#influencers come here & die challenge

[jaeyunverse]

the 24-hour dating challenge (teaser)

PAIRING(S) | park sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE(S) | fluff, crack, mutual pining, best friends to lovers, influencer au (?)

EST. WORD COUNT | around 5k

WARNING(S) | profanity, hoon is a loser and down bad, mc is painfully dense + all warnings to be added in the full fic!

SUMMARY | being a famous youtuber isn’t easy, especially when you have to constantly come up with new ideas to keep your audience entertained. and this time, your viewers want you to date park sunghoon, your best friend of nearly a decade, for the entirety of 24 hours.

TAGLIST | @blank-velvet @soobisms @justalildumpling @xharisrealm @skzenhalove @alicesolengg @yenqa @geombyu @tika-writes-lol @jlheon @haknom @useraerin @hooniessslvrss @flwrshee @rikisly @tobiosbbyghorl @wonkivrse @heeflrs @bambithia @iea-tsand @chaechae-23 @en-dazed @jayfrvr @h-hazwie @moonlighthoon @justanotherkpopstanlol @sseastar-main @seongclb @shoyotime @gerianne @iadorethemskz @sieuneo @hoon0logy @luvistqrzzz @sucrosxi @lzux1 @t4kalcvr @nes-caf @odxrilove @trippy-dejun @arizejkt19 @xuimhao @vizstars @enhacatalog send an ask/comment if u wish!

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I AM COMING BACK!!!!!! (kinda. maybe. idk i get ahead of myself a lot LOL) finals are finallyyyy over and i have some time to write this week so i’ve started this old wip of mine! it’s going to be pretty short and sweet so i’ll hopefully be able to follow through on this teaser but no promises haha :)) i hope u look forward to this fic! inspired by h.j evelyn (♡)

click here for the full fic!

“Your followers want me to do what?” 

Sunghoon was positive he’d misheard you. However, part of him hoped you’d confirm the life-altering information you’d casually uttered without even bothering to look away from the TV screen. 

“Hoon!” you exclaimed, your fingers aggressively moving about the gaming console. “Oh, my God, they’re coming after me! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK—” you screeched— “Nonononono I can’t take them by myself! You testicle-guzzling cocksucker, why did you die when I needed you the most?!” 

Sunghoon watched you struggle warily. Your leg was bouncing with anxiety and your eyes bulging out of their sockets. He wasn’t entirely sure you were breathing. Beads of sweat were clinging to your forehead and your face was scrunched up in a weird, constipated expression. 

There was a good chance you’d utter fouler insults if he disturbed you while playing, but he couldn’t stop himself from broaching the subject. “Are we just going to pretend you didn’t say the thing you just said?” 

“The thing about you being a testicle-guzzling cocksucker?” you gritted. “No.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “The thing about your followers wanting us to date for a video.” 

For a few moments, you didn’t deign to acknowledge him. Then, as if a switch inside you had flipped, you pulled the TV’s plug and turned to face him. “Would it be weird?” 

Wow. Okay, Sunghoon mused. I think it would be a fantastic idea and a dream come true, but I don’t trust myself around you. Even as a mere friend.  

However, instead of voicing his thoughts, the boy simply shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been friends for several years now. I’m a regular on your YouTube channel and I think your fans are aware of the dynamics of our relationship. What do they mean when they say they want us to date? Physical intimacy aside, we already do everything couples do.” 

“I think they want us to be romantic,” you admitted. “Go on a date, hold hands, cross some lines.”

“Cross some lines?” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lip curling in a smirk. “Is this you speaking or your subscribers?”

Groaning in exasperation, you shoved his shoulder. He fell back on the couch, laughing. “Shut up, dickface! You know I’ve been swamped this semester. My influencer gig has been seriously lacking. I need to step up—do what they want me to do. Besides, we only have to be girlfriend and boyfriend for 24 hours. It’s really not that big a deal. Are you in or not?”

Sunghoon took a few seconds to mull over your words. Sure, he would love to be your boyfriend for 24 hours. As long as his fantasies were brought to reality, he didn’t care if the whole relationship was fake and short-lived. 

For far too long, he’d pined after you. He thought he was doing an excellent job at hiding his feelings, but then you decided to make vlogs for fun. That’s when shit truly went downhill. 

Within a few years, you’d amassed a following of over 5 million on YouTube and 3 million on Instagram. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say you’d become somewhat of a local celebrity.  

Being one of your closest friends, Sunghoon was often featured in your videos. Initially, he’d baulked at the idea of being filmed, but you’d worked your magic on him. The boy soon found himself being comfortable around cameras. 

Even though Sunghoon never started his own YouTube channel, his popularity grew along with yours. His Instagram had garnered over two million followers, and courtesy of his good looks and attractive physique, he’d been offered a bunch of brand deals too.

You’d scowled at how far Sunghoon’s pretty privilege had gotten him. While you busted your ass coming up with unique ideas and editing your videos to perfection, all he needed to do was show up. 

What you didn’t know, though, was that part of the reason he’d become a heartthrob among the youth was you. 

You might have been dumb and blind, but your followers certainly were not. They’d realised how Sunghoon looked at you—his eyes always twinkled and a fond smile automatically adorned his lips whenever he caught sight of you. 

To add to that, your fans had pointed out habits he didn’t even know he possessed. For example: idly braiding your strands; bringing you snacks whenever he swung by your apartment; saying hey, sunshine and giving you a side hug by way of greeting; disguising his compliments as insults. 

The list was very long.

They’d noticed the elastic he kept around his wrist at all times too—it was one of the two you’d used to tie his hair into little ponytails because you were convinced you could transform him into Boo from Monsters, Inc.   

Sunghoon himself had forgotten the reason he wore the elastic around his wrist. All he knew was that it was yours and it felt right. But when he read the comments obsessing about it, he rushed to watch the video your fans were referring to. 

And damn, they were right. 

Sunghoon didn’t know if you’d seen the comments your fans regularly left on your various social media pages. You’d never mentioned anything about the community calling you “couple goals,” and he was too much of a coward to inquire if you were aware. 

It was infuriating to know how transparent he was. Sunghoon wished he’d never gotten used to the camera and let slip his true self. 

Perhaps this was the cost of gaining the boyfriend material label—his unrequited feelings exposed for the entire world to see. 

Sunghoon would never admit it, but he’d spent the better part of a day reporting everyone who’d shipped him with you. The entire incident had truly made him go off the rails. 

However, today’s revelation was unexpected. It was an opportunity. A chance to experience something he’d desired for many years. Suddenly, he found himself thanking those busybodies online instead of cussing them out for being ridiculously invested in his love life.

Sunghoon knew saying yes to your proposition would bite him in the ass later on. He knew he’d crave more of you once he got a taste of being your boyfriend, and giving this fake relationship a shot would definitely make it harder for him to get over you in the future. He knew he was a massive idiot for willingly indulging in impending heartbreak, but he could always cross that bridge when he came to it.  

“Okay,” he said, meeting your gaze. “I’m in.”  

#enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen fluff #sunghoon fluff #enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen oneshots #sunghoon oneshots #enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfiction #enhypen #park sunghoon #enhypen drabbles #sunghoon drabbles #enhypen headcanons #sunghoon headcanons #enhypen time #sunghoon timestamps #enhypen fanfic #sunghoon fanfic #enhypen soft hours #sunghoon soft hours

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills

Part 1

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #transferrable skills #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #kink fics #this turned out so much more humorous than i expected and is so much fun to write #manic pixie dream ghost

[spideyhexx]

In an au he doesn't die, what's life like with Sej after the academy?

i've been reminded of the canon but anywho

I think it would be sweet and also challenging to an extent, but that greatly depends if he decides to go back to the Capitol or stay in the districts!

I think if he wanted to stay in the districts and continue helping out there (assuming you’re from the capitol) he’d make sure you’ve got something set up wherever he may be stationed and as soon as you can, you’re traveling to be with him. It’s the sort of thing where Sej is nervous you just won’t come because why would you wanna leave your life in the capitol for him? But your love for him means more than that, so of course you’re on the soonest train to him. Then I think life would be pretty nice??? I think there would be times of hardships as Sej would probably align with rebels and try to invoke change for the better but you two would be free from capitol pressures and maybe if siding with rebels got too dangerous, Sej would settle down and you two would make a home for yourself in whatever district you find suits your future together.

I think if Sej went back to the capitol it would 100% be because of you. Whether you can’t leave or just don’t want to, he’s there. I think he’d try using his family’s name and money to do good but it would be very difficult and put you both at risk (especially with Coriolanus as he also rises in power). I think he’d turn to work with capitol children??? This is a bit out of left field but bare with me, I think he’d realize he can’t influence the adults of the capitol and it’s too risky and he doesn’t wanna put you in more danger so instead he becomes somewhat of a teacher? And his own compassion and sweetness is something he tries to pass onto these kids, the future of the capitol.

So either way, I think he’d come out of the academy/peacekeeping days wanting to provide somewhat of a safe life for you despite his driven need to speak out against a lot of the inhumane things going on in the world. He’d want to marry you as soon as he can because sej just can’t wait any longer, especially if he had been away from you for a while being a peacekeeper.

let’s chat about sej, here :)

#sejanusasks #there’s more concepts I can think of with this but here’s this for now :) #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth imagine #sejanus plinth smut #sejanus plinth fanfiction #sejanus plinth fluff #sejanus plinth x you #sejanus smut

[bonefall]

considering spiderleg is like *that* and squirelflight being diehard fire alone i cant imagine them being friends in BB like they were sort of in the canon books. were they or did it disolve after time passed and spiderleg got more into traditional/thistle law. also who were her other friends? i saw daisy was in another ask but who else (really eager to know who booed at mousefur and thronclaw lol)

So to begin with, Squirrelflight is in an odd place, generation-wise. She is born while Firestar is on his quest with Brokenstar, and grows up in a period of peace and prosperity.

Unfortunately she keeps failing her goddamn assessments

So while Leafstripe is a fully trained Cleric, Sorreltail recovered from being hit by a car and graduated, and Ashfur tried to hold out for her for a while before moving up, Squirrelpaw is here absolutely eating leaf litter with her wrecklessness

Goldenflower, her mentor, even tries to tell Firestar that she's not being vindictive, just in case he got the wrong idea. He assures her that, no. No he understands <:/

So Spider, Shrew, and Squirrel end up as apprentices together. There was a time where they were really close, getting in trouble in spite of their three strict mentors. Bad influence trio, all of them coming from respected parents and doing their best to embarass them.

That only started to change when Squirrelpaw went on the Great Journey, but then returned just in time to see Shrewpaw die. A lot of things were different, now. Squirrelpaw came back exalted for being on a holy quest. Spiderpaw had watched a lot of his clanmates die. She was spending more time with Brambleclaw; he had become very protective of his little brother, Birchkit.

They had both grown in a flash. Hard times will do that to you.

During the Great Journey, Spiderpaw was really close to the other Clan apprentices while Squirrelpaw hung out with the Sundrown Patrol. Spider looks back at this time in his life with a lurch in his stomach that he can't put into words.

He was there when Paw Soup was made. Talonclaw and Smokefall were friends of his even more than they were friends of little Birchkit. Spiderleg just left it behind when they got to the Lake, where his little brother never could. Clan loyalty, strength, honor... all that. He felt like he had to make a choice.

As a person, Spiderleg is torn in many directions by all of the things that happened to him. His head-of-construction father, his educator mother, his friend who won status by breaking the rules, three dead siblings before his warriorhood, the destruction of his ancestral home, the journey that challenged everything, his mentor Thornclaw, the backfired meeting, ardor for Daisy, crashing down with unwanted kits...

His consistent trait is that he's easily swept up in whatever fills him with the most passion, tossing himself into things until a bubbling sense of disgust makes him break it off. Regardless of if it was the good thing to do or not.

Religious euphoria and self-flagellation just seems to stabilize that impulse, for him.

The last time he was friends with Squilf was during their vigil upon reaching the Lake. They did it together, because they were both long overdue. He thought about Shrewpaw, and wondered if she did too.

But neither one of them broke the silence between them. They still haven't.

#better bones au #BB!TNP #BB!Squirrelflight #BB!Spiderleg #Ppl don't talk enough about that horrible feeling of being at the deathbed of a friendship #Knowing it's dying in front of you #But not knowing how to say goodbye to it. Or if you can stop it. #But the worst part is that even when it dies it hangs in the air #Is it secretly alive? Or is it just haunting you #There's a history between us. Is the look of recognition in your eyes like a shared glance at a grave? #Or is it a silent prayer that what we had can come back from the dead #But too much has changed. #If they hung out past that vigil it was always with that tension in the air. #Until Squilf broke it off with Ash and their friend groups irrevocably split #Though any chance of reconnecting was definitely torched by that Backfired Meeting

[captainjamster]

Underrepresented!Reader Series

Pairing(s): Price x recovering drug user reader Warnings: Discussions of drug use/abuse, contemplation of driving under the influence Wordcount: 2.1k Summary: An impulse to relapse in your sobriety is halted when John catches you sneaking out. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

A/N: Terribly sorry to be selfish, but I have to admit, this one is entirely for me. I am genuinely nervous to post this one, I know the world isn't always friendly in its perception of individuals struggling with substance usage, but we're sending it.

Full fic is under the cut <3

The urges have been picking away at your sanity for the last week.

Each floorboard creaks a song of your deception, calling out their weary complaints tauntingly with each step you take, and you pray the noise isn’t loud enough to wake John. It was easy enough to untangle yourself from his limbs, kissing his temple and murmuring something about the toilet when he reached for your departing figure with a sleepy grumble. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom was more challenging, the door pushed open and tugged close again just for effect, straining your ears with the air caught in your chest as you waited for his breathing to even out into deep, rumbling snores.

The further away your bedroom gets, the more your resolve begins to crack as you ride the dip of the overwhelming desire, rationality fighting through the impulses that beg to occupy your conscious thoughts. It’s not too late to turn back, slip under the covers again and back into John’s arms. Feel the grunt vibrate through his chest when you let him know you just needed a glass of water from the kitchen, that’s all, and fall back asleep to face the same dilemma all over again in the morning.

You keep walking, focusing your attention on the careful placement of your feet as the floor turns from wood to tiles, trying to drown the cacophony of thoughts rattling through your head. Though the kitchen is far enough away from the bedroom that the noise should die before it travels, you can’t help the hesitancy you move with. Like maybe if you’re quiet enough, the guilt eating at your chest will be, too.

Looking out the window that peaks between the curtains, droplets of rain are illuminated by the warm glow of the streetlights. Your pyjamas are too thin and skimpy for the unforgiving chill of the winter air, and the dressing gown you snagged from the bedroom door would only keep you so warm if you walked. Frustration flares as you consider another obstacle in your path, resurfacing the tug of war between relapsing or sobriety you’re trying to avoid as an irritatingly logical voice in your head pleads you not to disappoint John, not to disappoint yourself like this. The car it is, then.

Grabbing the damn metal without sending tinkling chimes echoing through the house is agonising, and you wince with every clang of the keys. It takes some patience to guide them out the wired basket they live in without catching them on the aluminium wires, exhaling a relieved sigh when they’re safe in your hand. The keys eat at your palm as you grip them, shimmying your slippers on delicately as you brace yourself to coax the door open, doubts flying through your head as you get deeper in.

The more you consider it, driving seems too risky. Maybe if you roll the car in neutral, you can push it down the street, far away enough that the engine coming to life won’t rouse John from his sleep – but you can’t drive back fucked up, especially not if you overdo it. Pain throbs in your hand as you clutch tighter at the keys, feeling the dents they make in your palm without looking.

Fuck it. It would be way easier to drive home with everything, pull up across the street and push your car back into the driveway. You can’t do it in the car – god, John would be so upset if the sniffer dogs ever alerted to his car – but there is that public bathroom down the street. At this point, even your own damn backyard could work. That’s a problem for when you have the drugs in your hands.

Convincing yourself there’s nothing to fret over with the illusion of a solution, you push yourself off the wall, reaching out for the doorknob. You know it clicks when you open it, but maybe if you’re slow enough, then –

“Hey, baby.”

The keys jingle almost comedically as your grip loosens, freezing in place as your blood runs cold. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, fumbling as you try to work out the right response. “John…”

It takes a moment for your body to cooperate and turn on the spot. John’s eyes are puffy with sleep, one palm pressed into his socket as he squints at you with the other, running his hand up and down through the hair of his chest. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

There’s no accusation in his voice, despite that you know he’s smart enough to have worked it out. Your hand falls back to your side, clutching at the soft fabric of your gown.

“S’just…”

He shuffles over drowsily, yawning against the back of his hand as he stops just out of reach, leaving enough distance to keep you from feeling cornered. You can’t keep contact with his gaze, trailing down his bare chest, the waistline of his boxers, to his bare feet where it stays. John takes note of the hesitant silence, the way your body trembles in the shadows of the moonlight, and gently asks another question.

“What did you want to go out for, baby?”

He’s so sweet. Giving you the benefit of the doubt, a chance to explain without pushing assumptions and imagining the worst. It leaves a bitterness in your mouth, self-pity clawing at your chest as you crash with the disappointment of the moment, so torn between being grateful and being fucking pissed that you’re caught.

“You know.”

It burns to admit, struggling to swim through the shame and disgust rising in your body. Admitting it explicitly feels too much, but John still understands, humming acceptingly without any displeasure. When your eyes flicker back up to his face, his brows are furrowed in a loving concern, looking over you in that way John does when he’s trying to solve all of your problems in his head.

“Come sit on the sofa with me, love?” He prompts, extending a hand for the keys. You stare into his hand, raising your own arm to hover above his palm reflexively, but your fingers fight to loosen around the metal.

“I know, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “it’s okay. I’m not going to stop you, this is your choice. At least let me drive you so I know you’re safe.”

The proposal breaks your heart. Sneaking around to do drugs behind John’s back is one thing, but dragging him into it is another – one that’s entirely off limits. Your head is shaking urgently before you can find words, pulling your hand away to stuff the keys back into their basket. “Absolutely not. No, never.”

He drops his arm, bringing it back to his side. “S’alright too, darlin’. Just an offer.”

The space falls quiet as he watches you patiently, leaving time for you to speak up or make a move. When stillness keeps you rooted to the spot, hands tangled forcefully in the plush of the gown, he pipes up again. “Speakin’ of offers, would you come to the sofa with me? We can stay here, but it’s a bit comfier than the floor.”

The lightness in his tone is another gentle reassurance he’s not mad as you nod slowly, tugging at the inside of your lip to hold back the floor of tears. You sink lower into the mess of your emotions with each step, trying to keep composure as you follow him to the sofa. The plush furniture groans as John settles into it, purposely leaving his arm wide for you to curl into him. It takes a moment to curl up against him, feeling undeserving of the unconditional warmth he wraps you in as he tugs you closer.

“Tell me what’s goin’ on, doll.” He whispers, running a hand through your hair.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He hums understandingly, allowing you to continue without interruption.

“S’been bad the last week. Can’t stop thinking about it, everything reminds me of it in the most irrelevant ways. It’s like it never leaves my mind. It makes me fucking miserable.” The air struggles to reach your lungs through your choked up throat, breath hitching as you fight to keep it under control.

“Thought that…” Swallowing around the lump of shame in your throat is painful. “I thought I could just go out for one deal, just one. Could come home before you wake up, shower, and I could be happy again and you wouldn’t be stuck dealing with me like this! Just for a week, a few days, even a fucking day. Just some fucking reprieve from this bullshit.”

The words tumble out as the floodgates break, pressing your face against John’s bare chest. Soothing hushes fall from his lips, rubbing his hand up and down your back as you crumble into him.

“It’s okay, my love.” His breath is warm against your scalp with every word. “I know it’s been tough for you lately, baby, I see you workin’ so hard.”

The assurance has you sobbing harder, shoulders shaking as you gulp down oxygen between wails, and he does nothing but hold you closer. “You’re doing such a good job staying sober. Must’ve been so hard to fight those urges all week. Sounds like there was a lot triggering you, huh?”

All you can do is nod weepily, bringing a sleeve up to wipe at your runny nose. Words feel far from your grasp as the emotional intensity of your week fully hits you, but John doesn’t stop with the hushed reassurances. “M’not mad, you haven’t disappointed me, love. So proud of you for still tryin’. Even if y’did go, you wouldn’t disappoint me. These things happen.”

Your chest aches as tears stain your face, slick against his damp skin that catches each drop. John doesn’t care about the snot or tears tangling his hair, letting you sob into his chest like a tissue. “You’ve been strong for the last few months, it’s okay if you fall this time. S’okay even if you fall tomorrow, and the day after that.”

Each breath is still ragged, shaking your figure with a fierceness that won’t let you keep your fingers together. John steps in, sliding his fingers between yours, rubbing circles over the back of your hand. “I know, sweet thing. Can you try’n breathe with me? Know y’can do it, take a breath with me, jus’ like that.”

He takes a deep, purposeful inhale that moves you with him, exhaling it slowly and repeating until your breath falls in peaceful synchronisation. For however long passes by, it’s just you and John rocking through the last of your distress, the warmth of his body and touch of his skin keeping you from floating too far back into the guilt and temptation ringing through your mind.

“Remember what your therapist said?” John speaks up, soft voice echoing through the quiet, dark living room. “Urges and relapsing are a part of your sobriety.”

“Being sober isn’t a destination, it’s a journey,” you mumble into him, closing your eyes as the mantra washes over you.

The room falls silent for long enough that you almost dose off, lost between the comforting touches of John and the weariness that begins to replace your fading adrenaline.

“With me, sunshine?” John prompts, running his nails along your scalp soothingly as he catches the dwindling of your consciousness. Despite the hoarse, watery “yes” you mumble into his chest hairs, you can still hear the smile in his voice as he responds. “What can I do for you, hm? Anythin’?”

You reject him with a refusing hum, shaking your head. “Nothin’, just stay here.”

“Couldn’t think of anythin’ I want to do more. I’ll carry you back if you fall asleep.”

The thought of putting John through any more trouble tonight has you frowning, pushing yourself away from him despite his reluctance to loosen his grip, giving you a curious look.

“Save you the trouble, let’s go now.”

His eyes crinkle with the turn of his lips, smiling at you affectionately as you rise. Your hands intertwine as he reaches out, only loosening when he tugs the dressing gown off your shoulders, hanging it over the door as you make your way to the bed. Despite your head start, his long legs move him quicker, pulling the blankets back for you.

You slip in between the sheets, feeling the bed dip as John crawls in his side. His arms are open expectantly before you have to say anything, smoothing the sheet out to create a comfy spot for you that you snuggle into without hesitation.

The muscles hidden under that soft layer of fat in his arms flex and release as he wraps his arms around you, finding a protective purchase on the soft rises of your body. A pang of gratefulness rattles your chest, and you squeeze your eyes shut, breathing in the smell of your lover. It doesn’t take long for you to fall back into the gentle lull John coaxed you into before, and once he’s sure you’re soundly asleep, he sinks into unconsciousness with you.

dividers by cafekitsune

#look. i think john would get it #as someone who 1) smokes cigars and may have a tobacco dependence 2) would see substance abuse as coping in his own soldiers #i think he would be a great partner/support system for maintaining sobriety #price x reader #john price x reader #price x you #john price x you #jams writings #rep!reader writings #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic

[serpentpatrol]

⚔️Martian/Plutonic: Fearlessness to Face Death/Struggles and Come Back Empowered⚔️

🔎Discretion: consider zodiac signs, aspects, and placements in a birth chart as a map of the soul, it gives you direction on how to recognize its influence or impact within you, as the saying goes: "the stars impels; they don't compel". These observations also depends on degrees, houses, aspects to planets and mostly the free will of the person. Your birth chart gives you information about the pattern of how your energy plays out in the universe but in the end it's your own free will which is the one that decides on how to manage the energy.

🎶 Angel Sanctuary OST 《Rociel - Inorganic Angel》 *play the music to feel the vibe of Martian Plutonic energy 🩸🔥⚔️*

🩸There is something about the principles that the spartan soldiers upholds that I really admire and this movie titled 300 is based on real spartan soldiers and it's about how King Leonidas strategizes to defeat his enemies. He followed his own method when he killed the big wolf by leading the enemy to a smaller corner. It's similar to the movie titled Revenant, the main character, was nearly being killed by a bear, left to die by his comrades, and he had to survive in the wild forest alone, he was dying, but that isolation in the state of dying transformed him and as if was being resurrected back to life. He was then targeting his enemy to exact his revenge from what the enemy had done to him, and it made that enemy scared. There's a quote from the main character, "He's afraid, he knows I have come so far to find him". This is a tactical terror that scared enemies, people thought the person was dead, but he survived as if he was being revived back by the God of Death, this is very martian or plutonic. When a martian/plutonian person being thrown into danger, it won't easily defeat them, they will take it as a challenge and it ignites the inner beast to tackle that challenge. Martian energy is about aggression, reaching goals through strategized actions, tactical methods, modus operandi, how we behave when we are angry or when we want to handle things or solving problems, how we express our motivation or inner drives. While Plutonic energy is about death and rebirth process of transformation, something that might kill or obliterate you only make you even stronger and empowered, depicted precisely in the myth of Phoenix which resurrected itself and rose above its own ashes after death. I truly admire these militaristic survival themes, be it through movie scenes, animes, fictional or historical novels or books, even games that tell stories about the journey of the soul against death, when you are ready to die, you live, but when you are blind to death, you experience transformation through it. (Another example of Martian/Plutonic themes in movies are Deadpool, Taken (all sequels), Sicario, Dont Breathe 1 & 2)

(watch the video here where King Leonidas must defeat the big wolf in the wilderness as part of his initiation to become the man of Sparta). 👇🏻🐺

🩸Having Martian and Plutonic placements combined and aspecting to eachother could really create an empowering energy that the person will always carry within them in their lifetime, it is not a calm harmonious energy, its energy is similar to war zones, chaos. In Greek Mythology, the planet Mars symbolized God Ares, the God of War and planet Pluto symbolized God Hades, the God of Underworld. These two planets combination would be majorly related to themes of life that change the person through chaos, exposure of transformative events or encounters, power struggles, conflicts, wars, things happening around them that would drive them to activate the survivalist primal instinct just to survive from the attacks or triggers. Anyone who has this placement probably had experienced unfairness, or they became the target of unscrupulous judgement or treatments because when this energy is dormant within them it is somehow attracting things around them to trigger and activate the mars-pluto energy. Sometimes attracting abuse to them or the person themselves becomes the abuser if they still have not enough strength yet to control, contain and manage this enormous primal energy within, its uncontrollable! Themes of near death experience could also be present where the person survived from accidents or encountered dangerous events. Or the person somehow has this big energy which can destroy things around them or even be destructive to others with or without intention. Having this energy feels like dealing an unexpected war or being present in a constant battlefield.

🩸If this energy could be controlled and the person understood on how to manage the energy, it could then be used more properly for leadership, the beastly instinct transmuted and be used to help others who are weak, afflicted or underdogs or could even be used to defend some belief systems or good moral principles, become a professional focused surgeon who could perform meticulous physical operation for a patient, etc. It all depends on which house the mars and pluto are placed in, that can represent specific life themes playing out in the person's life event. Mars and Pluto combined is symbolic to represent fearless resilient warrior archetype who protects, defends, is a fierce executor, courageously thrives when life circumstances gets tougher and extreme, is alert in emergency circumstances.

🩸Every person who has this aspect should take care of how they express themselves because this is a powerful combination which cannot be taken lightly. The person could easily lose control, causing accidents or destructions and the power of that inner dragon could drag him to a state of powerlessness when facing those out of control circumstances. So, by doing positive healthy activities, it could help the person to tame that inner dragon and made it stable, the activities that can transmute this energy to a more productive rather than destructive way would be highly recommended: martial art, artistic expressions through painting/music/fashion, meditation, sports, intensely dive deep to learn topics or subjects which later be internalized, spiritual pursuits, defend helpless fellow human beings, animals, or a cause.

🩸These people may seem gentle or not revealing any power in their expression or it could be the opposite where these people exudes steel-like presence, leader vibe, militaristic primal energy. Nevertheless, they will encounter challenging and intense experiences that could transform them to be more refined and sharp in their awareness to the darkness or chaos of the world (depends on the aspects and house influence), they are resilient souls, having sophisticated mentality like a military war general or just have a very empowered spirit.

🩸Individuals with prominent Mars-Pluto aspects have to learn on taming their own inner beast/inner dragon in a way like what Jordan Peterson had taught and said: "Those who have swords and know how to use them but keep them sheathed will inherit the world. You should be a monster, an absolute monster. And then you should learn how to control it." It is the same analogy with this quote: "It's better to be a warrior in a garden than a gardener in a war"; emphasizes the necessity to have consciousness, alert, and well prepared over the surroundings both in peace and chaos. While in peace you sharpened/trained your sword/weapon/instinct, so then in battle you could apply what you have learned or practiced. By doing this, you wouldn't let the destructive instinct take control over you but instead you are in control of that instinct. This made you more empowered because you could understand the chaos of the world and could pass through the calamity, so you wouldn't make yourself the victim which led to your own demise/self-annihilation.

©SerpentPatrol

#astrology #mars conjunct pluto #mars square pluto #mars opposite pluto #mars sextile pluto #mars trine pluto #mars pluto aspect #martian #plutonic #mars #pluto #astrology observations #astro chart #tropical astrology #astro notes #astro community #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

[charmilyharmily]

The Amazing Digital Downpour

Woe, Rainworld and TADC au be upon ye.

It’s mostly just the designs but I’m still going to ramble about what’s planned down below

So the general premise is ‘What if the circus was in rain world’ and this is it.

Caine and Bubble are the classic duo of iterator and overseer. But Caine has kinda forgotten his original goal and so has taken on the task of keeping all these not ancient ancients from going insane through fun challenges and adventures. Especially since there’s no escape from his can due to some technical oversights during his creation, and the whole cycle thing prevents anyone from truly dieting, so that’s not an escape either.

(If they die they just get ‘respawned’ the next cycle with minimal harm; everyone still remembering and coping with it)

Now on to the main stars of this show. Everyone here was at some point an ancient and only remembers attempting to ascend before suddenly falling from a random pipe within Caines structure. Oh and ending up in rather unusual bodies.

Caine has no idea where they come from nor how they appeared, so that’s a dead end. And escape is practically impossible as far as anyone is aware.

So what’s going on with everyone?

Pomni

Weird lantern mouse (her tail glows instead of her open tire body)

Absolutely minuscule

Practically shakes from how much anxiety she has

Otherwise she’s the Pomni you know and love

Just add on some extra existential dread

Ragatha

Mostly a normal slugcat

Just extra fluffy

Surpassingly craft for having less dexterous hands

Kinger

Scavenger

Just a weirdly colored scav

About as obsessed with bugs as he is with pearls

Somehow has managed to get quite the collection of both

Jax

Really weird slugcat

Got lizard in him or something

Still just as much of a jerk

Has absolutely gotten everyone killed once

Zooble

They’re just a mix of everything, you name it, it’s probably in there (somewhere)

Which has somehow led to them being pretty chill, guess all those instincts just cancel everything out

Takes full advantage of their size, and uses it to scare off Jax (no it has not stopped him from being the end of them)

Gangle

A garbage worm with some vulture

She’s still heavily influenced by her masks for her emotions, although to a lesser degree

Without them she looks mostly like a normal garbage worm (just red)

She gets very upset and angry, and will chase whoever stole or broke her mask (only does it for awhile till she tries herself out)

After she tires herself out she just acts generally mopey

Is in fact made of three different organisms, the smaller worms act as her arms

Bubble

It’s Bubble not much to say

He’s an overseer and acts the exact same, if not more annoying since he has more free reign

Caine

He’s an iterator, capable of controlling practically everything in his can

His face got destroyed before anyone can remember (Kinger doesn’t count)

Just as clueless on how ancients work, he didn’t get to talk with them much

He will often create purposed organisms and alter his structure to fit the daily adventure, trying to keep it from killing anyone

The structure is unusual, almost like it was made for what’s currently happening

With huge rooms and areas just mostly empty, and much more editing capabilities than most iterators

Despite being trapped in his room, he tries to stay connected vie Bubble and built in screens

A better image of the height chart

#rain world #rainworld #rw #the amazing digital circus #tadc #digital circus #rw au #tadc au #iterator #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc caine #tadc ragatha #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #tadc bubble #the amazing digital downpour au #tadd!au

[arabaka]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ kishibe x (sex devil)fem!reader. CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ !!! reference to cow slaughtering (it's used to compare humans vs. devils). finger sucking. thigh riding. wall sex. use of "master." WORD COUNT: 1.4K PSD CREDIT !!! MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI !!!!!!!（ ꐦꉺωꉺ)つ

There isn’t a human alive that could control you.

But Kishibe comes close enough.

Your feelings on humans have always been ambivalent. At worst, they’re inconsequential organisms that only serve to keep you alive and well. Humans don’t shed a tear for every cow they butcher. They revel in their gyudon, engorge themselves on hamburgers, and never spare a passing glance to the suffering of what they decree to be a lower animal. You aren’t so different; in fact, you’d wager to say this proves you’re above them. Because unlike humans, the barbarians, you don’t lead them to the slaughterhouse. Sure, you’re not exactly remorseful when they die but nobody’s perfect.

But Kishibe comes pretty damn close.

He’s gruff. He’s mean. He always smells like whiskey that’s been out too long. He’s the antithesis of the ideal man but after all this time, after all these decades, you never stop wanting him. Of all the flavors humans come in, he's your favorite. 

You suck on his thumb, lips puckering leisurely around the digit as you roll your hips back on his muscled thigh. He’s so good to you, letting you rub yourself out on him. “Having fun?” Kishibe’s voice is always rough around the edges but he’s sweet on you, the bristles of his beard tickling your skin as he purrs in your ear. You’re too lost in the rhythm, your clit throbbing from the minutes you’ve spent self-stimulating on Kishibe’s leg; you almost forget to reply but don’t worry, he gives you a squeeze on your bottom to coax a response out of you. “Mmhm.” The utterance vibrates around his finger as your lids grow heavy, lashes fluttering as sparks fly from your core. 

“Why don’t you let me play with that pretty pussy of yours, hm?” Alcohol on his tongue without any of the influence, his craving for you is genuine. “You can’t get off on just my leg.” 

You stamp a wiley little smirk lips to his neck, your lips lining a trail of kisses going up until you’re nibbling on his earlobe. “Am I hearing a challenge?” You rouse a snicker from the back of his throat but oh, you misunderstood him.

It wasn’t a suggestion. 

The greatest devil hunter on the force and with those sturdy arms of his, the same he’s used to kill hundreds of thousands of your kind, he scoops you up with absolute reverence. Because you stopped being a devil to him a long, long time ago. 

How many times has he carried you down this hall, not as a contracting party but as a bonafide lover? How many times has he kissed you and left with something more on his teeth than just lewd greed? Which speaking of, let him get another taste of you.

Even several swigs deep, Kishibe can multitask just fine; he’s pressed so firmly to your lips and you open for him so generously, inviting more of him in almost immediately. You exchange groans, tongues sliding over each other and teeth clashing when you get overzealous. “Forget the bedroom,” You breathe into his mouth, “Just take me right here.” 

He’s fucked you like this before– no, not just by the place, time, and position. Hips grinding into you, leaky cockhead plugging you full, with something a little more risky than lust: emotion. He’s looking into your eyes, foreheads docked as he ruts into you, the roll of his pelvis sparking a charge of pleasure from your inner thighs. It runs up your stomach, meeting the ridge of Kishibe’s dick and ending as a series of shivers up your spine and into your brain. Tickled and dazed by the rock of Kishibe’s body, you don’t do much to stop the shaking of your legs as they somehow stay interlocked around Kishibe’s torso. “Feel good?” Kishibe grunts, his breath like feathers running down your cheek. He doesn't have to ask but he sure loves hearing you whine.

"Uh-huh," Your voice wavers as your frame runs up the wall with every thrust, "Fuck– feels amazing, Kishibe." Your crimson tail coils around Kishibe, the arrowed tip cupping his pec and squeezing out a couple strained huffs from the man currently dominating your insides. You drag your touch down from his chest until you’ve jumped from his body to yours, the pointed end of your tail starting to gingerly play with your puffy clit upon arrival. Your lips begin to tremble and you have tears accenting the corners of your eyes.

No one gets you feeling as good as Kishibe does. His fat cock spreads your folds apart just right, the weight of his shaft fills you up as if you were carved into existence just to take him. Your walls have memorized the fork in his veins and their thick presence, all of you stimulated at any given time. It’s what has you looking so checked out, eyes vacant of any coherent thought and your lips starting to part, as if you could manage anything other than his name and wrung out moans. 

He thinks you look perfect like this: totally resigned to his power and control as he digs his nails into your thighs, leaving those lunar-shaped scratches you love so much. He enjoys watching your eyes spring open when he drags his hips back particularly slow, only for you to throw your head back and scream when he’s snapping back into you at full force. He knows you feel him up your belly, can physically see the imprint he’s creating into your tummy so no one else will ever fill you like he does. 

“Yeah? Taking me so well. You have this cunt all for me?” He doesn’t. He knows he doesn’t. You have a squadron of contracts willing to go to bat for you, just for a taste, but god does it sound good on your tongue. He needs to hear it, needs to believe for just a second that he, and he alone, owns you for him to get over the edge.

You’re so quick to respond, always are for Kishibe. “Yes! Yes, Kishibe! Yes!” Like it’s the only word you know, you start to babble it incessantly as Kishibe starts to fuck into you faster and 

harder. You can feel every flex, every pump in his cock as the gap between every thrust starts to tighten. This makes your own folds twitch, that tight little hole of yours clenching around Kishine because pretty soon, you’re going to cum all over him and leave him a sopping wet mess. A groan comes rumbling out your throat as the circling touch on your clit with your tail quickens. You know just the thing to say to get Kishibe going, really make him shoot buckets inside you.

“Master! Master, k-keep go– don’t stop, Master. Please, please, please don’t stop.”

“Shit.” The harshness of his groans has magnified, matching the feral pace his cock is pumping in and out of you as he starts to feel the sudden tightening of his balls, “Gonna cum.” The rush of semen that pours into you is staggering and he keeps going, seemingly until every part of your insides are stained with him. He’s still grinding into you, though now there’s a very sticky, wet sound coming from his balls smacking against your drenched cunt. 

You’ve fallen apart all around him and you’re just coming to from that brief, fluttering moment of infinity when he rocks into you for the last time. Your body trembles, the aftershocks of your orgasm keeping your limbs jittery. Goosebumps line your skin and the cold air that blows from down the hall has you feeling extra ticklish. 

Kishibe’s thumb, the pad rubbed raw from years of battle and strife, tips your chin, making you look at him with those glazed over, sweet-as-honey eyes of yours. He kisses you so intimately, tongue sliding and swirling deeply over yours, that you feel a sprout of butterflies in your stomach. You don’t know what that means. Maybe you don’t need to think about it right now.

“You should stay the night.” Was that you talking? Kishibe’s stayed longer than that before. He practically lived at your place at one point. But the way you ask is so… Sincere. Genuine. “Stay the night.” You repeat, as if you’re still trying to get used to the way you sound for a human, a contract: needy. 

“Yeah. I’ll stay.” Kishibe mumbles against your mouth, giving you another kiss that’s a twinge drowsy. He starts to pull out but you stop him with the squash of your legs along his torso. 

“Didn’t mean we were done.”

#kishibe #csm kishibe #kishibe x reader #kishibe x you #kishibe x y/n #csm x you #csm x reader #csm x y/n #csm imagine #csm smut #.˚₊ ੈ ʚ 🍰 ɞ ₊˚. ꒰ a little treat for kishibe. ꒱

[homestucksimplified]

The 12 Classes of Doom.

“Doom is the Aspect of inevitability, destiny, fate, conformity… Doom Players are known to be good listeners, people who understand and will empathize, even if they don’t know how to fix many issues. They seem to be okay with fate, with the way things work, with both contentment and pain. Doom Player Sollux knew that he was going to die, and he accepted it, knowing nothing could be done about it. Doom can be heavily emotional”.

“Doom is a poetic Aspect, and it’s extremely interesting, although rarely depicted in the comic. A Doom Player’s struggle might be about acceptance, a doubt about how it all is supposed to work. It is realistic and skeptical, not always pessimistic instead. Doom can be stability, having an outlook on life that is healing in their own way. I have heard from a Doom Player that “the Life-Doom Aspect pair is the facet of a person that deals with healing. While Life heals through change and improvement, Doom heals through acceptance and adjustment”. This difference is sometimes described as “the vent friend” (Doom) and “the advice friend” (Life). Life is the opposite Aspect to Doom, and it is serving and helpful”.

Sburb Players each have a combination of an Aspect and a Class. Aspects are understood to represent what a player’s goals and actions in life are caused by. A Class is within an Aspect and understood to represent the way they deal with their Aspect.

The Sburb Classes are Maid, Page, Mage, Knight, Rogue, Sylph, Seer, Thief, Heir, Bard, Prince, and Witch. (Lord and Muse*)

(*Classes Lord and Muse seem to only be possible in either Cherub society or in two-player sessions. They are very absolute and it’s rare for a human to identify with their descriptions. I will have to leave them out here and only write about the remaining twelve :)

Adding the Classes to the Aspect of Doom will result in twelve God Tiers. My analyses of them are as follows:

1st God Tier: Witch of Doom

Witch is the Active Class of manipulation. Witches are known to “control” their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Witch of Doom, specifically, would be one of the most repressed people in their lives, always shutting off what should be natural (though they would not be blind to it, they’re not naive about what fate is supposed to bring, they simply no not want to accept that it is true). Witches are characterized by rebellion, and Doom’s rebellion is against fate, the condemnation, sometimes even death. It is impossible to escape from your Aspect but they try their best, but does escaping from destiny not end up becoming your destiny?

Witches of Doom are the most frightened of Witches, but they’re also probably the strongest. I can see them being good liars, and pretty optimistic people, maybe trying to hide the realism or nihilism that might be building up inside them, begging to be seen. They would want to appear more as a Life Player, be helpful and free from destiny and/or suffering. It is through accepting suffering that they will become well-developed Doom Players.

2nd God Tier: Heir of Doom

Heir is the Passive Class of manipulation. Heirs are known to “influence” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. An Heir of Doom, specifically, would passively manipulate fate in a way that might be shown as “coping”, maybe tricking themselves and those around them into believing the opposite of the truth, for example, that everything will be okay when in reality they know it won’t. It can also be the opposite, if they are mostly negative; they could bring people to believe that a perfectly safe and fine situation will actually end in great tragedy. They don’t do this on purpose all the time, though, and unlike Witches, they have more control of that power. It’s not only their way of dealing with fate, it is also what they are naturally inclined to do. The challenge in an Heir of Doom’s life would be not being in control of what is to come.

Heir of Doom is a canon Homestuck God Tier. Mituna Captor is the character that holds that title.

3rd God Tier: Mage of Doom

Mage is the Active Class of knowledge. Mages are known to “understand” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Mage of Doom, specifically, would be aware of everyone’s fates and their own as well. I guess in a non-fantasy world that would be through “connecting the dots” and great observation skills. Mages are the most aware of where they are and of what their Aspect means, so Mages of Doom would be completely accepting of, you know, acceptance itself. In subtle cases they might be realistic people who don’t try to defeat their doom, and in extreme cases they might be people who are completely in peace with the fact that they are going to die. It will depend from Player to Player, but Doom will usually have a connection with suffering. Mages of Doom would be understanding of everyone’s suffering, maybe the perfect empaths. Their mind would never be focused on fixing the inevitable, they only accept it as it is; because if it’s meant to go this way, it’s for a good reason. They don’t go against fate.

I like to believe a Mage of Doom would read this and go “yeah. Guess I’m a Mage of Doom then”.

Mage of Doom is a canon Homestuck God Tier. Sollux Captor is the character that holds that title.

4th God Tier: Seer of Doom

Seer is the Passive Class of knowledge. Seers are known to “study” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Seer of Doom, specifically, would analyse fates and what they might be, what might be hidden behind them, what the reasons for them might be… They are analysts, like every Seer, but of what wouldn’t really appeal to others; of death, suffering, drama, the inevitability of many aspects of life. Seers of Doom would be really interesting people with many interesting hobbies. I can see them, like some of the Time Players, enjoying collecting bones, or rocks that not everyone would notice on the beach. They are probably drawn to endings, and I mean this in the most innocent way. I can connect Doom and Time pretty often, because both overlap when talking about finality; Time for the rush reason and Doom for the fate reason. Does that make sense? Seers of Doom might be really good at understanding how something is going to end, studying situations to figure out motives. What differs them the most from Mages is that they would watch from afar and not feel as intimate with destiny as Mages would.

I don’t know why, but “Mary On A Cross” by Ghost gives me Seer of Doom vibes.

5th God Tier: Thief of Doom

Thief is the Active Class of stealing. Thieves are known to “take” from their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Thief of Doom, specifically, would take advantage of their own ideas of destiny to try to benefit other areas of their life. I see the stealing classes as the most unrelated classes to their Aspects, it is harder for me to figure out who is a Thief or a Rogue, but I can tell that most Thieves are tempted to steal “for themselves”. This has never meant they are self-focused or self-fulfilling, it just means they are less naturally inclined to sacrifice themselves in the name of others. Thieves are usually very comfortable in their Aspects, not ever doubting it, and instead taking every chance they have to perfect it. In a concrete way, a Thief of Doom would, for example, use other’s pessimistic moments to lecture them about it, showing off their certainty in whatever destiny they believe is coming to them. Being comfortable in their Aspect, they would not be affected by suffering as much, they would feel at ease with pessimism. They are confident that if it is the right thing, it’s going to benefit them one day.

6th God Tier: Rogue of Doom

Rogue is the Passive Class of stealing. Rogues are known to “redistribute” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Rogue of Doom, specifically, would be either defined by sweetness or by incapability. Let me explain, Rogue is a Class that is described to be giving, and with this particular Aspect, it could mean sweet but also dangerous things. A Rogue of Doom might be a great listener, giving away their time to empathize with people or make them feel heard at least, but they might also have extreme sides, like (taking the Aspect more literally) leaving their fate in others’ hands or even being killed by them, due to their own incapability to center their Aspects on themselves.But this being said, every God Tier has macabre interpretations that are not great to think about, but this one stood out to me. Being a Rogue of Doom doesn’t guarantee that a person will leave their destiny up to others, but it facilitates it.

7th God Tier: Knight of Doom

Knight is the Active Class of utilizing. Knights are known to “handle” their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Knight of Doom, specifically, would be the biggest stereotype of Doom, pessimistic and used to suffering and being in the middle of the action. “The action”, in the Doom Aspect, can mean death of relatives, for example, and a Knight of Doom might be used to dealing with that. (This characteristic is also present in Knights of Time!) Otherwise, it can mean constantly having to handle and/or explain inevitability to others. Knights might not be the biggest fans of their Aspect, but they will accept it and not even complain that much. This is an interesting fact in Doom too, would they accept… acceptance?

The song “As the World Caves In” reminds me of this God Tier.

8th God Tier: Page of Doom

Page is the Passive Class of utilizing. Pages are known to “rise” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Page of Doom, specifically, would carefully and sometimes accidentally deal with the sensitive topics of suffering, death, finality of all things. It will all naturally come to them, in a way they really have no control or awareness over, and they will accept and accept and just handle everything because that’s the only thing they can do. Differently from Knights, they might feel like they’re useless in relation to the inevitability of change. Their main challenge will be learning how they are balanced in whatever chaos of destiny is happening around them. Pages have the potential of being the strongest Class when they learn the patterns of how they deal and how they should deal with their Aspect. I can see a Page of Doom just feel like they are following and not adding anything to the world, because things always happen without their input so how are they affecting anything? (If there’s any Page of Doom reading this, it’s not true; we are all affecting the world.)

9th God Tier: Maid of Doom

Maid is the Active Class of construction. Maids are known to “create” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Maid of Doom, specifically, would create their own fates! Maids are MADE of their Aspect, Maids of Doom are made of destiny and the ideas of suffering and comformity! Though it is the Active Class of construction, it is also a Class that serves, so it is also important to note that Maids of Doom would do anything to benefit destiny, whatever it might be. They are not the class that knows, they are the class that is.

I find Maids of Doom interesting, because how do you create something that to most others, just comes along on its own? Well, Maids have their technique of building, they will do what it takes until they feel like they are doing their job in a satisfying way. A Maid of Doom might be obsessed with living a perfectly spontaneous life, if that makes sense. They are attending to fate and building themselves from it!

10th God Tier: Sylph of Doom

Sylph is the Passive Class of construction. Sylphs are known to “build” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Sylph of Doom, specifically, would passively work with fate in order to make it easier to deal with, and then build upon it. I can see them as controlling and bossy about the Aspect. To use a random example, I can see them getting angry at someone who gives them advice, because that is not how Doom works. It’s inevitable and unchangeable, and it is the right thing to follow. I always see Sylphs as possessive of their Aspects, like they are the only ones who can take care of it, even if abstractedly. A Sylph of Doom would make their own interpretations of what their doom should be (maybe even macabrely, how their end should be) and will live their lives with those opinions very close to them at night.

11th God Tier: Prince of Doom

Prince is the Active Class of destruction. Princes are known to “wreck” their Aspect and through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Prince of Doom, specifically, would seem pretty edgy. They’d want to be as positive as Life Players, but would fail miserably and fall back into their inevitable pessimism about inevitability. Unhealthy Princes try to escape from their Aspect, and everyone starts unhealthy. They would be constantly worried and angry at their own destiny, and would be awfully aware of it (Mage is the Class of knowledge, but Prince is the one of awareness!) despite their attempts. Destruction can be literal, in this case it might be breaking objects related to fate, like breaking the weapon that is trying to kill you, “biting the hand that feeds you”.

I like to use the song Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy for this God Tier. Especially “I’m not paranoid, I’m a realist; I know you’re gonna kill me”. I also like to say that, while fate is the correct and natural thing to most Classes, to Princes of Doom, it is the wrongest path of all.

12th God Tier: Bard of Doom

Bard is the Passive Class of destruction. Bards are known to “deconstruct” their Aspect or through their Aspect, both literally and figuratively. A Bard of Doom, specifically, would not purposefully ruin fate’s plans, but would definitely cause that ruin. Think of the term “back to black”, and the inevitability of going back to old patterns and to what happens spontaneously. Bards have a hard time accepting their Aspects, and can go through weird and unbelievable phases with it. This particular Bard could have a complicated relationship with the fact that everything ends, and other times that some things are infinite, they might at one time be okay with death and at another lose their minds about it. Regarding fate, they don’t know they’re against it, but everything they do works in favor to annulate it. Like Princes, they might prefer the idea of belonging to the opposite Aspect (Life), being more positive and less complicated and ever-changing.

#sburb #god tier #classes #doom #witch of doom #page of doom #mage of doom #knight of doom #rogue of doom #sylph of doom #seer of doom #thief of doom #heir of doom #bard of doom #prince of doom #maid of doom #homestuck

[sunnysunsins]

Since recently everything here has been taken over by dipshits who lack media literacy, i will come back here to say - RWBY is a good show. It is good. It has good story and good writing and good characters. Does it have stumbles and limitations? Of course, like everything else ever created. Is it the real reason yall are dedicating your lives to religiously following and picking apart every detail to find something, anything, to hate on and make it your whole personality? Nah.

Yall are just pissy your hc wasn't canon. And i'm only half-joking.

Yall are just stuck in the expectation of "cute girls in school fighting monsters and baddies", which it hasn't been for almost a decade. Let Beacon fucking die already, it was the most boring part of the story anyway. If you like it so much, watch.. idk, high guardian spice. Or maybe my hero academia, it has godawful writing too with your favorite Adam-like and Ironwood-like archetypes you adore so much.

And if you didn't click off already in hissy rage, and want to challenge me on the writing point:

Yall are complaining about pacing, characterization lacking, skipped development, insert some other reason, how "show went to shit after volume 3". Well, newsflash, look back at volume 1. REALLY look at it, without your nostalgia boner.

How, in what actually can fit into 3.5 full-length episodes, it skips a whole semester with only a few moments shown in like 3-8 minutes. Notice how Ruby and Pyrrha interacted like 2 times in 3 volumes total. Ruby and Penny? Yeah, they barely interacted too. Ren hasn't talked to rwby girls at all aside from ensemble scenes.

Too many characters in later volumes? Honey, 1-3 had SO many pointless grunts and you ate them up. The whole Vytal festival was filled with them.

Can you tell me the plot of volume 2 from the top of your head? Yeah, me neither. If i think maybe i can remember there was a mecha fight, a dance and a train, but beyond that what was the point of that entire volume again?

Your favorite, pedestalled, volume 3, most of which is fighty-fighty filler and the only stuff you actually remember when jizzing your pants about it is last 3 episodes.

Most character interactions and development happened after Beacon arc. Most actual plot and bigger story happened after it too. Yall are stuck circlejerking to *filler*, setup, which only purpose was to show the status quo to later destroy it and start to show the real picture.

Do you know why v4 and 5 feel so empty and missing something? Sure, juggling multiple plots gave it's pacing issues too, but it felt empty because there were no side characters to fill out the world and make it feel alive. V5 cast was so tiny it felt like nobody interacted at all. Because there were none of those "extras" yall hate on so much. The extras make the world feel real. Which is why Atlas feels alive when Mistral wasn't.

The most complaints about later volumes are chucked down to lack of media literacy and nuanced reading of situations and characters. Translated for your easier understanding: the writing was too nuanced for your "cute girls go fighty fighty brrr" brain to comprehend. Sometimes things require you to put the situation into character perspectives. Sometimes their decisions are made under stress + personality + influence of events and interactions. But i guess yall don't want to think, yall just want to watch "girl go brrr killy killy monster"

I can continue writing down all these other points, but i'm hungry and should get up so i won't. Bottom text: RWBY is a good show with good story and good writing and good characters. It has struggles and fumbles like every other piece of media. But for some reason, because it's indie, it's held to a much higher standard and everyone feels entitled to pick apart every detail of it to make themselves feel justified for feeling sad over their dead headcanons, even though they'd never do the same picking for big production popular series with much *much* worse writing than even the worst of RWBY's fumbles.

If you made it this far and are a member of rwde, congratulations, you still have a reasonable bone or few. Most others i guess clicked off at first point and blocked me after sending me some kinda death threat, idk, i haven't posted this yet after all.

So yeah, feel free to leave your takes and death threats below, i'll happily discuss further later

#rwby #rwby analysis #rwby is good #rwde #anti rwde #greenlight volume 10 #crwby #save crwby

[zombiezonurlawn]

Uhm. Hey guys. What if you had to spend five nights at Freddy’s but needed some training to get the hang of the (baldi’s) basics so you go on your computer and learn at the amazing digital circus but things go wrong and you die and end up at the hazbin hotel…

Here are my hazbin hotel redesigns

I already like Charlie’s design far more than the other very erm. Interesting characters in this show so I didn’t change much. I just streamlined her design a bit, I also think she could alternate between the pants and the skirt, I just thought the skirt kind of balances out the overwhelming amounts of red going on in the suit so I thought I’d balance it out with some leg color idk. Also just changed her eye color for a cool complimentary color and maybe tie to the fact her dad is a fallen angel? Still technically connected to heaven and stuff. She is just so silly :3

Vivziepop try to give a main character even an ounce of muscle challenge 🤯🤯 in all seriousness there has to a body type between stick thin and incredibly buff in her style. Vaggie’s design is just so incredibly busy and confused to me and the moth thing is stuppppiddd so I dropped it! Wanted to make her monochromatic grey with that bright pink contrast color to compliment Charlie? Like maybe representing the influence of Charlie in her life. Idk you come up with something. Also made her more masc presenting cuz I felt like it uhhh

Uhhh angel dust? Ermmm. He’s so annoying. But yeah here’s my redesign I got rid of his dumb head hair thing. I legitimately do not understand why he has that tuxedo getup going on. I know he’s supposed to be from the 20s and stuff but like— his design and attitude is so incredibly modernized in every single way just let him go full like y2k, say it’s the modernizing influence of being around the Vs, because the tuxedo and bow tie is NOT it (especially for every character!) had a lot of texture in mind for this, I wanted the soft sweater with the fur trim to contrast this latex to represent his initial cynicism vs his soft side. But maybe I’m putting too much thought into it.

Husks design is. So bad. It’s way way WAY too busy and he’s supposed to have died in his 60s? The artstyle is giving ‘person who can only draw people in their 20s drawing a character from breaking bad’ eemmm… so yeah I just wanted to make him look old and truly washed up.

Bonus him as an overlord

Im gonna do Alastor and some of the overlords and some stuff sooo yeah. Look forward to it 👍

This show still sucks btw im just a person who really wanted it to be good

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel #redesign #angel dust #charlie morningstar #vaggie #ibispaintx

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Treasure - Captain Hook x Reader

Ship: Captain Hook x Reader

Trope: Love at first sight (Smut)

Warnings: Kidnapping, somewhat manhandling, abandon and boredom.

Note: This was nothing short of a challenge. But it was fun, honestly. I got to explore something I never did before with writing for an animated character and not one I would have thought about if I'm being honest. Hope you like it @disney-girl67 :).

The salt in the air lingered, the sun’s heat relentless against your skin, while you were watching people played around in the water. It was becoming traditional by now. At the end of spring, when the pools were opening again, you would always go to the beach. It dated back to a time in high school. That time when you had wanted to run away from adults and teens alike. Just jump in the water and hope it would take you somewhere else.

Your life was blatantly boring. It was a limitless horizon of disappointment and no expectations or responsibilities on your mind. Just a manageable job, and manageable dreams. The sea was long gone. Even so, the tempest it was lighting up in your heart resisted to be extinguished.

“Come on! The water’s warm!”

A wet hand grabbed yours and dragged you down the beach towards the water. Sharon had been a close friend of yours since kindergarten. She was the one who brought you to the beach back in high school. She splashed your face with the lukewarm water and it made you laugh.

“You look like you’ve seen the love of your life die. Tell me. What’s got you in that mood again?

-Always for the dramatics, huh?

-Don’t divert the discussion. Spill the beans.”

Just like the heat, she would not let you go that easily. You loved her for it and - sometimes - could even be grateful for it.

“I… I want to go. Travel. See the world, live on a boat and eat coconuts for a week. I don’t know, okay! I just… I feel lost here.

-Could it be the fact that Carter has dumped you that is influencing this?”

You both walked back to your towels and dropped in a huff.

“No. Well, maybe. I just… He was nice and sweet. I thought it could be enough but he said I didn’t pull my weight in the relationship anymore. He was right, that’s the worst part.

-Hey, if you could not pull it, there must have been a good reason for that and he didn’t dwell on that part did he?”

Your chuckle was drowned by the cries of some passersby, pointing to the horizon. Somehow, a boat - and a big one at that - was entering the bay you were in. Yet, there was no docks for the crew to accost. Oddly, a thrill ran through you when the ship got closer and you could see distinctively a flag with a skull on it. Could this be… a pirate ship? No. There would be no need for a pirates’ ship to come this close to the shore. They would be more interested in the open waters. Right?

“Sharon, what do you think this boat is doing here?

-I have no clue. But I have no intentions of staying to find that out. Let’s get back to the car, okay?”

You felt yourself nod quickly, but while she was gathering her stuff your gaze was drawn back to the shifting silhouette on the horizon. Another thrill ran through you, when Sharon grabbed your hand and all but dragged you towards the parking lot along with the rest of the people there.

Meanwhile, on the boat, the crew was pretty much just as bewildered as you were. “Smee! Smee!

-Y-yes, captain?

-What is this?”

The hook narrowingly missed Smee’s nose, pointing at the shore in front of them.

“I-I don’t know Captain… We followed your instructions to the letter…

Well, you must have followed them wrong, because this does not look like an island and even less like a treasure island does it?!”

Even though he knew deep down the question to be rhetorical, Smee could not help but answer. “No, it doesn’t sir.”

The captain ran a hand down his face, visibly exasperated by his second in command.

“Go and clean the deck with the toothbrush, maybe that’ll teach you exactitude!” Hook reached the upper deck and addressed the rest of his crew in a commanding tone. Even if half of them were still under the influence of rum and half sleeping standing up.

“Everyone to their posts! I want the ship cleaner than it ever was. You can thank Smee for the disaster this treasure hunt is going to be!”

Barely looking behind him, he turned around towards the sea. They were coming closer and there was no sight of a docking area. There were a few silhouettes running away from the beach. Some onlookers who probably got scared at his arrival. Good. His reputation must have followed him to these unknown territories. Hook’s hand reached inside his jacket, retrieving a map, a compass losing its north, and his loyal spyglass. He settled on a makeshift desk he had Smee built for him. As usual the man did a horrid job at it, but he did it and that was better than nothing.

“Let’s see…”

They had gone to a fairy on Neverland. She had promised him a treasure more valuable than anything he had known before. He only pretended to believe her. Not that she had no credits but he was always wary of the people of Neverland. Such as that tiresome boy. He clenched his teeth and focused on the map once more. Since last night it would not stop moving, the lines and rivers melting together, the seas drowning the coasts. He did not recognize any of the lands and would not be telling anyone any time soon. His mustache twitched before he settled himself, gripping and breaking the edges of Smee’s desk. Horrid work, indeed. He glanced back at the beach and noticed that one of the silhouettes was still there, as if watching - almost waiting - for them to arrive. He grabbed his spyglass and what he saw cut his breath right out of his throat. A woman. Her eyes shining as sea-pearls in the dark, the wind wiping her hair out in a wave, an air about her he did not recognize as being of this world. His mouth ran dry. Never before could he have sworn that his heart was going to beat out of his chest in agony. He had to know her. He had to be with her, to breathe the same air, to make her laugh, oh her laugh had to be extraordinary, and her eyes on him could only be described as hungry, as if she was seeing right through him, past the hook and the bravado and the handsome face. A deep desire took flight inside of him. There would be no return from this. Damn the treasure, damn the promised gold. He had to have you with him.

Before he could give any orders, another young woman grabbed your hand and drove you away. He swore out loud.

“How dare she?”

Licking his lips, he intently followed her movements, knowing deep in him that you did not want to leave. He would have you. You were his and he had to take you before that the other one reached her goal.

“Smee! Find us a docking point! I’m going alone with the craft, this could be dangerous business. You are to remain on the ship and take care of everything. Believe me, if my ship isn’t whole when I come back, you’re losing your head!

-Ye-Yes, captain!”

Poor Smee was panicked, yet Hook could not bring himself to care. He was in love.

* You had already reached the car when you realized your keys had fallen behind on the beach.

“Fuck.

-What’s going on?

-My keys, I… They must have fallen off… I have to go back.”

Sharon gestured to you. “Do you want me to go with you?” She was already on the phone with emergency services, trying to figure out what they could do. It appeared they were as clueless as everyone else on this beach.

“No need. I’ll do it quick.” You ran as fast as you could and reached the beach, already seeing the glint of metal buried in the sand. As you were about to pick it up, you felt a presence. A man, tall, slender and eyes the deepest dark you’d ever seen was looking at you as if he was seeing another human being for the first time. You fell on your back. Somehow, his presence was more surprising than threatening. He was dressed in a historical attire, looking out of place on this 21st century beach. You felt under-dressed, with your bathing suit and a makeshift skirt. His stare was starting to make you feel that. His hand reached out to you, yet your instinct made you recoil. He had a hook. Gleaming in the sunlight, sharp edged. That made you feel more and more threatened. You were heaving, eyes locked with his as in trance. It felt so very bizarre. You knew he would would not hurt you. How you knew that, was a mystery.

“Who are you?”

It seemed to snap him out of his trance. You got up on your feet, finally meeting on equal foot. Or so to speak, the man was really, really tall. Your chest tightened at the thought, bringing you a step closer to the stranger, hypnotized.

“You do not know of me? The great captain Hook? Chaser of treasure and defeater of the Neverland crocodile?! This land is indeed odder than I’d imagined…”

You tried to hide a widening smile. He was weird. You liked it. In a childlike manner, your hand brushed against his cheek, making him go stiff, his whole body almost snapping. You traced his face as if a delicacy, fingertips gracing his features and leaving him breathless. Hook closed his eyes under the sudden care. He was shaking, you could see it. He grabbed your waist and drew you in. So close, you could feel the tension in his shoulders under your palms, the smell of leather and salt and wood hitting you, his fingers digging in your skin in a delicious pain. Before you could process that train of thought, he dipped his head in your neck, close to your ear. His teeth grazed the delicate skin there, in a an almost but not quite kiss. All you heard was “Mine” in his ushered voice, possessive and down right enticing. Then, you were hauled up in a small craft and the shore disappeared in the blink of an eye.

*

Boarding the ship had not been the hardest part.

The hardest part had been to keep the crew at bay.

“Who is this?” “A woman on board? We’re all cursed!” And other expletives you were very willing to forget.

Luckily, night had fallen rather quickly. Hook kept you in his chambers, to keep you safe. He did not want any of his fellow men to attempt anything ungentlemanly. As if kidnapping you was what a gentleman would do in the first place. Although, you had always had a thing for villains.

After the thrill and adrenaline had worn off, the fact that they were pirates - and apparently good ones at that otherwise that kidnapping could have gone very much sideways - hit you like a freight train. The most unbelievable part being the fact that they came from Neverland. Could they really be straight out of the Peter Pan’s book? You would not dare ask the question. If they were, then you were likely never to see those shores again. If they weren’t you were very likely to meet your end in these very same shores. You knew which option you preferred, even if completely unbelievable.

“Milady.”

Hook’s entrance made you jump. He closed the door behind him, after a deep curtsy. He brought food. You hesitated for a minute, before throwing yourself at it. You were starving. Not minding you one bit, the captain walked past you, putting his jacket and hat away. When you finally looked at him, the boat was swaying softly with the waves underneath you, and the man before you was merely covered by a thin shirt and heavy pants. Like that he almost looked harmless. Almost.

“Why did you take me?”

He smirked, toying with his hook. His steps were measured, slow. For each one he took, you took one back. Hence, you found yourself caged against the wooden wall behind you, food completely abandoned. Eyes boring into you, you would not look at him. In doing so, you were subjecting yourself to another kind of sight. The open linen. The beginning of the throat. The Adam’s apple, bobbing as if in anticipation.

The hook was cold against your chin, pushing your face up to meet his. A breath away, he stood his ground, chest to chest, his hand naturally molding itself on your hip. You could not find it in yourself to stop him.

“Don’t you know?”

Every breath you took, every movement you made, he felt. It was intoxicating. And captain Hook was not known for his restraint. He did not wait for your answer. Instead, his lips met your neck, harshly pulling on the skin, surely leaving a purple mark. The pain shot through you, your hand about to push him off when you heard it.

“Mine… All mine.”

His nose nuzzled the side of your face, his hot breath against the shell of your ear. You wanted not to believe him. You wanted not to follow him down that path. It was too late. If you had not wanted him to take you in the first place, you could have jumped and swam back to shore. Yet, it had never even crossed your mind, for you were not afraid with him. You were under a spell. Could it be a spell or just you being bored? Still, you were not willing to break it. You were bewitched. And he called you his. How could you resist that?

So you let him. You let him snap the straps of your bathing suit, one after the other. You let him grab your breast in his hand, the hook grazing down your chest, him sucking on your nipple like a man starving. No words could form in your mouth, only moans and lip bitten cries. Finally, he pulled the remainder of your clothing down your legs. You felt exposed and shy, but willed your legs apart when his hand caressed your inner thighs. His fingertips were spreading goosebumps up and down your body when he stopped.

He tossed his shirt over his head, hunger in his eyes as he sat down on the edge of the bed, and a wide mischievous smile drew on his face. Without breaking eye contact, he spread his legs wide a suave light burning in his eyes. The captain was watching you intently. You were standing still, against the wall, fearing you might fall if you took any step forward. The desire was dampening your skin, leaking through you. He licked his lip and your whole body tensed under his full blown pupils.

“Come here”

It was not a request, but a demand. You yielded easily. Heavy breaths after each step, he drew the hook out at the last one, bringing your wrist and your whole body to him. He pushed a piece of hair out of your face, the cold metal of the hook dragged down the length of your throat to the top of your breasts. The heated skin of his shoulders under your palms was not enough. A whine escaped you. He smirked and chuckled.

“Now, kneel”

You did. You were positively drooling as he undid his pants and threw them somewhere in the room. You could not care less as you were now facing the length of his shaft, the velvety skin already meeting your tongue for you would not wait a minute longer. Hook was taken by surprise, leading him to let out a moan that had you whimper. All too soon he regained control and put his hand behind your head. You took the tip of his dick inside your mouth, easing yourself around him. He would have none of it, putting your mouth to good use and pushing himself deeper down your throat. You could feel yourself getting wetter and wetter with every stroke he pushed in your mouth. Your nose was getting crushed against his pelvis, his hair’s scent imprinting itself in your mind. Despite his resistance to it, he could not help the sinful noises escaping him, the heavy sighs or the marvel in his eyes when he saw how good you could take him.

“Good… Mine…Yes… Yes…Just like…”

Your hands ran from his tone thighs to his ass, looking for a way to hold on to something. The movement made him even harder in your mouth and before any of you could stop, he bottomed out in you. You swallowed it whole, and you could have sworn he twitched when you did. Finally he pulled out, sweat-beads all over his scarred torso, a fond wicked smile across his face. He bunched his shirt in his fist and used it to clean your mouth. You let yourself nuzzle against his hand as he did so. He helped you up before pushing you down on the bed, so hard you yelped.

“What…?

-Shush now little mouse. Let me…”

The words stopped in his throat. He was parting your legs and could already see, smell, and soon feel the luxurious wet mound waiting for him. He gathered some on his tongue and moaned at the taste.

“All of this for me? You shouldn’t have, darling…”

Your back curved into an impossible crescent, he pushed down on your stomach to stop you from writhing so much. But how could you not? His mouth sucking hickeys up the length of your thighs, meeting your clitoris with that much hunger and thirst? You were trashing around well before he finally started licking you. You were shivering in fever as he kept sucking, licking and biting. The coil in you was only growing stronger and stronger with each new touch of his tongue, when he pulled your lips apart with his hook. The new sensation threw you in for a new loop. He applied gentle pressure against your clit, painting the metal with the waters you were delivering him with. Once satisfied he started licking it himself, leaving you plenty of time to catch your breath and ogle him while he did. All the while, not noticing his hand finally coming to rest on your mound, before he pushed two fingers in. The pain was exquisite. He did not move, leaving you to clamp around him in agony, sweating and begging for release.

“Please, please, please fuck me, please I’ll be good, please…

-Well, when it’s asked so nicely…”

The dark tone in his voice made you shiver. He pulled out completely, towering over you. You did not have time to think as he turned you around face first in the mattress, ass up in the air. His patience was running thin, yet he still took the time to squeeze your ass cheeks, tracing invisible lines up and down your skin. All of a sudden, he pushed inside you and your toes curled. From then on, he was relentless, his rhythm merciless and strong, while the echoes of your cries were filling the room. His dick was swallowing all your thoughts and fears, hitting a spot in you you didn’t even knew existed. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had. Hook sneaked his hand between your thighs to your clitoris, controlling the peaks of pleasure in you still going at you, screaming your pleasure, weakening your voice with each thrusts, all the while keeping you down at his will. Soon enough, your release coated the sheets and his trickled down your thighs. Breathless and high on sex, you let yourself be guided under the covers, the room dampened by the heavy air. Before you could act, a swift salted breeze blew past you, a pleasant chill running through your bones. The captain had opened a small window, letting the outside winds in.

He joined you, his skin scorching hot under your fingers. It did nothing to stop you from touching him. Only then did he asked for your name.

“I shall treasure it with all my heart.”

Only then, as you gave it, did he realize he had missed something. The fairy had never mentioned a physical treasure of gold and jewelries. She had hardly mentioned anything at all if he could recall.

You were his treasure. How he could have missed it, well that was probably - most assuredly - Smee’s fault as usual. He let his palm up your arm and settled on your neck, making you look at him through the haze you were still in.

“Hook…

-James.”

You smiled at him, understanding his meaning immediately. Definitively the best dream. Alas, one which had to end.

“James, I have to go back.

-No, you don’t.

-My friend is waiting for me, she’s probably afraid and…

-No. You won’t go back.”

His tone left no place for question. He pushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. You wanted to stay. Desperately. Your life was not worth it. It was not worth abandoning something - someone - that felt this good. Reason was telling you to leave. Your heart, to stay. Even if this was indeed a dream, staying in it longer than what was needed could not hurt anyone. You knew it wasn’t, coming to terms with the fact that this was indeed real and alive and there for the taking. You could write letters to Sharon. And your family. They would understand. Hopefully.

A nod was all it took. As if he thought you would refuse again, he let out a not so discreet sigh. For the first time, he called your name. He called your name, silently, hoping you would not disappear. The look of utter awe you gave him was enough. He pushed a little closer, bringing his leg around yours, his lips finally meeting yours. You faced him fully, bringing your body impossibly closer to him. Never before had you felt this kind of connexion to someone. The kiss was heated, barely breathing, exchanging nips on each other’s lip, leaving both of you wanting more.

“What now, Captain?”

He smiled a devilish grin, his hand sneaking behind your head, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. It thrilled you.

“Keep calling me Captain, until you can not speak anymore.”

The order was followed through, to the letter.

#requests #captain hook x reader #captain james hook x reader #smut #tw: kidnapping #love at first sight #disney-girl67

[blackjackkent]

Not a particularly challenging fight against the Zhentarim. I'm pretty sure we didn't lose a single Guild fighter! And the most satisfying part was watching Nine-Fingers take Roah from full health to zero in one turn by throwing knives at her. XD

The conversation with Nine-Fingers afterwards is a bit strained.

"The Zhent are down. Just you and me now, Stone Lord. So if you mean to take my chair, you'll get no better chance than this."

"Minsc has no interest in your furniture, Nine-Fingers - only in the wicked rump that fills it!"

Uh oh. It didn't occur to me that a dewormed Minsc might still dislike Nine-Fingers enough to attack her regardless. O.O;

"...What?" the Guildmaster says, bemused.

"You have been a stone in this city's boot for too long! And it will be no Stone Lord who reaches 'twixt Balduran's sticky toes to dislodge you. It will be Minsc!"

Nine-Fingers shoots Hector a baffled look. "I haven't got the slightest idea what he's trying to say."

"Proof that he is back to normal, no?" Jaheira murmurs dryly.

Hector reaches out and puts a hand gently on Minsc's arm. "Minsc. Calm down," he says quietly. "The battle is over."

Nine-Fingers tilts her head curiously. "So the hound answers to his name again, does he?" she says - and the words are more caustic than the tone, which is oddly soft. "And you didn't have to put him down. Good." Her eyes fix on Minsc. "I'd rather you die as Minsc the mad Rashemaar. It's silly, but - d'you know you were something of a hero of mine, when I was young?"

Minsc's eyes narrow in puzzlement. "Even now your tongue twists the truth," he says. "When you were young and ten-fingered still, Minsc and Boo were stone, enstatuated on a city square!"

She smiles, just a little sadly. "Aye. I remember the spot - by a garden on the Wide. A soft thicket near the market, with ample pockets to pick. Celestia itself to a street rat looking for shelter." She shrugs ruefully. "You might not have been wrestling monsters, but you kept the wind and the rain off. Heroic enough for me."

Minsc clicks his tongue and blinks a few times rapidly, visibly affected by this story. "Bah," he says fiercely. "You try to dampen Boo's eyes! Do not think you will be spared his teeth! Evil is evil, even if it once was... innocent..."

Keene shakes her head. "Oh, I'm no innocent," she says dryly. "But evil... You tell me. With the Fist, the watch, and the Council itself all licking the Absolute's boots, who's the only one left standing to protect Baldur's Gate?"

"She's right, Minsc," Jaheira says quietly from behind him. "She's been an ally down through the years." A pause; she looks at the younger woman thoughtfully and her lips twitch slightly. "A friend, even."

"A *friend*?" Minsc cries, appalled. "Jaheira, Boo cannot believe his ears! Has the city fallen so far in our absence? Are there no heroes left?"

"Heroes come and go," Nine-Fingers says bitterly. "But the Guild has always been here, protecting the city." She gives him a cool glance. "Until the Stone Lord came to break us."

Hector has listened to this all in silence, trying to gauge the thoughts going on under the surface. He can see Minsc wavering, uncertain, ready to be swayed by the arguments being made to him. And Hector, in fact, believes those arguments are right. However - in every such confrontation in the past, he has leaned in the direction of encouraging his friends to confidence in their own decisions, a holdover from the traditions in which he was raised, which placed such emphasis on self-reliance.

And this is no different - and in fact even more salient than usual. Minsc has struggled, since emerging from his stoney prison, with the idea of his own choices; his dependence on Jaheira's wisdom has been obvious from the get-go.

Hector thinks Minsc will make the right decision - but Minsc must be reminded that it is his decision, and not simply Jaheira's influence directing him.

[INSIGHT] "Well, ranger?" he says quietly. "You cannot always leave it up to your wychlaran. Make a choice."

Behind him, Jaheira makes a scoffing noise of irritation - but Hector did not use the word arbitrarily. He said it deliberately so that Minsc would countermand its usage and thus assert his own agency even while listening to his friends' guidance - and he is not disappointed.

"Heh. Jaheira says she is no wychlaran," Minsc says with a slight shake of his head. "Perhaps not. But if she says I should not honor, defend, and listen to her, it is the only time she has ever been wrong." He pauses uncertainly. "If she trusts in Nine-Fingers - if you do - then so will Minsc. But that means..."

He trails off, and an expression of pain rockets across his face. "The things Minsc has done... I am shamed! Nydeshka, unworthy to fight alongside my friends! Boo..." His voice breaks with sudden despair. "What am I do to do?"

"I can't speak for your rodent," Nine-Fingers says cautiously, "but I know something of debts. If you reckon you've got one to repay, well - we could always work together."

Minsc squints at her. "With you? Minsc has no lust for gold, that he would shake grandmothers by their ankles or set Boo nibbling at their purse-strings."

"I'm not talking about that," she says hastily. "We've both got bigger enemies than one another - the city's enemies. And Tyr's honest truth - you gave my Guild the wakeup call it needed. We've grown complacent, lazy. Too sure of our standing. We never would've needed the Zhent if we'd had a fighting force of our own. Swords for the city, when the watch and Fist fail us."

Minsc blinks, trying to parse this, and then his eyes light up. "Like a berserker lodge of my homeland! No army or militia, serving the local lords, but heroes working for the common good!"

Keene smiles sardonically. "Heroes. Sure."

"Very well," Minsc says eagerly. "Minsc and Boo accept!"

Keene must see something in the Rashemaar's expression that she doesn't like, because she immediately starts to backpedal. "I'm sorry, you-- you what?" she asks.

"Boo and I will be your berserker lodge," Minsc says brightly. "Taking the ugly ways of your Guild and beating them into a more virtuous shape!"

Hector can see the immediate regret blossoming in Nine-Fingers' eyes. "That's... not even slightly what I was saying. I wasn't asking--"

Minsc flinches back, not letting her finish. "You are right," he mutters. "I have proven myself unworthy. I cannot serve the city if I was so easily turned against it. If I do not know my own mind... perhaps I no longer know what is good..."

This conversation has grown so tangled that Hector is not even sure what outcome he is arguing for anymore. But Minsc's distrust of himself still troubles him more than anything else. "Minsc," he says gently, "I'm fairly sure that 'good' is literally the only thing you *do* know."

He's relieved to see Minsc relax a little. "My friend... I am touched by your kind words," he says gravely. "And now I must be equal to them." He squares his shoulders. "What say you, Boo? When the Absolute is slain, shall we join Nine-Fingers Keene and show her the ways of goodness?'

Keene groans. Jaheira grins suddenly, lounging back on her heels. "You did say he was your hero, Astele," she points out dryly. "Maybe you'll learn something."

Nine-Fingers sighs. "Can't we just go back to killing one another instead?" she asks dryly, then waves a hand dismissively before they can respond. "All right. Fine. Let's leave this particular fight for when the actual war is won, shall we?"

She straightens, hooks her hands behind her back and looks at Hector more seriously. "With the Stone Lord off my back, I'll be able to bring my people out of hiding. Cobble together a force so we're ready when you call on us."

She nods slowly. "You have my thanks." A pause, and then the flash of a grin, indomitable. "Though I'm still not actually sure you haven't made my life that little bit harder."

Probably true, Hector reflects with some amusement as they turn to leave. Should we all survive this mess, I suspect she and Minsc working together will make for quite a show.

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle

[ghostdrinkssoup]

a tumblr user made a point which i never thought of before - they said that if hannibal had to toss a coin to see whether or not he should save bella, that means bella's wishes means as much to him as his own. i think ppl forget that if bella died, jack would blame hannibal and would go along muchmore quickly to will's side of events, and there would be more scrutiny into hannibal if he let a patient die in his office, which isn't good for him considering the suspicions surrounding him. to say hannibal was playing god implies he's removed from the consequences, but he's not. here he was faced with a choice - self preservation (and favour with jack) or going with bella's wishes (and losing jack's favour and have the FBI peer into his patient history, probably). that he was even torn about it suggests the depth of his feelings for bella. i don't think he acted out of whimsy considering he genuinely cares about and respects bella, and cried at her death. bryan fuller talked about this too, and said hannibal loves and respects bella.

hey anon thanks for sharing this! it’s an interesting point and highlights hannibal’s complexity. I still think there’s layers here though and it’s not so black and white. you’re right to say that hannibal isn’t removed from consequences and that he isn’t god, but I think this unveiling is part of his arc. if not god, then hannibal at least thinks he’s superior (hence the cannibalism) and part of his transformation involves coming to terms with his humanity, which only happens when he gives himself up at the end of s3a. will sparks this whole transformation because he’s the only person hannibal views as his equal. it’s why mizumono is such a dramatic turning point for hannibal’s character, since he’s forced to confront his own vulnerability (which challenges his worldview). he didn’t think anyone could change or influence him to this extent, but will does. the only other person to have this kind of power over him is mischa

however, even if hannibal’s capacity to love and care for people is limited, I do agree it’s worth considering. I think it’s very likely that he cares for bella, and he definitely respects her, but I also think he loves selfishly and destructively. he may view sparing her as an act of mercy, and he may grieve her after she passes, but he still prioritises himself and his freedom to choose. this is why she slaps him later, because he took that choice from her. even if he was torn, he still believed he had authority over her life. he would’ve let her die just as easily as he would’ve let her live, and if deciding was as easy as a coin toss then I don’t think he views bella equally. he behaves similarly with abigail. he cares for them the only way he knows how, and considering his lack of empathy and narcissism I don’t think hannibal’s compassion amounts to much. it doesn’t mean it’s nonexistent though

this is what I meant in my original post. I think it’s difficult for us to interpret hannibal’s actions when they don’t align with what we understand. he cares for bella yet has no problem stripping her of her autonomy and deciding her fate for her. we see an act of love, or evidence which suggests it, and struggle to reconcile it with simultaneous acts of cruelty. hannibal’s humanity uncomfortably coexists with his monstrosity, and he somehow manages to be both and neither at the same time

#thanks again for the ask anon it really scratches my brain! #this is all just my opinion ofc and you’re free to disagree with me #hannibal is just so *shakes him wildly* #a tricky slimy little guy #ask response #nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal meta #ghost speaks

[tomorrowusa]

Lech Wałęsa is the founder of the Solidarność trade union which contributed to the collapse of communism in Poland in the 1980s. He served one term as president of Poland and won the Nobel Peace Prize.

Like most people in Poland, Wałęsa has no illusions about the intentions of Vladimir Putin. In a recent visit to Washington, he called for strong and united leadership in the West regarding Russia – especially in the ongoing information war.

“The whole world has joined together against Russia. It has never been like this. It’s our great opportunity to finally put some order into this world,” Walesa said in an address on February 8 at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), a Washington think tank. Walesa said fate has given the United States the role of leader in meeting these challenges and it cannot retreat now. “Our grandchildren will never forgive us” if it does, he said. The co-founder of Poland's Solidarity movement, who served from 1990 to 1995 as Poland’s first postcommunist president, said he fought his struggle against the Soviet Union and the Warsaw Pact more than 40 years ago mainly with information and he encouraged the United States to do a better job “fighting with propaganda” against the current regime of Russian President Vladimir Puin. This includes tactics such as publishing data about the number of Russian soldiers killed and maimed in the war and the stories behind those losses. Ordinary Russians must be reminded that their neighbors or their neighbors’ sons may no longer be alive because they were sent to “die for Putin.” Westerns should help Russians “internalize what needs to be done.” In the decades since he left politics Walesa has been a champion of democracy and the rule of law, encouraging Eastern Europe’s formerly communist countries to pursue progress through democratic means. Walesa was celebrated in Washington in 1989 as the man who did more than any other single individual to bring down communism in Eastern Europe and addressed a joint session of Congress.

His trip to the US comes at a time aid to Ukraine is stalled in Congress as a result of Donald Trump's open advocacy of the Putin dictatorship.

Poland's current Prime Minister Donald Tusk has been far more direct about pointing the finger of blame.

Reagan ‘must be turning in his grave’: Poland’s Tusk slams Republicans over Ukraine aid

Ultimately it's up to American voters to get Republicans to quit acting like mindless stooges for the Evil Empire.

Progress has been made in the Senate on aid to Ukraine. But the House, led by religious fanatic Speaker "MAGA Mike" Johnson remains a problem.

Here is a list of Republican House members from districts won by President Joe Biden in 2020. These GOP representatives are particularly vulnerable. Presumably the 2020 presidential figures have been adjusted to 2022 district boundaries.

If you live in one of those districts, you have a disproportionate amount of influence on aid to Ukraine. Contact your representative and politely demand that the House quits starving Ukraine of needed assistance. Remind these Republicans that Ronald Reagan would be disgusted by the GOP acting as lap dogs for Putin's Evil Empire. Interestingly, 11 of those 18 districts are in either New York or California.

And yes, that table was made before the ouster of George Santos – otherwise it's up to date.

Not sure who represents you? Use your ZIP+4 to find out here...

Find Your Representative

#invasion of ukraine #assistance to ukraine #stand with ukraine #lech wałęsa #donald tusk #poland #polska #russia #vladimir putin #russia's war of aggression #the evil empire #ronald reagan #us house of representatives #find your representative #election 2024 #house republicans from biden districts #агрессивная война россии #владимир путин #путин хуйло #путин - военный преступник #путлер #геноцид #руки прочь от украины! #геть з україни #вторгнення оркостану в україну #деокупація #будь сміливим як україна #слава україні! #героям слава!

[scripted-downfall]

One of the things that pisses me off most about Sam freaking Winchester is his tendency to claim the title of "the emotionally aware one" or "the empathetic one", ostensibly "try" to help someone only when it's convenient for him, and then turn around and revoke or rescind that help the second it's not.

This happens a number of times, but some examples include:

s02e09 Croatoan: "No, no, no, no, Dean. You're my brother, all right? So whatever weight you're carrying, let me help a little bit." followed by Dean telling him about John's last order (complete with Dean actually begging him to lie low for a bit) and Sam directly contravening that by leaving in the middle of the night (when he knew it'd hurt Dean to not know where his brother was, thus making the weight he was carrying worse) in s02e10 "Hunted"

The aftermath of Hell??? Like sir, wtf??? s04e08 "Wishful Thinking" has "Dean, look, you can't just shoulder this thing alone. You got to let me help." and then, when he finally tells Sam about Hell in s04e10 "Heaven and Hell", "Dean… Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have." And then there's Sam in s04e14 "Sex and Violence" going: "You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Whining about all the souls you tortured in hell. Boo hoo." (Yes, I know that the second quote was under the influence of the siren's drug, but the whole point is that it was exposing inner thoughts, so. Still counts.)

Every episode touching on the Gadreel business. Going from s08e14 "Trial and Error" ("I want to slam hell shut, too, okay? But I want to survive it. I want to live, and so should you. You have friends up here, family. I mean, hell, you even got your own room now. You were right, okay? I see light at the end of this tunnel. And I'm sorry you don't – I am. But it's there. And if you come with me, I can take you to it.") to s09e13 "The Purge" ("I was ready to die. I was ready. I should have died, but you… You didn't want to be alone, and that's what all this boils down to. You can't stand the thought of being alone.")

This is kinda a part of the last bullet point, but there's a backwards example in Dean's subsequent death... Sam pulls out the s09e13 "The Purge" "No, Dean. I wouldn't. Same circumstances…I wouldn't." line because he wants to hurt his brother, and yet, the second things go wrong, he wants to take it back: "What happened with you being okay with this?" "I lied. (s09e23 "Do You Believe in Miracles?")

And there are more, but these are just the prominent examples that spring to mind now. I might add more if I come up with them, though.

And, to me, this is really bad. Because Sam knows that he's inflicting serious damage, and seems to actively want to do so. (All of the above were examples chosen precisely because they're examples of Sam consciously having "made an effort" to help Dean with a certain issue/fear/concern, and then throwing that very thing back in his face to win a battle.)

And, like... it's great that he's willing to try and help when the situation is rosy. But it really doesn't help that he sets it up as something that can be taken away at a moment's notice. Especially given that this is precisely what their father did: give positive reinforcement only when something was going his way, and pull it away again or use it as a weapon whenever his will is challenged.

And the amount of damage that's bound to do to Dean... I mean, he already spent his whole childhood and adolescence being told that he only mattered in relation to his usefulness, his ability to follow listen to orders, his willingness to accept other peoples' ways of running things without complaint, etc. His feelings? His emotions? His hopes for the future? Oh, those don't matter. And then here's Sam. And Sam... Sam acts like John was wrong. Sam says that a lot. And Sam's the smart one. So Dean maybe (maybe) lets himself believe that. It's hard, and he doesn't always buy it, but he gets a little bit better at it. But the second he pisses off Sam? All those statements about him deserving better --- about how Dean (how everyone) had an innate right to be treated in certain ways, judgements of worth aside --- fly out the window. Then, the fact that he dared to actually presume that he deserved something more is all the more ludicrous because even the person who's been helping him sees how damn worthless he is. And the whole cycle repeats over and over again through the series, until it's this jagged zig-zag that is likely hell on his mental state.

(See below the cut for a personal anecdote that I feel is relevant to this/gives insight to it. It's very me-oriented, though, and I feel kinda selfish for including it, so I'm leaving it as optional. Don't click if you don't wanna see it. No trigger warnings to my knowledge or anything; it's just not solely fandom.)

I always knew I hated Sam for this, but I'd never actually put it into words. And then, recently, something similar happened in the middle of a conflict with a friend. My head often isn't friendly, and I had a friend who helped with that. He was one of a small subset of people I could rely on to help me with certain issues. He was one of my closest friends at the time, and he knew a lot that I've only told about one or two other people. And then we get into a fight and I receive a full two paragraph rant about how horrible I am, tearing into exactly the stuff I've told him I'm concerned about, everything that he'd at least tried to help me with, etc. And I feel worse than I ever did before because even he had given up on me.

And this wasn't my brother. This was someone I trusted, yes, but we'd still not known each other for anywhere near as long as Dean's known Sam. I've not sacrificed nearly as much for him as Dean has for Sam. I've certainly not built my whole life around his esteem the way Dean has for Sam. So if this is how I feel... what does that say about Dean?

#supernatural #dean winchester #anti sam winchester #anti john winchester #but only a bit