey as a single swinger. And yet we are in a time when Peter and MJ are together again and most stories frame their past and present relationship positively.

Above all else though the portrayal of their relationship is at odds with the time period it’s flashing back to. Peter and MJ didn’t bicker like this in the early years of their marriage. Any tension over money stemmed from Peter feeling undermined by MJ out earning him to the point where his income was moot. But he got over that pretty quick.

The story also presents the couple as though MJ is advocating they move to a bigger place because Peter’s place has no room and he has too much stuff. Whilst canonically we do not know who suggested they leave Peter’s classic Chelsea apartment, the story’s framing is stupid. Neither Peter nor MJ would’ve gotten married with a mind towards staying in that apartment. Obviously it would’ve been too crowded for them. Peter himself had a love/hate relationship with it for years. The one and only reason MJ moved in at all was because her place was trashed in ASM #291. And Peter was actually very considerate about the fact that his place didn’t have enough room for her things.

Additionally, the idea that MJ would ask Peter to cut back on his webbing even if they were in financial difficulties is asinine. MJ would always prioritize Peter’s wellbeing over money, no question about it. She also wouldn’t care that much about his credit rating and neither of them would throw shade at one another over bringing down the neighbourhood. This situation is especially dumb when you consider this would’ve been so soon after Kraven’s Last Hunt, wherein they grew to appreciate how unimportant this stuff would be.

Actually now I think about it, this story really doesn’t fit at all into continuity. Peter is sporting his red and blue outfit. But in the early years of his and MJ’s marriage he only had access to his black costume. He stopped wearing it and returned to the red and blue outfit in ASM #300. But it was in ASM #298 that they’d already decided to move to a new place.

As for the rest of the story it’s just….well it’s just confusing and all over the place

A possible justification for this is that in context of the issue, this whole story is supposed to be a dream/nightmare someone (presumably Peter) is having. Therefore you can write off all inconsistencies and mischaracterization as not real in the first place.

But It is very obvious to me this story was not written with a mind for that. It’s not written to replicate the bizarre illogic of a dream. It just happens to do that due to the writer’s inexperience and incompetence.

Also the art sucked.

Hard pass.

#Marvel #Marvel Comics #Marvels #Spider-Man #mjwatsonedit #Mary Jane Watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Peter Parker

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commentaryvorg · 4 years

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Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 5.18

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time in trial 5 (trial 5!!!!!!) as we spent a lot of time discussing the logistics of the plan, Kaito’s cause of death was thrown into question, leading to a clever bit of misdirection which was probably written by Kokichi just before he died about how an unknowable culprit was totally the point of the plan, Kaito basically told everyone that Monokuma doesn’t know who did it, which had equal chances of being Kokichi being stupid and full of himself or Kaito being clever and gunning for the next-best outcome since the best one is almost certainly out of reach, Shuichi figured out Kokichi wasn’t the mastermind (rendering Miu and Gonta’s deaths now completely pointless), then Kokichi ruined his own plan by posthumously gloating about how evil he is, causing everyone to make the mistake of thinking their real enemy was Kokichi and not Monokuma, and so Monokuma joined the party.

Monokuma: “Now, where should we start? We’ve already established what Kokichi is after…”

Note how Monokuma has still not explicitly admitted that he doesn’t know who the culprit is. He’s only vaguely alluding to it here without outright saying it. I really do think that he’s literally not allowed to admit it.

Shuichi realises that now that we know Kokichi’s objective was to fool Monokuma, it might explain why he would bizarrely show a video that apparently proves he crushed Kaito.

Monokuma: “Then what kinda mistake was Kokichi tryin’ to get me to make?”

They made a big deal about how Monokuma is supposedly participating now like just another student, but he’s still kind of not. He could just tell Shuichi, “so, hey, I’m not even sure if Kaito is the victim, I don’t trust that video but I don’t know how it could be faked, figure it out for me”. But it seems he’s still not allowed to participate so directly and is instead just asking vague questions to point Shuichi in the right direction.

Shuichi: “There must be a reason you went out of your way to show us the body being crushed.”

Exisal Kokichi: “No reason, really. That’s just my twisted personality.”

Shuichi: (You’re lying again, Kokichi. There’s a method to your madness.)

Shuichi is still sure that the person he’s talking to here is Kokichi. That will change very soon.

(It might kind of partially be “Kokichi” he’s talking to anyway in the sense that this is probably scripted. But then again, maybe not – again, he’s using Kokichi’s nature as an excuse for a lie, which is not really something Kokichi ever did?)

Shuichi: (Taking the video of the murder but keeping the victim’s identity hidden… What does it show? What doesn’t it show?) “…The victim.”

Maki: “Huh?”

Oh man I never properly noticed until now how Maki is the first one to react to this, aaaa, of course she is.

Shuichi: (Is it even possible?)

This single line, on my first time through, absolutely fucking broke me.

I’d been convinced for a while that Kaito definitely was dead after all, this was the absolute truth, it’s sad but we’ll just have to deal with it and keep going. And then suddenly, for the first time in over an hour, this line was the narrative acknowledging the possibility that Kaito could be alive after all. This wasn’t a relief. This was utterly terrifying, because it was still only a possibility, and there was every chance that this hope would be crushed and snuffed out yet again, which would hurt even more than it had the first time, make me feel stupid and foolish for daring to hope again in the first place. And yet, even the tiniest most fragile possibility of Kaito being alive was infinitely better than the alternative. I couldn’t not hope, despite how terrifying it was.

For me, this case was the absolute best hands-on experience of hope fighting against despair (the real meanings of those words), more than anything else in Danganronpa has ever been. I am so, so glad I managed to be unspoiled for this game so that I could have that, and so sad that I am never going to be able to feel that way while watching this case ever again. Rewatches are great for a lot of things, but some experiences of fiction are literally once-in-a-lifetime.

I admit that I read this line as a desperately hopeful “is it even possible (that Kaito could be alive after all)?” when it might actually just be meant as a more logistical question of “is it even possible (that the video could have been faked)?”. But even if it’s the latter, that still suddenly reopens the possibility that Kaito is alive, so Shuichi has to be thinking that here, one way or another.

Shuichi: (No, that’s a question for later. For now, we know that…)

Regardless, Shuichi is amazingly good at pushing his emotions aside and just focusing on taking the logic one step at a time. While there’s got to be a part of his mind that’s desperately jumping up and down going Kaito might be alive!!! (first-time-me knew exactly that feel and that’s why I can confirm that Shuichi is showing incredible self-control right now), he’s refusing to let it have a say because it’ll cause him to think irrationally and maybe come to the wrong conclusions. The Ultimate Detective can’t let himself be biased by what he wants to be true.

Tsumugi: “Then it was some other dead body that got crushed by the hydraulic press?”

Maki: “What?”

Maki Roll! She sounds hopeful!

Himiko: “Where would he even get another body?”

Keebo: “There should be plenty to choose from if you reuse the body of a former victim—”

Perhaps because they know the story of DR1 now, they’re jumping to this conclusion instead of considering the other possibility that there was one other living person there who could have been crushed instead. I personally immediately assumed that if Kaito was alive then that must have meant somehow Kokichi was dead and Kaito was in the Exisal, but that might be thanks to the narrative argument that that’d make the most interesting story, which these guys of course don’t have.

Exisal Kokichi has a whole scripted speech here about how switching the victims was definitely impossible because the footage wasn’t edited. I think it was around this point that first-time-me finally realised that the camera has a pause button!!!! and that actually totally made it possible for the footage to be faked and Kaito to be alive. This helped a lot in making me somewhat less terrified, because I’d gone from hope that was completely baseless into hope with an actual basis behind it, some way that I could see to reach the outcome I wanted. Even then, it was still only a possibility and there was still always the chance the game could pull the rug out from under me again – but it was a much firmer possibility than a few moments ago, and that was good.

Exisal Kokichi: “Also, if the victim was switched, then that would mean Kaito is still alive. We already discussed this sooo many times. The chance of that happening is imposs—”

…Says Kaito. Heh. Imagine how amused he must be to talk about how impossible it is for him to be alive.

This is definitely scripted, though. The only reason there’s ever been to be sure that Kaito is dead is the footage, but he’s talking about this like it’s a completely separate argument from what he was just saying about that. Like Kaito is obviously just this reckless idiot who’s inevitably going to fail pathetically and get himself killed, and the idea that he could have escaped death and succeeded at something is ridiculous. Like that in itself is proof Kaito must be dead. This is a narrative that Kaito would never choose on his own to promote – but Kokichi had been known to join in with said narrative occasionally, and so it seems he did in the script as well.

Maki: “…It might be possible.”

Exisal Kokichi: “Huh?”

Maki Roll!! He says it’s impossible, but the impossible could be possible if it’s Kaito! She’s finally trying to claw and fight her way into a better reality rather than just accepting the awful one she’s stuck in! And Kaito must quietly be so proud to see Maki latching onto this possibility, to have stopped feeling that unshakeable despair and be looking for a better outcome.

Maki: “There could be a trick to make the switch possible. We just haven’t noticed it yet…”

Exisal Kokichi: “Ooohh, and what trick is that?”

Maki: “…”

Exisal Kokichi: “See, you don’t know, do you? I already said it’s imposs—”

It seems like right now Maki’s hope is still completely baseless. But even though it’s baseless, she’s desperately holding onto it anyway! That’s such a big deal coming from Maki!

Shuichi: “Maki’s not wrong. There is a way it could be done… So we can’t just give up here!”

Shuichi sounds here like he’s already figured out the trick. But I kind of doubt he has, because you’d think this would be the one time where he wouldn’t hesitate to voice his deductions and would immediately explain the whole thing. So in fact, Shuichi’s hope is probably also still baseless, and he’s just doing a better job than Maki of making it sound like it isn’t, to try and keep her hopes up. How very Kaito of him!

Maki: “Hey, Shuichi… I’ll think harder about this as well… So… can you confirm whether or not the victim switched places? If Kaito is… alive or not?”

Maki’s voice sounds so full of emotion here! She’s not holding anything back and is finally letting herself desperately reach for this possibility, now that it seems possible after all!

Maki: “I don’t like the thought that I killed Kaito… I don’t… want that.”

This is the first time Maki has mentioned that she didn’t want to kill him! She’s talking about what she wants! She’s talking about how she felt about killing someone! She’s not just a heartless killer! Her feelings and desires matter!

It’s also in this moment that Maki starts crying, which is the first time we’ve ever seen her do so. She is having emotions and being a person! Kaito must be so proud of her, and so relieved that she’s finally letting herself feel this instead of locking it all away.

Himiko: “Okay then, let’s talk about the possibility that Maki Roll mentioned.”

Tsumugi: “Himiko, if you call her that again—”

Maki: “…Yes, please.”

Maki Roll!!! I absolutely love that this is the moment she accepts that nickname from Himiko. It’s not just that she’s tolerating it; she actively wants Himiko to call her that! She’s desperate for anything that’ll remind her of Kaito and help her feel the way she did back before she thought she’d killed him, just so that she can hold onto that hope!

Tsumugi: “Then let’s all talk it over together!”

Shuichi: (Together…)

…

Kaito: “And don’t forget… you’re not alone! Don’t try to do everything yourself. It’s only gonna wear you out. When times are hard, you gotta rely on your friends.”

…

Shuichi: “Yeah… I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

FRIENDS!!! It’s probably thinking that Kaito might be alive that spurs Shuichi to remember what Kaito said to him, and it’s so lovely and appropriate that the feeling that his best friend might still be here is also accompanied by the reminder that he’s not alone and he’s got other friends he can rely on too. Did you know that this game is about friends.

Exisal Kokichi: “Geez, you guys are a stubborn bunch. There’s no trick.”

And yet you’re still the most stubborn person here, Kaito! He has to have been so thrilled to see the change in Maki just now, and to see everyone working together, and Shuichi letting his friends support him (even if he has no idea that Shuichi was specifically thinking of his own words about that). But no matter how much this might make Kaito feel like he wants them to succeed, he still has to oppose them, and he’s still going to give that everything he’s got until the very end.

Maki: “The person in that video… Was it really Kaito?”

Everyone else in this debate is making fairly logical suggestions for what could be off about the video. But Maki’s voice just sounds full of desperate hope, and this doesn’t even read like a logical argument and doesn’t have an agree spot like the others (surely she can’t really be arguing that it’s not actually Kaito that we see there; it is very unmistakably him). This is her still being so stuck on the is Kaito really alive after all??? that she can’t even think logically like she usually does.

Shuichi: (If we put our heads together, we can find the smallest hope… We won’t fall into despair!)

Finally the narrative is using these words correctly! Yes, damn right thinking that Kaito might be alive is hope! Damn right that him turning out to be dead after all would make them despair! Shuichi’s still having wishful thinking to be saying that they definitely won’t fall into despair, since Kaito’s survival isn’t confirmed yet, but that’s precisely what hope is!

Keebo: “There’d be no way to stop the hydraulic press unless someone used the ‘Force Stop’ button.”

Maki: “When you say someone… you mean Kokichi, right? He was the only one there.”

Exisal Kokichi: “… Hm, actually… maybe I pressed it by accident? I don’t really remember…”

You would imagine that this response would be scripted, but it seems oddly vague for one of Kokichi’s calculated lies to hide the truth of his plan, so I’m not actually sure about this one. Maybe it’s just the vagueness in his tone of voice which strikes me as off? If Kokichi were really here delivering this line he’d probably sound a lot more gleefully sure about his unsureness.

Monokuma: “There’s also the question of how the bodies got switched while the camera was rolling. That would have clearly been caught on camera.”

It almost kind of sounds like Monokuma has already figured this out and is just leading Shuichi into saying it. But then again, if he’d already figured this part out here then he’d probably have been capable of figuring out the whole trick by himself and wouldn’t have needed Shuichi’s help at all.

Shuichi: “Ah, I see. It wasn’t just the press that stopped…”

Monokuma: “…Eh? Huh? Whaddaya mean?”

…Yeah, maybe not. He seems genuinely confused here.

By the way, can we talk about the fact that after the press stopped and the switch happened, the press then descends for the killing blow faster than it did before? I saw a fic once which surmised that during the switch, Kaito fiddled with the settings of the press as best he could to make it go faster, in order to make Kokichi’s death as quick and painless as possible. Not my idea, but hell yes, headcanon absolutely accepted.

Tsumugi helps explain why the video’s odd camera angle was necessary for the trick.

Tsumugi: “If they were recording it like normal, they would have used a better angle.”

Maki: “And if it was recorded at such an odd angle, then that proves a trick was used.”

It technically doesn’t prove it. It could just be that Kokichi had no idea how to frame a decent shot, or that he just wanted us to think a trick was used. But Maki’s latching onto anything that makes it more likely that Kaito is alive and trying to insist that it’s proof, because of course she is. I love how desperately she wants this.

Himiko: “Camera angles, huh? Looks like your cosplayer experience is finally useful.”

Tsumugi: “Well, cosplay doesn’t really come up all that much in class trials…”

Yeah, and maybe it should stay that way, hm?

Shuichi: “When the press was stopped, you couldn’t really see who was inside it, correct?”

Except for his VERY VISIBLE ARM which isn’t actually visible there in canon and we just have to pretend we can’t see, araghrghrghr.

Shuichi: “That was intentional. The body is mostly hidden by the press, making the swap easier.”

In reality, it’s not “mostly” – he’s completely hidden by the press at this point. “Mostly” is what we see in the flawed localisation version, and that would not be enough to convincingly pull off the switch. (I checked the Japanese, and he does indeed still say “mostly” there, even though it really isn’t.)

I suppose one could argue that it was teeeeechnically possible to co-ordinate Kaito’s and Kokichi’s arms to be in similar enough positions to each other that the switch might not be noticeable to the human eye in the split second before the press descended again. But the fact that Shuichi never talks about how that could have been possible – which would be a very important point to cover – basically makes it canon that the arm isn’t actually visible, despite what we localisation-players see in the video.

Tsumugi: “I wonder if they used that tripod in the hangar to adjust the camera’s height.”

What tripod in the hangar? She’s talking like there was one there that we found during the investigation, but… there wasn’t? (If there wasn’t, it doesn’t have to be a plot-hole; Kaito could have taken it with him into the Exisal to hide it.)

Maki: “Then… that logic is correct, right? Kokichi used that video angle trick, and switched the victim in the hydraulic press. In that case, Kaito is—”

Maki is the first one to summarise this discussion and get to the point that this means Kaito’s alive, right? and it’s adorable.

Shuichi: “Himiko, the different body you mentioned… What are you talking about?”

Himiko: “The bodies from the other cases. Kokichi’s the mastermind, so he’d— Nyeh…? Wait… The mastermind…?”

Shuichi: “Yeah. Kokichi isn’t the mastermind, so… I don’t think he’d be able to produce a body to switch out.”

Maki: “…What?”

It seems that most of them, Maki included, were still casually assuming that Kokichi pulled a case 5 from the first Danganronpa and swapped in an older dead body. Which makes sense for them to think, since their heads are full of Hope’s Peak right now, and they also still haven’t shaken off the impression in their minds that Kokichi is the mastermind even though it’s been disproven.

But that would be a rather boring story if it were true. That’d mean that Kokichi is the one in the Exisal after all, and sure, Kaito’s alive, but he’s just hidden somewhere in the school, completely oblivious to the trial going on, still just an unwitting pawn in Kokichi’s plan with no agency of his own. That’s no fun at all. Kaito deserves better than that, narratively speaking. Kaito would have wanted better than that, to be more of a hero than that in his last day alive, no matter what it meant he had to do.

Keebo: “Well, Monokuma? Do the rules allow for a body to be reused?”

Monokuma: “Very well. I’ll answer that.”

Exisal Kokichi: “…You’re giving in pretty easily.”

Monokuma: “Well, it’s crucial information to make the trial fair. This discussion is pointless if it’s not clear what the culprit was allowed to do, right?”

Exisal Kokichi: “Ah-haha, you’ve a convenient mastermind. But I guess that makes defeating you worth my time.”

Not sure this last line of Exisal Kokichi’s is actually scripted. “Worth my time” seems like one hell of an understatement for how Kokichi really felt about defeating Monokuma and the mastermind, given the desperate, twisted lengths he was willing to go to for it and how much more passionately he was gloating about it in the script earlier. This might just be Kaito trying to ad-lib an approximation of how Kokichi feels about this, based on said earlier scripted speech, and not quite getting into it enough.

Monokuma confirms that it was impossible to re-use a dead body.

Shuichi: “…” (Kokichi and Kaito were the only ones in the hangar at the time. If they were the only ones present during the body-swapping trick… Then the real victim was…)

Shuichi looks intensely worried here as he realises this. His narration makes it seem like he’s being shaken at the realisation of who the victim was, but that doesn’t really make sense. He’d already accepted at the beginning of this case that one of the two of them has to be dead, and he was quite happy for Kokichi to be dead if it meant Kaito was alive.

What Shuichi’s really got to be horrified about here is the realisation of who the culprit is. He’s just approaching that topic in the most indirect way possible in his mind because he still doesn’t enjoy facing painful truths like this.

If you get this question wrong and say the victim was a third party, Maki has an extra line to fill Shuichi’s silence as he explains to himself why that’s not possible.

Maki: “If there were no other bodies… then how the hell?”

She is so confused. Kokichi being the victim would mean that Kaito has to be the killer, but obviously it’s completely impossible that Kaito would ever do that, so this is clearly an unsolvable conundrum.

Maki: “…What’s wrong, Shuichi? Who did Kaito switch places with?”

And back to the canon voiced lines from getting it right, Maki sounds somewhat frantic. Either she’s worried that Shuichi’s silence means he’s realised something that proves Kaito didn’t switch with anyone and is dead after all… or perhaps, somewhere deep down she’s also realised the truth and is even more afraid of admitting it than Shuichi.

Shuichi: “Maki… I think I missed something very important here…”

I enjoy the sense given here that Shuichi and Maki’s excited hope of a few minutes ago has come screeching to an awkward halt. They were all so focused on the idea that Kaito was still alive and figuring out how to prove it was possible that nobody took a step back to look at the bigger picture and realise the full implications of what it would mean if Kaito really was alive. In some ways, this is actually worse than Kaito being the victim.

(It’s not, of course; it is immeasurably better. But they’re not looking at this as a narrative. They don’t mind if Kaito doesn’t get to be a hero and just want their friend to survive and preferably not be a murderer.)

Shuichi goes on to deduce that Kaito and Kokichi were working together. Which really kind of makes more sense being deduced after figuring out that Kaito was the culprit, in order to then establish the how and a tiny bit of the why. But nope, Shuichi’s leaving that conclusion until the last possible moment.

Shuichi: “I can’t believe I overlooked this!”

Overlooking them working together until now isn’t something to be kicking himself about. The notion that Kaito and Kokichi would ever co-operate is inconceivable enough that of course it wouldn’t ever come to mind until you have basically conclusive proof that it must have happened, and he only just figured out that proof. Which means that really Shuichi is kicking himself about not having considered during all of his hopeful deductions earlier that if Kaito is alive then he almost certainly killed Kokichi. Shuichi still isn’t willing to think about that directly.

Shuichi: “If they switched places while the press and the camera were stopped… then the person who turned the camera and the press back on was the original victim.”

Even as he’s explaining the switch, he’s using these vague placeholder terms despite knowing full well who he’s talking about. He does not want to say it.

Monokuma: “Geez, this culprit’s a real jerk.”

Heh. Only to you, Monokuma.

I love the way he says this at the point where it is 100% clear that he’s talking about Kaito. It’s some delightful irony, knowing that really this culprit one of the least jerkish people around, and yet also he has been acting like a jerk for most of this trial, all for the purpose of pissing off Monokuma and saving his friends.

Monokuma: “…So, have you realised whodunnit yet?”

Maki: “…”

Maki’s distant, worried expression here makes it clear that she very much has.

Shuichi: (The culprit of the case… If my detective work hasn’t failed me, the culprit is inside that Exisal…)

Exisal: “…”

I love that it no longer displays it as “Exisal Kokichi” here. This is the first time Shuichi has looked at that Exisal without making the assumption that it’s Kokichi in there.

Actually, that’s also an interesting point. Despite how much Shuichi was desperately insisting Kaito could be alive at the beginning of the trial, he never properly extended that to figure that if Kaito really was alive, then he must be the one in the Exisal. He never even acknowledged the possibility of that until now. Partly that’s because he never truly believed Kaito was alive back then, of course. But perhaps it was also that thinking Kaito was in the Exisal was almost as bad as thinking he was dead – because that’d mean Kaito was actively deceiving them for some inconceivable reason.

The question the game asks you here in this accusation screen is “Who is in the Exisal?”. Not “Who is the culprit?”, even though Shuichi knows full well that that’s what he’s proving here. He still does not want to think about that and would rather think of it as proving that Kaito is alive after all.

(First-time-me, meanwhile, was elated to have reached this near-confirmation that Kaito was not only alive but had been inside that Exisal the whole time. It’s not just that his friends are going to get to see him again, but also that he’s been playing an active, integral role in this whole trial, fighting as hard as he can to defeat Monokuma and save everyone. This is exactly the narrative Kaito deserved.)

Shuichi: “If the two of them switched while the press was stopped… then the culprit who started the hydraulic press again and crushed Kokichi… must be Kaito!”

Instead of just straight-up saying “Kaito is the culprit” after you make the choice, Shuichi goes on to re-explain the victim switch, except using actual names this time, in order to end on the conclusion here that the culprit is Kaito. It’s like he still can’t bring himself to admit it unless he justifies to himself that this has to be what happened.

Shuichi: “I don’t want to believe it either… but it’s the only way any of this makes sense. My detective work has led me to the conclusion that Kaito is the culprit.”

I like how Shuichi stresses it being from his detective work. The Ultimate Detective may have figured this out, but Shuichi Saihara alone would never have been able to conceive of the idea that his best friend would kill anyone.

Exisal: “…”

Kaito’s being very quiet during this whole part. It is possible that Kokichi didn’t cover this eventuality in the script – more on that later.

(Kaito’s probably feeling incredibly proud of Shuichi for figuring it out, even as he’s also thinking, “well, shit, what do I do now?”. He’s still not about to just give up and admit it, of course!)

Tsumugi: “Hey, answer us! If you really are Kaito, then—”

Maki: “I’m the culprit.”

Shuichi: (Huh?)

Maki: “There’s no way that Kaito can still be alive… Because I’m the culprit.”

It is so heartbreaking that Maki would rather have a narrative where Kaito is dead and she killed him than one in which he’s alive but he killed anyone at all. She said just before the investigation began that Kaito being the culprit is even more impossible than him being dead, and she still desperately wants that to be the case.

(And note how she’s not trying to get the best of both worlds by arguing that she killed Kokichi and so Kaito is both alive and spotless. Which means that even though she’s not admitting it, she knows that if Kaito were alive then he’d definitely have killed Kokichi before the poison could in order to protect her. The only way for him to conceivably not be the culprit is if he’s dead, therefore that has to be the truth.)

Maki: “I saw it with my own eyes. Kokichi drank the antidote that he stole from Kaito… There’s no doubt Kaito died.”

She makes this argument, but it no longer holds any water. Now that we’ve established that Kokichi’s plan was to die while making everyone think he was still alive by having Kaito pretend to be him inside the Exisal, obviously Kokichi needed Kaito to live and not himself, so obviously he would have wanted to give Kaito the antidote. As soon as you realise that, it’s clear that him drinking the antidote was a lie.

Maki is smart enough that she’s got to have realised this. She’s only making this argument because it’s basically the only argument left to make, even though she knows it’s wrong.

Maki: “And he died because of my poison arrow.”

She’s also insisting that, given Kokichi totally drank the antidote, Kaito definitely died because of her, never mind the possibility presented earlier that Kaito was crushed to death by Kokichi. (Which is actually fair, because that’d mean Maki would still bear the responsibility for Kaito’s death since he would have died thanks to her either way. Look who’s not trying to run away from her responsibility in killing someone.)

Himiko: “But you told us you didn’t want to kill Kaito and—”

Maki: “Yes, I never wanted to. I wanted to believe that I didn’t kill him. But… the truth speaks differently. In the end, I was just running away from the facts.”

She’s still willing to acknowledge at this point that she didn’t want to kill him – and yet even then, she’d still rather have killed Kaito despite that than think that he could have killed anyone.

Shuichi: (Maki, are you…? Trying to protect Kaito? If he’s the culprit, you’re trying to help him get away?)

That doesn’t make any sense, Shuichi. There’s nowhere to escape to, as far as both you and Maki know. If Kaito is the culprit, then there is absolutely no way he’d want to get away with it, because it’d get everyone else killed. The only circumstances in which he’d ever be trying to do that is if he’s (inconceivably) not actually the person we believed in, in which case he wouldn’t deserve anyone trying to protect him. Maki is smart enough to realise all this, too.

What Maki is doing here is running away from the truth that Kaito did it. She knows he must be the killer, but she just can’t bear to accept it. Just like Kaito was with Gonta last trial. It’s ironic how during the investigation she accused Shuichi of being the same way about the “truth” of Kaito’s death, but in the end, she’s the one who’s ended up acting most strongly that way.

(Kaito’s got to have realised that this is what Maki is doing, especially since he was guilty of it himself once before. On the one hand he must be happy that she wants to believe in him this much, but on the other hand he massively regretted doing this kind of thing to Shuichi last trial and it has to hurt to see Maki doing essentially the same. And of course, he still can’t say anything to make this situation any better.)

Maki: “There was only one antidote, so it’s more likely he died from my poison arrow. This is the truth…”

Exisal Kokichi: “It’s not decided yet. I could’ve still killed him with the hydraulic press.”

This is the first thing Kaito’s said since a while before Shuichi accused him. He was probably intending to just stay quiet entirely, but not when Maki is happy to make herself into the murderer in order to run away from the truth. He must really just want to tell her that she didn’t kill anyone because he killed Kokichi, but he’s still being stubborn and refusing to give up on the plan even though it’s almost completely hopeless now. Nonetheless, he can still try and help Maki just a little by reminding everyone that even in his version of events in which he is totally Kokichi and Kaito is totally dead, it’s possible that Maki technically didn’t kill anyone at all.

And again, this is not even remotely what the real Kokichi would say here – he’d be jumping on the idea that the horrible murderous Maki seems to want to think she killed Kaito and cruelly taunting her about it. Yet again, Kaito’s making it pretty damn clear that he’s not Kokichi. Nobody picks up on this even now that they’re aware it really probably is Kaito in there, but still.

(Kokichi would also have loved to gleefully rub in the idea that Kaito killed someone despite how much they all trusted him… but him hypothetically doing that here gets a bit paradoxical.)

Exisal Kokichi: “Either way, those are the two options. Monokuma knows the answer, riiight?”

Monokuma: “…Huh? Are those the only options?”

Yup, definitely just those two options, not any options that involve Kaito being alive and having done it. Kaito is blatantly ignoring the entire conversation they just had deducing that he did it and is taking the opportunity from Maki’s desperate deflecting confession to keep trying to push his narrative onto Monokuma even though it’s near hopeless. He is so damn stubborn.

Also note him again implying that Monokuma actually doesn’t know the answer, since proving that is really what Kaito’s been trying to achieve this whole time given that he knew the main goal would fail. This is probably not scripted, after all – I highly doubt Kokichi predicted that Maki would do this. Kokichi assuming that anyone would believe in someone else is difficult enough for him at the best of times, but even more so when it’s Maki the horrible backstabbing assassin.

Maki: “There’s no mistake… Kaito is dead… I… killed Kaito… There is absolutely… no doubt. That’s… the truth.”

You very clearly don’t really believe that, Maki.

(It’s okay, though. Kaito is still the person you believe in! And him being still alive means you’ll get to talk to him one last time!)

Shuichi: (Ah, I thought so. Maki is trying to protect Kaito.)

No, Shuichi, she’s not! If she were doing that, she’d be stupid!

Shuichi: (I understand how she feels, but if Kaito is the culprit… Why did he agree to Kokichi’s plan?)

Exisal Kokichi: “…”

Shuichi: (I can’t imagine that Kaito would do something so selfish…)

Because it’s not selfish, obviously! The reason why Kaito is doing this should be quite clear. We’ve already established that the point of Kokichi’s plan is to fool Monokuma and “defeat” him. That would be something Kaito would want to do too! Kaito is also trying to defeat Monokuma! Is that not enough, Shuichi?

Shuichi is an amazing detective in terms of piecing together the facts from the evidence, but it seems he’s not always that great at figuring out people and the motives behind their actions, even when those people are his closest friends. (Meanwhile, figuring out the people more than the facts is what Kaito is best at! He and Shuichi complement each other so well.)

I’m also a little disappointed he’s stopped viewing the Exisal as just “Exisal” when it’s not speaking and actively sounding like Kokichi. He knows it’s not Kokichi in there now!

Shuichi: (There must be a reason for it. I truly believe that…)

At least, even while Shuichi is taking way longer than he should to figure out this reason, he is still as certain as he ought to be that there is a reason and Kaito is still definitely on their side. Shuichi may be rather slow on the uptake here, but that never for a second makes him not believe in Kaito.

Shuichi: “You saw him drink it right in front of you, but you couldn’t confirm he actually did it. So maybe… there’s another possibility.”

Maki: “What… are you talking about? Impossible… That’s… impossible…”

Another possibility that means that Kaito killed someone? No, can’t be possible. Can’t be.

Maki: “There is no other possibility! I killed Kaito!”

Definitely no other possibility. She is definitely not already aware of exactly what this possibility is.

The point of Argument Armaments is always that the subject already knows the final bit of proof and just starts yelling furiously to try and stop Shuichi from actually getting to prove it. Usually this is because the subject is the culprit, so of course they know what the proof is. But I love that this even applies to the two times in this game that the subject isn’t the culprit and is just desperately defending someone else – both times, they already know they’re wrong and just can’t bear to face it.

“Don’t reveal the truth… anymore!”

This is one of Maki’s lines for the thing where she blocks your view. She knows full well that what Shuichi’s about to reveal is the truth and just doesn’t want him to force her to accept it. And she’s in a slightly less stubborn amount of denial than Kaito was last trial, since she’s at least vaguely acknowledging this in her words. That would be because Kaito was not only running away from the truth but also running away from the fact that that was what he was doing, whereas Maki here does not have quite as many layers of issues over this and so is willing to acknowledge on some level that she is running away from the truth.

…Yep, Maki’s Argument Armament definitely has button patterns that aren’t quite as difficult as Kaito’s. (I know this without having to go back and check Kaito’s, because I am quite familiar with how his goes.) I mentioned last trial that I found Kaito’s the hardest, and it seems that isn’t just me; that’s a thing the game developers did on purpose. They are both very similar situations, but Kaito definitely did have more issues and more denial going on than Maki does here, and I love that the writers got that across in the difficulty, too.

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