#also divvy DON'T LOOK!!!!

[deanncastiel]

SAM WINCHESTER ✧ 1.08 Bugs ↳ 25/∞ ☦ Sammy Sunday

[scientia-rex]

I will say, I have really enjoyed hearing all the stories about intergenerational friendships on my post. People being like "yep that's Old Man Bob at the corner store, he's ancient (26) but he helped me survive middle school!" or "I share this highly specific special interest with people in their 70s and we love talking about it and this gives me joy," like, this is why I side-eye so hard when people pull that "there's no good reason for minors and adults to talk" like sir have you seen steam engines? I just watched a documentary about a steam engine restoration where the very intense man who loves steam engines was clearly deeply personally proud of the steam engine obsessed 12 year old who showed up and begged to help restore the steam engine, and that little autistic kid is going to be so much better off having a probably autistic adult friend who also passionately loves steam engines and will not only talk steam engines but teach him everything about them. I have had 4th graders engage me in conversation about my shirts (generally ones with cats on them).

We live in a society. We have interests beyond sex. Most of us spend actually a very small amount of our lives on sex, compared to all our other interests. We have so much to share and learn from each other about, and recognizing and calling out creep behavior is infinitely more useful than thinking there's some kind of creep-proof way we can divvy up humans, because the whole point of abusers is that they pretend that's not what they are, often well enough that their abusive behavior is invisible to most people. So we need kids to know what abusive behavior looks like, and we need them to have people in their lives they can talk to about that, and ideally we need to inoculate them ahead of time so they know when the creep behavior starts happening that that's what it is and tell adults who believe them and respond appropriately so they don't come to harm.

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[thepenultimateword]

Secret Santa 2023

For this year’s secret Santa I got @watercolorfreckles (I know you got mine too, but I promise I used a randomizer!) I’m sorry this is late, I’ve been traveling and just writing every chance I can get. I got a little overambitious and wrote several scenes instead of just one, so hopefully it doesn’t feel choppy and you like it!

"Hero's shy medic is the unsung and unappreciated glue that keeps the team together, magically repairing their every injury with her power to heal. What happens when Villain finds out how the hero's broken bones are always so quickly mending, and kidnaps the medic to utilize himself?"

Henchman was waiting in baggage claim when Villain arrived. His violet-dyed hair, thick mess of scars, and tall stature made him stand out against the crowd, but he still waved his whole arm over his head as Villain came through the doors.

Villain's glove creaked feelingless against his suitcase handle. This was getting tiresome. Probably for Henchman too. It was ridiculous that he insisted on picking him up from the airport every trip instead of looking for a new employer.

"Any luck?" Henchman said, seamlessly transferring Villain's bag into his own hand.

Villain's insides twisted. Maybe he should fire Henchman. That would force the underling to think about himself. Though Villain couldn't deny his reluctance to lose such loyalty. He wasn't sure he actually had the strength to enforce his own abandonment.

"Nah." He rubbed his numb hands together and forced a lighthearted tone. "Just another waste of money. I spent three weeks meditating away the damage, only for the so-called "power guru" to say I don't want to be healed. Apparently, if I did, I would have been able to banish the "bile" from my body."

Henchman gave the suitcase wheels a little bang against the ground. "Morons and scam artists.”

"Yes, well, it was a 50/50 shot in the first place. How's my bird?"

Henchman grimaced. "Still eating very little. She has stopped beating against her cage, but now she's very lethargic and despondent."

"You've tried cheering her up? Good food, nice things?"

"Yes, but she's not very chatty. Maybe we should have waited to get her until after your trip. This would have gone better with...some stability."

The automatic door swooshed open, and they stepped out into the chill winter air. Villain blew out a long cloudy breath and watched it disappear into the dreary, gray city landscape. Everything was so temporary. Here one moment, gone the next.

"The opportunity was too good," he said. "Besides, we couldn't leave her with our friend."

Hero had enough of an advantage without also having a decent healer on his side. No matter how many hits Villain divvied out, the heroic team always got back up unscathed. Perhaps without their golden goose, Villain could actually turn the tide. And maybe... Villain didn't want to get his hopes up, but maybe she could do something more too. He knew that Henchman knew that was the main reason he’d stolen her away in the first place. By this point he was just pretending to himself that there was a bigger purpose behind it all.

The crosswalk sign beeped its permission to cross the street, and Villain scanned the lot for Henchman's car, spotting its orangey paint job near the front.

"I am concerned she's been doing poorly this whole time. Why don't we stop by her enclosure first."

Henchman nodded and very kindly played along with the act that this was truly concern over an asset and not another cowardly excuse for himself. “I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see you.”

She’s not going to help you.

“That’s alright.” Villain slid into the passenger seat. As Henchman loaded his suitcase into the trunk, he muttered under his breath, “I don’t have much left to lose.”

***

Villain called her Birdie.

Of course he knew her real title as Hero’s medic, but the nickname just encapsulated her so well.

So small. So skittish. Always flitting around the outskirts of a fight, the great folds of her medic’s cloak flapping at her sides like wings as she lighted briefly at each fallen party. The color was supposed to mark her as a noncombatant, take any targets of her back, but she had the instincts to remain wary always. Most villains didn’t follow the rules, and the gray was as likely to get her killed as not.

So why continue to wear it? Villain wondered, watching her through the one way glass of her cell's wall mirror. It was really more of a mini apartment than a cell--sitting room, bedroom, bathroom. The sitting room was the only room Villain could view into, but he doubted whether Medic knew that. Perhaps it was riskier to give a hostage so much blind space, but anyone worth keeping around couldn't be kept like any regular prisoner. Though, from the looks of it, Medic wasn't exactly grateful for the thoughtful accommodations.

She sat with her face buried in her knees, grey cloak nearly swallowing her little curled up body whole. He'd asked Henchman to prepare daily clothes changes, and the peeking green edge of sleeve implied she'd been taking them, but the cloak remained the same.

Villain moved around to the front of the cell and drew back the bolt on the otherwise regular door, taking a breath before swinging it open with a flourish. “Hello, Birdie.”

The woman leaped a little, head shooting up and fixing him in the inky black pools that were her eyes.

“Sorry for the delay." He locked the door behind him as casually as he could manage. "I’ve been out of town. But now we can finally chat."

Medic blinked then turned her chin into her shoulder.

Villain plopped down on the couch a couple feet away from her place on the rug. "Apparently you haven't been eating properly. Is the food not up to standard? Can I get you something else? Any favorite meals or treats?"

Medic didn't turn or respond.

"Hmm...what do birdies like. Worms?"

The healer's lip curled a little but still nothing.

"How about chocolate? Steak? Fruit tarts?"

Medic only tucked her chin tighter.

"Alright, I get it. The nice treatment doesn't work on you. Unfortunately, I don't have a mean treatment. Not for you at least. I can't asks favors from someone by relying on fear."

That got her attention. She still didn't unfold, but her eyes watched him sideways. Wary but curious. What could a villain need from a healer. He must have his own, so why her? She didn't need to speak for her thoughts to clutter the air.

"No, I can't just tell you," Villain said with a loud sigh. "You might go tell that precious hero team. I know you're quiet, but I don't believe for a second you're that quiet."

Medic swiveled her shoulders ever so slightly. "How...?"

Her voice was not so birdlike. Short yes, but like a rasped breath than a chirp. Still...

Villain grinned. "The very best of ways: by pretending I knew what you were thinking. Throw out a guess and you'll be right 80% percent of the time. That's also a guess by the way, I haven't actually researched the subject."

Medic retreated back into her cloak.

Darn.

Either he was totally unhumorous, or Medic was just that hard to entertain. Then again, she'd seemed interested by the prospect of a supernatural ability. She'd only clammed up again once she got the simple explanation for her question. She should've already known his Gift from the fights she'd witnessed, though he had held bad considerably this last year.

"You're not like other medics," he said, redirecting the conversation. "You have a Gift, don't you? And don't deny it, I've seen the recovery your patients. Scarless, rapid, perfect. One fight I saw a hero putting full weight on what, minutes previously, had been broken femur."

"And that's why you want me?" Medic squeezed her hands together, nails digging into the back of her knuckles like each word spoken aloud pained her. "Because I'm better than your medics? You want me to turncoat?"

"Not entirely. I took you because your good, yes. So good you've kept that ragtag trash hero team up and running way longer than it should have ever been allowed to go. Hero needs to be stopped."

Nothing.

"I'm going to the statue unveiling tonight." He watched her face closely. "I'm going to break it. And while I'm at it, break him."

"He's not that fragile," Medic said, her voice hushing a little further, and her brow furrowing.

"Ah, you know because you've tried?"

"I know because I' m his medic and I know how much treatment each fight requires." It came out quite a bit snappier than Villain expected and Medic must have realized it too because she set her jaw and looked away again. "I can't help you."

Villain pushed himself back to his feet. The declaration was firm, but hardly the denial of a truly devoted team member. Or maybe he was just reading to hard into things. Medic was shy. Maybe she wanted to make herself clear in as few words as possible. But if there was a chance only her fear was holding her back...

"I'll let you know how it goes," Villain said. With that, he made his way back outside the cell, bolting the door behind him with fumbling fingers. He flexed his hands a couple times, as if to warm them back to full function, but they felt as clumsy and disconnected as always. He shoved them gloved into his coat pockets.

Don't think about that. You have a hero to fight.

***

Villain couldn't feel his shoulders. He'd definitely overdone it. He'd overestimated his ability to fight with his arms as damaged as they were and he had relied too much on the power he'd been so careful to conserve.

He stumbled hard against Medic's door, sliding weakly to his knees. He didn't know why he came here. Henchman was probably having a fit searching for him after he'd bolted. Most of those heroes laid in shattered pieces at the scene. Or at least, parts of them did. Villain had found long ago that his Gift--the power to turn whatever he willed to stone--could be used strategically. The loss of limbs was usually enough to make a hero retire, no need to end a whole life. He wouldn't have minded ending Hero, but once again, the leader was the only one who escaped unscathed. Too this day Villain had only ever managed to take a pinky. It was a wonder no one found that suspicious.

Villain slammed his fist against the cell door, or more like tapped. He stifled a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

Not yet. Not without bringing down Hero’s deceit.

Villain strained to reach the bolt, fumbling it twice before finally jostling it outward. He practically collapsed onto Medic’s rug.

Dark spots clouded his vision but suddenly cool hands were running trails down his face.

“Villain?”

Medic?

No wait, the door…he needed to close…why was she still here?

“Uuughh…” Villain rolled into her knees. “It did not go well.”

“What did he do?”

“Besides use every other person as a shield?”

“I mean to your face.”

Villain squinted up into Medic’s dark eyes, so deep and concerned and…and infinite.

“My face,” he mumbled.

“Are these bruises?” Her fingers trailed a second time down his cheek. “It looks painful.”

“It’s in my face?” Villain barely restrained a wail.

“Villain,” Medic said firmly, her quiet rasp getting almost loud. “What happened? Do you need healing?”

Villain’s throat felt thick and swollen, too sticky to get out words. Of course he needed healing. But if she couldn’t help him…he didn’t know if he could take another failure. He didn’t know if his body could take it.

He extended his hand. When Medic only stared, he nodded at the black, fitted glove.

Medic’s thumb worked under the edge. Villain felt nothing but he imagined her fingers felt just as gentle as they had on his cheek.

She gasped.

Villain glanced at the bare skin for only a moment. The once caramel colored palm now a deep ebony. Like something rotten. Like something dead.

“Villain?”

Villain cleared his throat, fighting the words upward. “All powers have a price.” He forced himself to look at blighted appendage. “Mine’s is killing me.”

Medic turned his hand over in her own. “How long?”

“Always. It used to just be a little. Nails. Hair. Parts I could cut off. Then it hit skin…and it won’t stop. I can’t feel; I can hardly move. And no one…” He choked. “I’m going to die. All from trying too hard to rid the world of Hero, and I couldn’t even finish him tonight.”

Medic rested her fingers on the cuff of Villain’s sleeve, eyes meeting Villain's with some unspoken request for permission.

Villain nodded.

Medic's nimble fingers gently picked at the button, freeing the fabric and rolling it up to his elbow. Villain’s eyes widened along with hers. What had once had been dark veins was now as pitch black his hands. From the nothingness in his shoulders it was probably no different above the elbow.

Medic felt gently at the half-petrifaction. Most people, even his most loyal were afraid of the blight. Henchman was unfazed, but the previous medic had quit rather than admit they didn't want anywhere near Villain. And yet Medic touched him willingly.

“You can’t fix it, can you?” Villain said, practically plead. He didn’t care anymore. Even with the doubt in his gut and in his voice. He just needed help.

“I…I might…” Medic said.

“But Hero wouldn’t like it.”

Medic ducked her head. “It’s not that. Well, no…you’re right, he wouldn’t, but he wouldn’t have to know. And there are no specific rules that say I can’t heal a villain, it’s just…”

Villain blinked groggily up at her as she chewed her bottom lip.

“Like you said, all powers have a price.”

“And this one is too much,” Villain said.

“Yes, well, no. I don’t know.” She glanced toward the open door. “Maybe there’s a better healer…”

Villain closed his eyes, practically sinking with resignation. “No. Already tried. I don’t think I have the energy to search anymore.” He clasped numb fingers around his numb arm. “Or the time.”

A long silence stretched between them.

“It’s alright, Birdie. Fly away.”

It didn’t matter who she told now.

Medic pushed him carefully off her lap, clothes rustling as she rose. Two steps sounded toward the door way and then stopped.

“I’m not supposed to…but I’ll do it.”

Villains eyes shot open. “You will?”

Medic sucked in her lips but nodded. “Just…don’t tell.”

She knelt beside him, long gray cloak fanning out around her. The second glove peeled off easier than the first, and she held both hands in hers.

He’d always wondered what it felt it like to experience one of her gifted healings.

It was warm. Like drinking something hot. It spread from head to toe, and the numbness leeched out little by little. The skin lightened from black to charcoal from charcoal to heather grey from grey to brown.

Medic’s hands turned soft in his grip. He squeezed them lightly, his mouth parting in disbelief at the feeling of pressure of warmth of regular mobility. When he sat up, it came easy. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“You did it! You actually did it! Medic, you are—“

He stopped at the sight of her slumping figure. Sweat rolled down her temples, her face was flushed, and her teeth were grit as if in agony.

“Birdie?”

Medic only shivered.

“Birdie. Birdie, are you alright?”

Villain reached out, but she lurched back, stumbling toward the back corner. Veiny blackness spread from her fingertips, trailing up the creases in her skin. Her shoulders trembled. A small vein popped out of from her forehead. And she glared at the blight. Not like someone afraid of it, but like someone who’d like to peel it off and throw it away. Or burn it.

“No!” she cried and slammed both palms against the wall mirror with a feral cry. Immediately the glass crackled and, like a rolling wave, turned to cold, hard stone.

The black faded from dark ebony to a tan spot only

A few shades darker than her skin. She still glared.

Villain gaped. “You… That’s what I do. How did you do what I do? Did I…? Did you…?”

Medic’s eyes darted toward the door.

Villain jumped in front of it first. “Hey hey hey! I’m not going to tell!”

Another guess but apparently the right one because Medic’s shouldered untensed a fraction.

“I’m not going to tell,” Villain repeated. “I just… How?”

Medic wrapped her cloak tighter around herself. Her eyes had taken on a glazed shine suspiciously alike to unshed tears.

“It’s not exactly healing,” she murmured. “More like stealing. Taking injuries and making them mine.”

“The price.”

She nodded. “But this sort of injury…made from a Gift, it doesn’t work the same. It’s more like a build up of power concentrated in one place. And now that it’s mine…I can do what I like with it.”

Villain cocked his head. “And that’s…bad?”

“I don’t work for Hero,” Medic said. “I’m on the team because he’s supposed to watch me. Stop me from doing things like this.”

“Becoming too powerful?”

“Becoming a villain.”

Villain might have laughed if she didn’t actually look so scared. He took her hands carefully, savoring the sensation of skin on skin warmth once again. He fixed her with a hard stare that she seemed uncertain to hold or shy away from. He smiled, the first real one in a long time.

“What’s wrong with villains?”

Medic swallowed, looking away but not pulling back her hands. Her voice came out very quiet. “I guess…not everything.”

[glorious-spoon]

tell me all the things that i wanna hear [9-1-1 | Buck/Tommy; Buck/Eddie | 1/1]

1.3k words | feelings realization | episode tag

about a week ago i wrote this post about an eddie feelings realization at the bachelor party, so naturally after last night's episode i had to write the fic.

tell me all the things that i wanna hear [on AO3]

-

He doesn't remember it right away.

Which is… not surprising, probably. The bachelor party that wasn't marks the drunkest he's been since before Chris was born, possibly the drunkest he's ever been in his life. He wakes up in a bathtub shirtless and so hungover that he wants to die, and then they discover that Chimney is missing, and it's a long, stressful, terrifying fucking day that keeps Eddie way too busy to focus on any of the garbled flashes of memory from last night. Busting down a hotel door and shouting off-key karaoke at Buck and tilting sloppily together while they poured each other shots—stupid party shit that he's honestly too old for. They're definitely going to owe the hotel damage fees out the ass.

But in the end, Chim is okay. Or, if not okay, at least safely ensconced in a hospital bed. Eddie leaves to pick Chris up from Pepa's and he's still there, shooting the shit with his abuela and slowly sipping his fourth Gatorade of the day in the hopes that it'll settle his stomach enough for him to eat dinner, when he gets the text from Buck that the wedding is still on and he needs to get his ass back to the hospital. So he packs Chris in the car, and doesn't fight it when his abuela also insists on coming—Pepa waves them off with an indulgent smile—and doesn't allow himself to be relieved that the short notice means he has an excuse not to mention it to Marisol.

It's a beautiful wedding, in the end. Perfectly imperfect, in the way all the best things in life are. Eddie gets a little teary-eyed when Chim and Maddie slip the rings onto each other's fingers, and he claps with all the rest, and he just happens to glance up in time to see a flash of blue as Buck slips out the door.

For a moment, he considers following, but Karen nearly trips bringing the cake in, so Eddie jumps in to catch her before tonight can turn into any more of a catastrophe than it already is. From there, there's the usual party bustle of divvying up cake and passing out paper plates, and he forgets about Buck for a little while, at least until he tugs Tommy through the door, the both of them beaming like fools and covered in soot in a way that makes it very fucking obvious what Buck just spent the last twenty minutes doing with his mouth.

Eddie doesn't remember it then, either. He snickers while he watches the rest of the room catch on, while Buck introduces Tommy around to the people who don't already know him, and he catches Buck by the arm as he's making his way over to the cake.

"You might want to go wash your face there, bud," he says.

"What?" Buck blinks at him. Then he rubs at his cheek, and looks at his sooty hand, and goes bright red. "Oh. Um. Shit."

"Yeah."

"I was wondering why…" To Eddie's relief, he's laughing. "Well, that's one way to come out to everybody. Right?"

Eddie laughs. "I guess so. You feeling alright about it?"

"Yeah," Buck says. He glances over to where Tommy is talking to Chim and Maddie. Like he sensed it, Tommy glances up and grins brilliantly at him, and Eddie watches something in Buck's expression go soft and warm and pleased. "Yeah. I'm—I'm feeling really, really good about it."

Eddie's heart gives a funny little thump in his chest. He pats Buck's arm, then lets go. "Well, good. Happy for you, man."

"Thanks, Eddie." Just for a moment, Buck turns that soft expression on him. Then he says, "I'm gonna, uh, go wash up. Save me some cake!"

"Sure," Eddie says, but Buck's already gone. He threads through the crowd to Tommy's side, says something in a low voice to him that makes him laugh and Chim put a long-suffering hand over his eyes. Then they're both moving toward the door together, Tommy's hand resting low on Buck's back.

"Dad, can I have another slice of cake?"

He looks down at Chris. "I don't know, mijo, it's kind of…"

"Come on."

"Alright, fine," Eddie says, caving, if only so he doesn't keep looking at the door that Buck and Tommy left through.

They reappear a few minutes later, freshly scrubbed, and Eddie watches Hen hug first Buck, and then Tommy, who looks startled but hugs her back. Then they head through the crowd together toward the cake. Their hands are linked together. Eddie decides that's a good moment to go give Maddie and Chim his congratulations.

He doesn't remember it then, either. It's not until later, when the crowd is finally trickling out ahead of the end of visiting hours and Maddie and Chim take turns hugging a sleepy Jee-Yun before handing her over to Mrs. Lee, that Buck sidles up to him. 

"I'm gonna get going," he says. Then, to Chris, "Hey, Superman. Awesome party, huh?"

Chris shrugs, all studied adolescent indifference like he didn't insist on coming along. "It was okay. The cake was good."

"Actually, we should probably get going pretty soon too," Eddie says. "Abuela, you good?"

She flaps a hand at him and goes back to her conversation with Mr. Lee, and Buck says, "I'm gonna, uh, give Tommy a ride back to the station so he can drop off his gear."

He's blushing again. Eddie quirks an eyebrow at him. "Just to the station, huh?"

"Shut up," Buck mutters, but he looks pleased. He looks happy, the way a smile steals helplessly onto his face when he glances up at Tommy, who's standing by the door with his turnout coat slung over his arm, talking to Karen. Who glances up like he could tell Buck was looking at him, and smiles back.

"I mean it," Eddie says, instead of ribbing him some more. "I'm happy for you."

"Yeah, yeah," Buck mutters, slinging an arm over his shoulders and pulling him into a jostling half-hug. "I love you, man. You know that, right?"

Eddie tilts against him, his nose just bumping the edge of Buck's jaw, and that's when the memory hits him like a bullet, or a lightning bolt, or something equally sudden and devastating.

That couch in the hotel room. Sitting there with Buck's arm around his shoulders and one of Buck's legs flung over his knees—his shirt was gone by then, and Buck had lost his jacket, and Eddie could feel the warmth of his body through the thin tee he had on underneath. He was waving his hands as he spoke, jostling Eddie, and Eddie turned his face toward Buck and bumped his nose against his cheek just like he is now, and thought with perfect, sober clarity, I could kiss him right now. I want to kiss him.

He goes still. Buck must feel it, because he jostles Eddie a little, his warm, stubbled jaw rough against the bridge of Eddie's nose for just an instant before Eddie turns his head away. "Eddie? You good?"

"Yeah," Eddie says. He doesn't look up at Buck. Isn't sure he could stand to see his face, this close: his blue eyes, his soft lips, he was just kissing Tommy, he wants Tommy, not you, and anyway you're not—you don't—you can't— "Yeah, I'm good. Just kinda hoping I never see another shot of tequila as long as I live."

"Oh, tell me about it," Buck says, and finally releases him. "In retrospect, that was so fucking dumb." "Swear jar," Chris remarks, without looking up from his Switch. 

"Put it on my tab," Buck says, ruffling his hair. "See you guys later."

"Yeah, later," Eddie says, a beat too late. Buck doesn't seem to notice, thankfully. He gives Eddie a quick grin and heads back to where Tommy is waiting. Karen hugs him, and then Hen does, and Tommy waves at Eddie, who manages to gather the wherewithal to wave back. And then they're gone.

Eddie rubs his knuckles against his sternum, where a dull ache has taken up residence, then lets his hand and pulls a smile on before anyone can see.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Late Bloomer" (pt 1 of 2)

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x female reader

Tags: human trafficking, dark!Lloyd, significant undefined age gap, older man/younger reader, daddy/girl, dub con with significant non con elements, first time, innocence kink, loss of virginity, exploitation, dacryphilia, size kink, dumbification, misogyny, squirting, forced orgasm, p in v sex, light degradation, pet names, oral sex: m! and f! receiving, sexual awakening, age play vibes, little!reader, but not really: she's just drugged and really really dumb.

Word Count: 5754

Summary: She’s the purest thing he’s ever touched, this soft, tearful, quivering creature in his hands. He’s never felt such lust and violence at the same time. He desperately needs to ruin her. And yet somehow, also desperately, he needs to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.

A.N.: The age gap is left undefined. The OF is not the girl from the movie, which I haven't seen. I don't write characters as explicitly younger than 18 on Tumblr, after having a foul staff member equate any and all teenage pairings with CSAM.

That said, this fic is dark. It was started as a way to check off some of my hardest Bingo squares without actually going there, with the themes that were outside my wheelhouse or too ick for me to write. My MCU Kink Bingo card in particular, has a few of these whammies.

He imagines her as a rose: fragrant and velvet-soft. Imagines crushing her in his hand, plucking her petals off one by one, until there's nothing left.

Lloyd's always loved ruining pretty things.

The job doesn't go quite as planned, but Lloyd can be a go-with-the-flow, adapt-to-the-demands-of-the-moment type guy when he needs to be, he gets creative, and in the end it all works out alright.

The not-insubstantial bounty for the Russian perverts is regrettably forfeited when he loses his temper and gives them the brutal executions that they deserve. But that money can be made back if he finds a buyer for the yacht, he's managed to eliminate a few deplorables, and he's gained himself an unexpected prize, to boot.

Not a bad day for doing crime.

They shove the bodies overboard and retire for the night, headed for their rendezvous with the Powerbroker in Madripoor. Lloyd's men handle the cargo, already under strict orders not to touch the younger ones, whom Lloyd figures he'll arrange to have dumped off at an embassy once they dock in Jakarta.

Maybe he'll call up The Nomad Formally Known as Captain America and tip him off. Asshole has been on his tail annoyingly much, these past few months. Lloyd should send the righteous old fossil a reminder that there are way bigger scumbags plaguing the planet than his little band of hired guns.

The older girls seem relieved to have been liberated and they don't put up much of a fuss when they're divvied up amongst Lloyd's crew for the evening. Lloyd's personal pick, the poor thing whom he'd had to physically wrestle away from Yuri with a flare gun pressed right to her head, has been locked down in a stateroom to try and calm her down.

Despite what some people say, Lloyd's not an inconsiderate monster, so he does freshen up first, showering all the blowback off his face and changing into something comfortable before heading below deck. He keys in the code for the room, which is large and lavish and looks exactly like something a Russian billionaire would design. All money, no taste.

The girl's on the bed. She's still crying, but it's a pretty type of crying, rather than hysterical or snotty; tears that enhance rather than detract; the type of thing a man can really appreciate, if so inclined.

Lloyd steps into the room, takes a deep breath and reminds himself to take his time with this. No sense rushing it and wasting a good thing. He's going to savor every moment.

She squeaks when she sees him there. "Oh!"

"Shh, sh sh," he soothes. "There there now. Why're you crying, Buttercup? There's nothing to cry about. Not anymore."

He shuts the door behind himself with a gentle sound, but even though he's cooing a slew of placating nonsense at her, she still cries out in a desperate little, "No!"

"Hey, it's okay."

"Nnngh ... s-stay back!"

Lloyd's cleaned himself up since their encounter above deck, but the poor thing did just watch him collapse Yuri's face in with a pipe, so he shouldn't be surprised that she's scared. "I'm not here to hurt you," he says, then pauses when he sees that it's the gun in his hand that she's staring fearfully at.

Oh. Right. That makes sense. He'd had the muzzle of the thing pressed against her temple not too long ago, after all. Maybe he should've left that out of sight. 

It's not like he'll need it to subdue her. Moving slowly and pointedly, he sets it down and holds up his empty hands. "There. It's not even a real gun, see? It was all for show, just a flare gun. It can't hurt you."

(Eh. True, it had been for show, but not so true that it couldn't have rearranged her face if he'd wanted it to. Whatever. Details.)

"It was just a little bit of drama, you understand? To make things go the way I needed them to up there. Men like that only respond to one thing." She blinks at him and he offers her a gentle smile. "L. Hansen. Freelance contractor, or rescuer, in your case. You're welcome."

"And ... those guys?"

He tuts. "Fish food, now. They've been taken care of." He takes a step closer, keeping an eye on her in case she's thinking of bolting. She still isn't here by choice, after all. As far as she knows, Lloyd is just the least bad of all the bad guys.

(Which isn't un-true).

He joins her on the bed, where she's still curled on her side, the odd sniffle and overwhelmed hiccup escaping her here and there. "Hey, hey, hey now." He crawls up beside her and forces her onto her back, which isn't hard to do with the fragile state she's already got herself worked up into. He shushes her fearful whimpers and tucks her hair behind her ear with a tender look. "You're real pretty when you cry, Angel, but I promise there's no need. Not anymore. That's all over, okay? I've got you now. You're safe."

The sweet thing sniffles and blinks up at him through clumped lashes. "I am?" she asks, the instinctive trust in her voice making Lloyd's cock thicken in his pants as he realizes that she's got about two brain cells to rub together. "Y-you promise?"

Oh, this is gonna be so fun.

He smiles down at her. "Yeah, Cupcake. I promise. You're completely safe with me." He taps her dainty little ski slope nose with a finger. "I bought you, remember? So that none of those nasty men can ever touch you again, only me. That's the rules."

For a second, the girl's chin wobbles, her eyes welling with uncertainty and the threat of more tears. But Lloyd's had enough of her being upset, doesn't have the patience to spend half the night calming her down when he's already exerted himself so much for her benefit already. Five guys are dead, his bank account is a couple hundred grand lighter (at least temporarily), he's lost the bounty he came for in the first place, and there are going to be a fascinating array of bruises on his body by morning. All this trouble, all this work for her. He's tired now, his day is over, he wants his payoff.

"Hey," he says firmly, holding her chin between two fingers. "I said: calm down. You're safe with me. Nobody's gonna hurt you anymore. You're just going to have nice things and feel good from now on. I'll take care of you."

She sniffles. "You will?"

Wow. She really is as dumb as advertised. Lloyd hums. "Sure will, Cupcake. Only nice things. Just so long as you be my good girl and do what I want. And that'll be easy as pie, because I'll always tell you what I want."

She bites her lip and lets it slip back out slowly between the grasp of her teeth. And the best part about it is that she's not even trying to be coy: she's literally just this clueless. "But," she hedges. "... what do you want?"

He smiles down at her and palms the side of her face. "Just you, Buttercup," he purrs, arousal and anticipation making his pants tight as he takes in just how beautiful she really is, with her porcelain-smooth skin and soft jaw, her baby-fat cheeks and wide, watery eyes. She really is like a doll come to life. 

Lloyd can't wait to wreck her. 

"What's your name, Princess?" he asks, coaxing her with a kind expression that she gravitates towards. "Hm? You can tell me. I'm Lloyd."

She giggles and looks away. "That's a funny name."

"Is it?" He laughs along with her and nods. "Yeah I suppose it is. I didn't pick it, unfortunately. But I'm going to pick your name. Something real beautiful and delicate, just like you. I'm thinking some kind of flower. How bout that?"

An adorable little frown pinches in the space between her eyebrows. "What? But, my name is - "

"I know, I know," he cuts her off, already knowing what she's going to say. He sticks his bottom lip out at her in a playful pout. "But that's such a little girl's name, don't you think? We should pick something new, since you're starting over new with me. Something more ... fitting."

He lets his eyes drag up and down her faintly curved form, the body that somebody above deck decided would be best appreciated in a tiny cotton top and pair of pink panties. If it wasn't so cute, it'd piss him off: those creeps dressing her in little girl undies in their effort to hock her along with the rest of the wares. But anyone with eyes can see she's not like the other merchandise.

Lloyd trails one finger over her hip and into the valley of her waist, appreciating the particular season of life she's in. She's limber and nubile, body almost grown into itself. A still-green sapling that's not quite done taking shape, with branches that are still soft enough to be trained this way or that as she approaches womanhood. She's malleable, moldable. Ripe for the picking.

The night above deck may have ended up in violence, but Lloyd came on-board peaceably, under the guise of a buyer, and it hadn't slipped his notice that her age was pointedly left off the dossier. It means she's quite a bit older than she looks, and the sellers hadn't wanted to lead with that.

Despite the pleasure Lloyd got out of ripping those perverts' nuts off, he still knows the business, understands the concept of maximizing one's buyer pool. Sex traffickers gonna sex traffic, and all that. But even still, there's a reason he didn't mind forfeiting that bounty. He's no hero, but he's done his bit to help. Now he fully intends to reap the benefits that've fallen into his lap as a direct result of a bunch of Russian perverts also happening to be lying salesmen.

"I'm keeping you for myself," he tells her, with another affectionate tap on the nose. "You're a very special, beautiful girl."

Her eyes widen at what she clearly perceives as a compliment, and she leans closer in a way that's so honestly naive, it makes Lloyd wonder if the dealers "enhanced" her with anything, pre-sale. He won't complain if they did, he doesn't mind a braindead bimbo, but it'd be nice to know if this is all chemically assisted, or just a natural gift. The thought nearly makes him snicker when he has it: Maybe she's born with it, maybe it's Maybelline lobotomy.

"You're special," he tells her again, trailing his fingers over her bare shoulder. "A real natural beauty."

She shakes her head bashfully. "No, m' not. I'm ... plain."

He scoffs, though privately he's thrilled (girls with low self esteem always give the best head.) "Honey, you wouldn't be in this room with me if you were 'plain'," he deadpans, not missing how she shifts and glances down at her body self-consciously. "Trust me, Sweetcheeks: men don't spend the kind of money that I just did, if what they're buying isn't astoundingly precious."

She squirms and her lashes lower onto heat-stained cheeks. "I dunno," she mumbles, embarrassed as she obviously recites someone else's words: "M' a late bloomer."

Lloyd laughs. "Well hey, that's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about, you know. I'm glad."

"You ... are?" She peeks up at him and Lloyd smiles.

"Yeah, Baby. I am. Don't you know the best part about having a flower is getting to watch it bloom?" He thumbs at the little Botticelli cleft she's got in her chin and savors the shudder that travels through her body at that, enjoying the reaction, how hopelessly vulnerable she is. "You know," he muses, turning into her more and pressing her into the blankets. "I think that's going to be your name: Blossom. Would you like that?"

"oh—"

He cuts off that small, surprised sound by kissing her—slowly. He doesn't do much with it at first, because he wants to soak up her inexperienced reactions; wants to feel her hot little gasp of surprise and the softness of her lips pressed to his, her body stiffening and then liquifying underneath the foreign touch of a man. She doesn't know how to handle it, squeaking against his mouth and pushing up against him as his body presses her down.

"It's okay," he whispers. "You're just perfect, Little one. A perfect, tender blossom." His hand migrates to her waist and digs into all of that give, violence and lust bubbling to the forefront of his mind at how fucking delicate she is. He imagines her as a rose: fragrant and velvet-soft. Imagines crushing her in his hand, plucking her petals off one by one, until there's nothing left.

He's always liked ruining pretty things.

"Please," she whispers, trembling. Fuck.

He licks at the seam of her lips and lets his hand drag over her belly while he whispers: "I can't wait to see you bloom, Little flower." Dips inside with the tip of his tongue: "Watch you open up for me." Cups her over the front of her panties: "Watch you unfurl."

"Oh." She sighs, hips juddering reactively up against his palm and then squeaking at the jolt of pleasure it sends through her. Lloyd gives her more pressure and smiles right in her face as she gasps.

"That feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Yy-yeah, but—oh! n-no ... wait, wait, I can't." Her hips kick up again and she whines at her own body's reactions. "Nnn, wait ..." Her hands grab at Lloyd's wrist where he's cupping her, but when he doesn't stop rocking his palm she grapples up at his shoulders instead, giving adorable little pushes that do absolutely nothing other than spur him on.

"C'mon Angel, none of that," he chides, slotting his leg forward in place of his hand so that he can reach up and coax her hands away from fighting him. He envelops her wrists and gently presses them into the blankets at either side of her head. And Jesus fuck, her wrists are tiny. He could hold both of them in one of his, easily. "Relax, Baby. I'm not gonna hurt you. Just want to make you feel good."

She whimpers when his clothed thigh grinds up against her core, her eyes getting watery again. "Ooh ..."

"Yeah. It's okay," he soothes, giving her another kiss, this time a little deeper, guiding her a little more while she writhes against the pressure of his thigh. "There you go," he praises, pretending that he doesn't know that her writhing is still part struggle. "See? Doesn't that feel nice?"

"P-please," she says, "I-I can't."

"Sure you can." He releases one of her wrists and laces their fingers together. "Just relax. I've got you."

"But, I've never," she cries. "Please, I don't ... I've never ... "

"Oh, Sweetheart." Though he'd figured she was a virgin, hearing her whimper it up at him so sweetly has his cock throbbing against the seam of his joggers. He nuzzles her cheek and coos, "You trying to tell me you've never been with a man, is that it?" She keens in embarrassment and he shushes her. "Hey, that's okay. That's perfectly okay."

She sniffles and squirms against him. "Nnn. But I'm not ... I-I don't know how. And you're a ... a ..."

He chuckles. "I'm a what?"

"... a man," she whispers, face flaming.

"Yeah, I am. But that's good, Honey. Dont'cha think? Every girl needs a man to teach her things, at some point. And it's that time for you."

She mewls helplessly in her throat and shakes her head, not noticing that her crotch is still grinding up on him as she does. "But what if I ... what if I can't ..."

"Don't worry," he tuts. He thumbs fondly at the damp corner of an eye until she peeks up at him. "I told you, Petal: I want to see you bloom." She colors beautifully at that and ducks her chin, and Lloyd dips down to kiss her again, not letting up until he feels her body soften to it a little bit more. She seems to realize what her hips are doing and freezes, but he just grabs her and guides her back into the rhythm, groaning when she starts up again. "There you go. Good girl."

"Lloyd ..."

"Don't be afraid. We'll take it slow, okay? I'll guide you, show you everything you need to know."

She sniffles and shivers, still teary-eyed, but she isn't pushing against him anymore. "Will it hurt?" she whispers.

Lloyd's cock gives a mighty throb and his eyes darken. "No, Blossom," he promises. "It won't hurt. Cause I'm gonna open you up real gentle and slow, show you how it can feel so, so good, okay?" He nudges her nose with his when she doesn't answer. "Tell me you understand, Little flower."

"Mmm." She's so shy, so reluctant and sweet. It makes Lloyd's cock ache worse than anything. "... Okay," she eventually whispers.

He hums knowingly and gives her one last peck on the lips before pulling back to undress. He goes slow enough not to spook her, but fast enough that he isn't drawing it out needlessly and scaring her any worse. He's prepared to hold her down if she starts struggling again, but that's not how he wants this to go. He really does want to watch her unfurl.

Her eyes widen and she stares at him with parted lips as he strips out of his clothes and his body is revealed. She seems stuck in place; a deer in headlights, fascinated and terrified—even more so, once he gets his cock out.

He angles it downward and gives himself a slow, tight tug, watching her watch him, soaking up the look of a girl who's having her first real sexual experience. She bites her lip and stares at his hand on his cock, eyes flitting between the weeping tip and his fist, his heavy sac and powerful thighs and back up again. Her brow is pinched and she keeps dragging her lip through her teeth, and Lloyd's balls ache at how tender it is to get to see her appreciating a man's body for the first time; losing this one, innocent part of herself. The very first petal to fall.

Still, he feigns ignorance with a coaxing, "You ever been naked with a man like this, Baby?" He knows that she hasn't, knows what a frightened and turned on virgin looks like. The poor thing is trembling in her skin, completely lost for what to do. Her mouth works like she'll answer verbally, but when she can't seem to make that happen, she just shakes her head a little instead.

"Mmn. Mm mn."

He nods in understanding. "Okay, Blossom. That's just fine." He lies over her again, abandoning his cock and touching the bottom hem of her little top. Fittingly, there are tiny, pale pink rosebuds printed on it. "Can I take this off?" he asks, tracing up to her ribcage and back down from over the cotton. "Hm?" He holds her gaze as he starts gently edging up the fabric. Her belly quakes and she whines nervously, but she lifts her arms for him when it's time, and he praises her with another quiet 'good girl'.

She's wearing a little bralette under the top, with lace edges and a delicate material that provides absolutely no structure. It doesn't even quite conceal the soft shade of her nipples peeking through. Lloyd groans lowly and skims his hands over them. "Fuck, Petal." She inhales noticeably at that, and he shoots her a grin. "Aw, you like that one, huh?" he teases. "My little flower Petal." he ghosts his fingers over her breasts, back and forth, until her nipples are fully pebbled and poking against the thin fabric. "So pretty," he murmurs.

She squirms, flustered, arms pressing in against her sides like she's fighting the urge to cover herself. "They're not ..." she starts, biting her lip and not finishing what she was going to say as her face flames.

"What?" Lloyd coaxes.

"Just ... they're not ... very big."

He doesn't bother to school the displeasure from his face, his eyes darkening as he growls in disapproval. It works in that her eyes pop up to him, wide and questioning. He shakes his head and lets his weight come down more, holding her down with his body and palming greedily at her little breasts. "No," he agrees roughly, rubbing and groping her. "They're not very big, are they?" He leers and pushes the little excuse for a bra up over them. "Sweet little mountain peaks," he teases. She squeaks and tries to cover herself, but Lloyd isn't having it. He knocks her hands away with a warning look. "Don't do that. I want to see you. All of you." He helps her slip the bralette over her head, tossing it aside and returning to take both of those chubby little swells in his palms, cupping and pressing them together as much as they'll go. "Jesus," he curses softly.

They're small and underdeveloped, more mound than slope, jutting out from her chest in youthful defiance. They're so innocent, so cheeky and plump. The sight of them makes that base, destructive desire surface in him again; the urge he sometimes gets to devour and claim and take, to ruin something that's so pretty and good. Lloyd wonders if that's what makes him a sociopath. "Such pretty tits," he praises, then lowers his face to seal his mouth over one, puffy nipple.

She squeaks, frightened at first, but she must be sensitive there because all it takes is one or two firm sucks and she's loosing the most gorgeous, helpless moans. Her hips kick up and Lloyd hums around his mouthful. He gives her more pressure through his thigh, pleased when she grinds up with real purpose.

"Yeah," he encourages. He pulls away and glances up from the level of her chest to find her staring at him with that same, pinched expression, but sloe-eyed instead of wide-eyed, now. Cupping the swollen tip of her breast and swiping out with his tongue, he watches as it makes her face absolutely crumple in desire.

"Ohn, god."

"See?" he says, nodding at the next uncoordinated roll of her hips. "It's all gonna be okay. Just gotta let me show you."

As turned on as she is, she still sniffles, her eyes flitting over him, afraid of what she doesn't know, unable to conceal her nervous interest. He can see her trying to look down and catch sight of his cock again, and he rumbles in approval and lets it drag against her hip. "You want to touch it?" he teases, then chuckles when she clamps her eyes shut and shakes her head with a stubborn little, uh uh. "Aw, that's okay, Sweetheart. You're shy. That's to be expected."

"M'not."

He laughs at her and gives her breast one last, affectionate kiss. "Don't lie, Buttercup. It's fine. Lots of girls are like that, you know. Nervous about touching, unsure, need to feel good before they can really let go enough and explore the way they want to. So how about ... I help you relax first?"

"Mmn." She whines and refuses to look at him. "... How?"

He sinks down her body, hands dragging over her waist and hips, holding her down with a chiding little tut when she squirms a little too much. "Shh. There's a girl." He forces her legs open and shoulders his way in there, and that's what seems to get her to still. He kisses her belly with a pleased hum, right at the top edge of the panties, where there's a tiny silk bow and green peapod detail. Lloyd groans at the sight of it and gives it a little kiss. "Have you ever had an orgasm, Sweetpea?"

"What?!" She huffs in embarrassment and tosses her head. "Noo. I, I don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” he teases.

“That."

"No?" He smirks and looks down to where there's a telling wet patch on the gusset of her panties. "Hm. You mean you don't touch yourself?" As inexperienced as she is, he still finds it hard to believe that a girl could get to her age without exploring. He places a coaxing line of kisses down the inner crease of her thigh. "Not even a little bit? Maybe sometimes at night?” 

“I … I don’t …”

“Don’t what?" He blows gently against her. "Don’t ever wake up from a dream with that tight and achy feeling deep inside your tummy?”

“Ohh.”

“Don’t let your hands start to creep down here? Don’t rub a little to try and make it feel better?"

She whines again and squirms, though it's not a fight to get away so much as it is pure nerves and embarrassment. She even seems a little mad at him for teasing her so much. It makes him chuckle and push her thighs wider so he can really get his face down there. "Oh, no. Don't pretend you haven't touched this little flower. You've closed your eyes and let your hands wander." He takes one of her hands in his and brings it down, ignoring her grunt of protest and guiding her to cup herself. Instantly, her fingers go to her clit, and Lloyd snickers. "Yes, you’ve touched. But you haven’t made yourself cum?" 

“Please,” she begs. “It doesn't work. I just … I can’t.”

“Aw, you can’t?” He pouts along with her in mock sympathy. “Well what've you tried, babygirl? Maybe you're just not doin' it right."

"Nnngh." She bites her lip and stares down at their joined hands with flushed cheeks. "I don't ... I dunno, please."

He releases her hand and pushes it out of the way. "See, that's what you need a man like me for. Too desperate to figure out how to make that itch go away by yourself. Poor, confused little thing." She makes an angry sound in protest, but it's easily subdued by another firm grab and press of her hips down into the blankets. He snickers at her token outrage. "Shh. That's alright, Blossom, that's alright. Just one more first I get to give you. I’m looking forward to it." He gives the waistband of her panties another kiss. "Girls aren't like boys, you know. You don't just wake up one morning, pulling at your pud. It's more complicated than that. You have to learn what feels good, learn how to get yourself worked up." He looks up her body and offers her a tender smile. "That's why it's important to have a teacher, Sweetpea. Someone who knows these things, someone who can guide you."

She sniffles. "You can?"

"Sure I can. Here, let's try a few things, why don't we? See what sorts of touches you like." He wants to rip her panties off yesterday, but forces himself to remember the plan of taking things slow and savoring every moment. He's only going to get to do this once, after all. So he waits for her barely-there nod, and then grasps the top edge of the panties right over that obscene little fucking peapod, and gives a jostle, gently tug-tug-tugging the fabric up against her mound, pulling it just enough to get the seam angled over her clit. 

She gasps at the sensation, a surprised little "oh!" escaping her lips.

Lloyd hums. “S'that feel good, Sweetheart?"

"Nnnh."

"Hmm. Yeah. You like a little gentle pressure like that? Are you a glancing touch kind of gal?" A few more exploratory, barely-there tugs and he can tell that she is, even though she clearly has no concept of what that means. He drops the panties and lets his fingers trail along the crease of her thigh, relishing every twitch and shiver he gets from her.

Somebody has waxed her bare beneath the fabric, and Lloyd sneers in distaste and purposefully doesn’t let himself think about why that is. "Oh, yes," he says when he sees that the wet spot on her panties has grown. "You like to be teased." She keens in protest, though she's thankfully past the point of outright denying the obvious. Lloyd rewards her with a press of his face against her crotch, inhaling and letting his nose dig into her clit from over the fabric. “Mmhm. Slickin’ right through your panties.”

"Oh!" Her hands suddenly appear in his hair, scrabbling, clutching. “Oh, oh no …”

He laughs a hot breath right against her cunt. "That's okay, Princess. That's good. I like that you’re sensitive.” He gives her one last kiss from over the underwear and then curls his fingers into the waistband. “Wanna take these off?"

"Nnoo," she moans, while doing absolutely nothing to stop him as he pulls them off her.

He eases them down her legs, gently shushing and praising her for her obedience when she lets him settle his shoulders back in between her legs after tossing the panties aside.

"Such a good girl," he murmurs, hooking one hand under her thigh to push and make room, the other sliding over her soft belly. He tugs her closer to his face, inhaling her scent and groaning at finally getting to see her.

One good thing about a bare pussy: there’s no hiding the state of it.

"Blossom," he breathes. "Look at you. You're soaked." 

She is. The delicate petals of her sex are already spread and slicked, puffy and swollen with arousal. He groans and lets his tongue dart out for a quick taste, reveling in the sweet tang of her, the way that she gasps and her belly tenses underneath his hand. She’s trembling, squirming, trying so hard not to hump up against his face, not to make noise even though it’s obviously what she wants to do. “It’s okay,” he tells her, dipping down for another long lick through her folds, nudging her clit with his nose, his mustache.

“Ohn!” she cries, but the sound cuts off into a desperate yelp at the end as she tries to silence herself. "Nnnh!" 

He makes an admonishing grunt where he’s got his face buried against her. “Hey,” he snaps, when he glances up and sees her fingers in her mouth. He knocks her hand away. “Quit it.”

“I’m not! I’m—” 

He hauls her in harshly and sucks her clit into his mouth until it elicits the squeal he was looking for, a tortured little ‘ognfuck!’ that comes from deep in her belly. He pops off with a satisfied growl. “There. Like that. That’s better.” He softens his tone when she whimpers and kisses the hood of her clit. “It’s okay to enjoy it, Petal. I know it feels good. So stop trying to hold it in, okay? You gotta let me hear you.”

“Please,” she whispers, eyes shining down at him. Fuck, the tears are back. “Please, please,”

“Please what, Princess?”

“Nnn! I – I need …”

Aaand her voice is back to warbling and overwhelmed, prompting Lloyd to grind his dick against the mattress just for a little fucking relief. This girl is sweet in every fucking way imaginable, and now she’s trembling and welling up with tears again, just the way he loves to see. Only this time it’s not in fear. She’s finally losing control of herself enough to let go and open up—unfurling for him, just like the flower he knew she was.

“Tell me, Petal,” he murmurs, tickling her with his mustache again. “C’mon. Tell me. Tell me what you need to cum. Do you even know?”

“Please, nngh, please …” 

He nuzzles her clit and laps languorously at her drenched slit, over and over, proactively tightening his hold on her hips so that he doesn’t get his nose broken when she inevitably starts bucking. “Ohn … god!”

“Mmm hmph,” he hums, having ventured out to start giving her jabs with his tongue, forcing the muscle into her quivering little gash, over and over, teaching her what a good tongue fucking really feels like. “Mmm, mmmph.” 

“Oh, please, ohn!” Her hands clamor through his hair, messing it up as she sobs and jerks, trying to get more of his tongue in her cunt. Lloyd can’t help laughing a little bit over it, breathless and turned on by how easy she is. He goes back to suckling on her clit for a moment or two, before easing off and peering up her heaving belly with a smug grin. “So sensitive,” he coos, holding her down when she thrashes in embarrassment. “Stop, stop,” he chides, laughing, climbing back up her body and pinning her beneath his full weight. 

Her legs spread for him without conscious thought, welcoming him in even as she’s still making her angry little huffs and puffs for being teased. He kisses her, amused, forcing his tongue inside to give her a taste of her own arousal. “And that was just my mouth,” he purrs, bringing a hand up to grope at one of those fat little breasts. “Was barely even inside you. Just think about what it’ll feel like with my fingers, my cock. You want that?” 

She cries out when he plucks her nipple. She shakes her head. “Nnn.”

“What? 'Nnn'? S’that s’posed to be a no?”

“Nnnh. Yes.”

He laughs. “Aw, Cupcake. I already told you I’m gonna treat you real nice, make you feel good. Now why you gotta lie to me?” He lets his hand slip down between them, cupping her between her legs. “Does this feel like a no? Hmm?” She whimpers and he smiles and shakes his head. “No, it doesn’t, does it? Mm mn.”

She’s mewling and grinding up against the pressure of his hand despite her stupid little protests, so he hums and slips a finger down through her folds, lets the tip of it tease at her entrance. Fuck, she’s wet. “Never had anything in here?” he asks, already knowing the answer before she gives another pathetic whimper and shakes her head.

“Just … just tampons.”

“Tampons, huh?” He dips the tip of his finger, in and out, gut clenching as he feels it mouthing at him, feels all that slick. “When’s the last time you bled?” he asks. He’ll grab a condom if he needs to, but he’d rather not need to. “Hm? Come on now, don’t lie to me.”

She won’t meet his eyes, but after enough coaxing she admits that she had her period just a day ago. Lloyd nods, glad that he doesn’t have to worry about protection. Not that it isn’t fun to fantasize about knocking such a sweet little thing up, but that’s not the itch he’s scratching right now. It'll be a treat just getting to watch her bloat with his seed, before that creampie slides right back out. “Okay, then, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, finger still teasing softly right at the edge of her entrance. “I want you to look at me, girl. Want you to look right in my eyes, and relax for it.” He brushes his lips across hers. “I promise this isn’t gonna hurt.”

He eases his finger in, and the tiny little ‘oh’ and relieved sigh she gives up as he does it, is everything. Her wide eyes meet his, blinking. “Lloyd.”

“Yeah.”

“I … I …” 

“Relax, Blossom.” Lloyd’s got big fingers, and she’s clamped down tight as fuck from her nerves, but she’s so fucking wet that it doesn’t even matter, his finger slipping in past the knuckle until it’s all the way seated. Her searing heat envelops him and presses onto his palm, bringing that destructive, sexual urge bubbling right back up to the surface of his mind. 

She’s the purest thing he’s ever touched, this soft, tearful, quivering creature in his hands. He’s never felt such lust and violence at the same time. He desperately needs to ruin her … and yet somehow, also desperately, he needs to make sure he doesn’t hurt her. 

A single, overwhelmed tear breaks from her eye and tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hair. Lloyd’s mouth all but waters at the sight of it, but she doesn’t seem to notice it, too preoccupied with the feeling of him inside of her body. She’s teetering right on the precipice between terrified and fascinated as she learns this new touch, and Lloyd could bust a nut just watching it.

“Good girl,” he praises, letting his palm cup her sex as he keeps his finger buried and starts to give her gentle, gentle pulses. “See? Didn’t I tell you?”

To his utter delight, she exhales shakily and nods. “Yeah,” she whispers, biting her lip and looking down her own body to where he’s touching her. “Yeah. I … it's ... you’re …" Her eyes slam shut as his finger curls. "Oh god.”

“You’re okay. Look at me.” He rocks his hand more, giving her pressure through the heel of his hand and dragging over that soft spot inside. "Look at me, Petal."

It takes her a moment, but she manages, peeking up at him with her brow pinched and moaning softly, her hips juddering up into it. 

Lloyd smiles, lines up another finger, and soaks up her expression as he plucks off that next petal.

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 4

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Nothing major. But - nudity! 😉

Word Count: 4,328

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So, here I am with chapter 4. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for all the very kind comments that this series has received so far. You're all fabulous.

Series Master List || Map of Camp || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N woke with a start. She was breathing fast, her heart pounding. The sense of fear and worry that had lived trapped inside her chest for months lifted quickly as she looked down to see Emma laying beside her on the narrow cot, having migrated there from her own bed sometime in the night.

Y/N resettled herself so she could pull her daughter’s warm little body closer to her, tucking the gray, wool blanket tighter around Emma’s shoulders to protect her from the cool September morning. She looked at Emma’s pale face, the bones a little too prominent, and was grateful once again to be where they were.

They’d been traveling around, nomadic and scrounging for whatever food they could find, for months. They’d spent a week in an abandoned church one time, a few days in an old hunting cabin. If they were lucky they sometimes found a camp of other survivors who would allow them to stay for a day or two. But the people would inevitably shuffle them along quickly, not willing to divvy up their resources amongst two more people.

When they’d found the Billings camp, she’d been so happy. They’d taken them in without much issue, but she’d soon discovered why. The camp had been made up of somewhat fanatical people, calling themselves Christians, who believed the apocalypse happened because people had turned away from the church. So while they did feel it was their duty to help Y/N and Emma, unfortunately they also felt it was their duty to bring them to the light. They’d spent most of the month they’d lived there praying and listening to the leaders call upon God to cast away the evil.

If the Croat attack hadn’t happened, Y/N knew she probably wouldn’t have stayed much longer anyway. She’d heard people talking about this camp, Camp Chitaqua, saying that it had a good leader, a man named Dean Winchester, and she’d wondered whether it could be the same man who’d saved her all those years ago.

She sighed deeply now, breathing in the fresh scent of the pine trees around them, giving thanks again that they’d made it here, and that, despite all odds, she was still alive. Even more miraculously, she was still herself. For a while, she’d been secretly worried that she’d only managed to stave off the virus in the same way that mothers could sometimes lift a car off of their child, by sheer power of will and desperation as mothers. But Emma had been here, and safe, for a week now, and she still felt exactly the same. 

She couldn’t explain it, but she was trying not to question her good fortune. They were in a well-run camp, complete with guards, supplies, and a leader who, whatever he might claim, cared a lot about the welfare of the people in his care. She wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

After Emma woke up, Y/N cooked them their oatmeal ration for the morning, gave them both basin baths, and braided Emma’s hair. As she was tying the last ribbon, two small voices were calling for Emma from outside the tent. When they went to look, there were two little girls, Keisha and Julianne, looking for Emma to come out and play. 

Their mom, Monique gave Y/N a warm smile as she shook her hand. If Y/N’s bloodshot eyes worried the woman at all, she didn’t show it. 

“We’ve heard a lot about you from Emma.” Monique said as the girls ran about, giggling and chattering all at the same time. “She spent a lot of time with us over this last week. We’re so glad to see you’ve recovered.”

Y/N was eternally grateful that Monique didn’t ask questions for which she had no answers. They spoke for a few minutes about their children, and Y/N mentioned her intentions to start a school. Monique’s eyes lit up.

“It won’t be much,” Y/N warned, “but I thought the kids could use something.” 

They talked for a little while longer and then Monique requested Emma’s presence for the morning. Keisha and Julianne were looking for their favorite playmate. Y/N sent Emma along with a tight hug and a tug on one of her braids. 

There was a small part of her overextended protectiveness that worried any time Emma wasn’t right next to her. But she knew how important it was that her little one got the chance to play, so she kept her worries to herself and waved her off to have fun, with thanks to Monique for watching her.

She spent the next couple of hours wandering around the camp. She learned the layout of everything, where the medical tent was, where they went to get their food rations for the week. While she was there, she finally got to meet Theresa’s mother, Brandy. She was a big barrel of a woman with russet-colored skin, long dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, big strong hands, and kind brown eyes.

She explained how the ration system worked, and explained that she worked with “The Boss” and “The Angel” to make sure everyone got their fair share, and that absolutely no food was going to waste.

Y/N’s forehead crinkled at that. “Angel?” 

Brandy nodded. “Castiel.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “He’s an angel?” She quietly berated herself for not figuring out that someone with a name like “Castiel” was an angel. 

Brandy nodded again, and then spoke quietly. “But he doesn’t have any angel mojo. No wings or halo, or whatever.” She shrugged. “That’s what I heard anyway.”

Y/N chatted with Brandy a bit longer, offering up her idea for the school. The older woman was intrigued with the idea and gave some suggestions for where they could hold their classes. She scoffed at the idea of holding them outside. 

“Gonna be winter soon and the wind can be really wicked around here. I’ll talk to The Boss about giving you one of those sheds at the Northeast edge of camp, behind the main cabin. They built them new there this summer for storage - for tools, and supplies like propane and such. But one shed will do for the winter, and they can build a second one for storage in the spring if they need it.” She said decisively.

“Well, please, don’t bug Dean too much about space.” Y/N cautioned. “He was reluctant enough to say yes to the school existing at all. I don’t want to make him doubt his decision.”

But Brandy just waved away the worry. “The Boss is hard, but he knows a good idea when he hears it.”

After a few more minutes of chatting Y/N gave Theresa a squeeze goodbye and headed back to her tent. She was excited to start putting some ideas together for lessons. She’d have to be a bit creative since there probably wasn’t a lot in the way of school supplies available. But she loved a challenge.

She was working at the little table in her tent when she heard a familiar throat clearing before Dean’s voice called out her name.

“Hi!” She called back. “Come in!”

Dean pushed through the tent flap, and walked in, a big green duffle bag in his hand. The height of the tent was just barely tall enough to accommodate him; it brushed against his spiky hair as he walked towards her, and Y/N had to smile.

Their tent home had seemed spacious when they’d arrived in it the other day. There was room enough for two narrow cots, a table and two chairs, a small wooden box for clothes and other supplies, and a little metal camping stove that was vented to the outside through a hole in the roof of the heavy canvas tent. She assumed that was for when it got really cold, and they couldn’t survive without some heat through the night.

It met all their needs and she’d been impressed by its size, having felt lucky enough to get the little two-person pup tent they’d had when they were at the Billings camp. But now, with Dean inside, the space felt much smaller. He seemed to take up most of the room in the tent, and he kept his neck bent forward slightly to avoid brushing against the top again.

“So, the river?” He asked, thumbing behind him. 

Y/N nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. That would be fabulous.” She grabbed her clean clothes and followed him out of the tent. She asked him to wait for a moment and dashed over to Monique’s to get Emma. But the three little girls didn’t want to stop playing, so Monique offered to take Emma with them in a couple of days when she took the girls down to the river.

“Okay.” Y/N gave in to her daughter’s pleading eyes and the three little girls squealed and jumped around. 

Y/N was thrilled to see Emma having so much fun, and she couldn’t justify derailing that fun just for a bath. But she made Monique promise to let her watch the girls for an afternoon very soon as payback, and she hurried back to where Dean waited, somewhat impatiently, by her tent.

His face held a deep scowl. “Are we good?” He asked.

Y/N nodded and he turned away, obviously expecting Y/N would follow. Once again she found herself walking quickly to try and keep up with his long-limbed, brisk pace. They went east towards the medical tent. But before they got to the tent, they reached a wide, open area where five vehicles were parked. Four of the vehicles, two trucks, a Jeep and a van, sat in a three sided aluminum building. Inside the building two men and a woman were working on one of the trucks, a black Ford F-150.

Dean nodded in their direction as he entered, and they lifted their hands in a salute before returning to their work. He walked towards the Jeep, but Y/N had her attention snagged by the car that sat outside the shed, towards the back, almost behind the building. The tires were flat and vegetation grew all around it. The front windshield had a big crack in it, and both bumpers were missing. Rust covered the tire rims and the bottom of the passenger side door. 

But she still recognized it. She still remembered the way the sleek, black beauty had shined as it pulled into their driveway so long ago. She remembered the way her dad had whistled when he saw it and the way both Dean and John had beamed with pride when he told them, “That is an American classic right there!” 

She walked towards it, and her heart was sad to see it so beaten up and neglected. Dean followed her around the side of the building. “What are you doing?” He asked angrily.

She looked back at him. “I remember her. What a shame.” 

Dean’s jaw ticked and he grabbed her wrist to yank her back into the building. “Just a car, it wasn’t practical. Now, come on, you wanna a bath, or what? I don’t have all damn day here.”

Y/N kept her mouth shut as she climbed into the Jeep, flinching slightly when Dean slammed his door; she’d obviously hit a nerve. In deference to that fact she stayed quiet for a little while. But eventually, she risked starting a conversation.

“How far is it to walk out to the river?” She asked.

He shrugged. “‘Bout an hour or so.”

“How long will it take us?”

“Five or six minutes.”

She smiled. “Well, then I really appreciate the ride.”

He shrugged again. “Sooner we're there, the sooner we’re done.”

“I also appreciate you taking the time out of your day.”

He just grunted in response and she wasn’t sure exactly how to interpret the sound. Whether it meant, It’s fine, or I’m regretting the offer, she wasn’t sure, but she plowed on anyway.

“I can only imagine how busy you must be, running a camp this size. How many people live here?”

“Don’t know exactly.” He answered and she thought that might be the only answer he was going to give, but then he continued. “Somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty, I’d guess.”

“Wow!” Y/N said, truly impressed. “Billings only had about 60, and they were the biggest group I’d ever seen.”

Dean didn’t respond as the Jeep jolted over a big rut in the uneven path they were driving down. Trees scraped against the sides of the Jeep as they passed, and Y/N almost bounced out of her seat as they hit another deep rut. 

“Put your fucking seatbelt on.” He barked at her. “You tryna fly through the windshield?”

Y/N grabbed the strap and clicked it in place. Then she frowned at him. “You’re not wearing your seatbelt.”

“Do as I say, not as I do.” He warned her.

She snorted. “That’s crap advice.” He scowled at her but said nothing more.

They were silent until they emerged from the trees onto a wide river bank and Y/N could see a sparkling river laid out in front of them. She gasped.

“It’s beautiful.” 

Dean threw the Jeep into park and turned off the engine. “It’s advantageous.” He admitted as he climbed out, pulling his duffel bag out with him.

Y/N jumped down and walked quickly towards the river, already itching to feel the water wash away the layer of grime she could feel sitting on her skin. When they reached the side of the river, they stood for a minute. Y/N looked over at Dean, waiting for some privacy before she took off her clothes and jumped into the river.

Instead he nodded towards it, and warned her. “Don’t go too far east. The current here is slower, but it picks up around the bend up there, and it can be hard to stand.” 

He dropped the bag on the ground, reaching in and grabbing a bar of soap and tossing it to her. It wasn’t new, but it smelled fresh and zesty, so she didn’t care that it had been used previously. 

She stood still, holding the soap, making no move to get into the water. Dean looked at her, annoyed again. “Are you going in or not?”

She knew she was blushing and she felt ridiculous for it. But she waved towards him. “Could you turn around or something?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “No, actually, I can’t. There’s a reason no one ever comes to the river alone. We’re almost five miles from camp, there could be wild animals, rogue Croats, or desperate men around.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Someone needs to stand watch.”

Y/N nodded, accepting that logic. But she still didn’t want to get naked with him watching. When she continued to hesitate, Dean gave a huge huff and shook his head. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Even though you definitely don’t have anything I haven’t seen before, if it will make you hurry up and get in the fucking water, I’ll turn my head while you strip down. Just tell me when you’re covered up in the water, so I can go back to making sure nothing tries to eat you.”

With that, he turned his head away from her and sighed again, before holding up his finger. “And be careful - the deeper the water, the faster the current.”

She shucked her old grubby clothes quickly, practically moaning about how good it was going to feel to be clean and then actually step into clean clothes. She ran into the river, squeaking slightly as the cold water hit her skin.

“Whoo! It’s freezing!” She said with a slightly manic giggle. But she kept walking until the water covered her breasts. “Okay.” She called out over the rushing of the river. It was a little hard to keep her balance as she began washing, but she managed.

She tried to ignore Dean standing barely twenty feet away as she washed her body quickly and then dipped her head back in the water, lathering up her hands to scrub through her hair and across her scalp. As she rinsed her hair out she couldn’t take the silence anymore and started talking as a distraction, like she usually did. 

“So you guys keep chickens? I’m assuming that’s where the eggs come from?”

Dean nodded. “And one young cow. We found her in the spring. Her mother was nowhere to be seen. So we brought her back to camp. The kids in the camp take it in turns to spend the day gathering grass for her to eat. They pull up buckets of it every day to fill her trough. In return she gives us fertilizer for the crops, and if we can somehow find her a bull next spring she’ll give us milk and more cows too.”

Y/N smiled as she finished her bath, and then ran her hands down her leg to rinse away the last of the soap. “How is it you can manage -”

Y/N stopped talking to let out a scream as her fingers brushed against something slimy on her leg. And then screamed even louder when it brushed over a second one. Before she could let out a third scream, Dean was in the water, having shed everything but his jeans and white t-shirt on the way.

“What’s wrong!” He was yelling as he barreled towards her. 

“Something.” She pointed at her leg. “Something’s biting me. Something slimy.”

Dean looked relieved and then annoyed. “For pete’s sake, it’s probably just leeches.”

Y/N stared at him like he was completely insane. “Just. leeches?” She shrieked. “Get them off.”

Dean grabbed her hand and started to pull her out of the water. But she wrapped her other arm over her breasts and dug her heels into the rocky bed of the river. “No, I can’t leave the water. I’m naked.”

Dean spun around to face her. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He dropped her hand and threw up his arms. “You wanna stay in the water with the leeches?”

“Can’t you just pull them off while we’re in the water?”

“No.” Dean said shortly. “I can’t. I have to pry them off gently, meaning I have to be able to see them properly. You may also have leeches other places than just your leg. I need to check you.”

Y/N’s face turned blazing hot, but she decided she was more horrified by the slimy things sucking her blood than by Dean getting up close and personal. So she followed him out of the water to stand on the sandy bank. He walked back to his duffel bag and grabbed a knife. She covered herself with her arms and hands the best she could.

Dean came close and got down on his haunches to work at unsticking the leeches from her thigh. His fingers were warm on her chilled skin, and she knew it wasn’t only the cold breeze that was giving her goosebumps. She peered down at him, admiring the way his long lashes swept downwards as he focused on his task. His white t-shirt was wet and clung to him, outlining the muscles in his back that shifted slightly as he worked.

Thoroughly distracted she didn’t notice the leeches pop off until Dean tossed them back into the river. “K, I’m gonna check for other ones.”

Y/N’s whole body flushed as Dean walked around behind her, scanning all of her looking for more of the parasites. He came around to her right side where her arm was folded over her chest. 

“Lift your arm.” He ordered. “They like the soft skin under here.”

With a sigh, Y/N shifted her other arm over her breasts, while crossing her legs to make up for the hand that was no longer covering her below. Then she lifted her right arm and Dean clicked his tongue. 

“Yeah, there’s one more here.”

He brought his knife up again, and Y/N tried not to think about the way she could feel Dean’s breath move across the tops of her breast as he pried off the disgusting creature. When it popped off, Dean threw it back into the river and let his other hand trail down to her waist, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. 

He moved to the other side and checked too but thankfully there were no more on that side.

Dean waved towards the parts of her that she had covered up. “Do you want to check the rest, just in case?”

He turned his head without being asked and Y/N was grateful as she searched her skin. 

“There’s nothing.” She said with relief.

Dean nodded. “Good. Hang on.”

He walked over to his duffel bag and pulled out a towel, also grabbing her clothes that sat beside his bag. He tossed them all to her and then turned away so she could dry herself off and get dressed. She dried quickly, but as she started to pull on her jeans, Dean pulled his wet t-shirt over his head, and pushed off his jeans, treating her to the truly disarming sight of his beautiful bare torso and round, plump ass. His back was bronzed and tan while the fleshy skin of his backside was milky white. 

He must have worked outside without a shirt on a lot this summer. 

That image left her brain spiraling, and while she was melting into a puddle, Dean pulled a pair of jeans out of his duffle bag and put them on, before slipping his long, muscular arms through the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

He stood quietly for a moment after he was dressed before he called to her without turning around. “Are you dressed?”

Shaking her head like a wet dog, Y/N answered quickly. “Not yet, just give me a minute.”

“Already had a minute.” Dean mumbled.

Y/N hopped into the jeans; they were a size smaller than she normally wore, so they fit a bit snug. She put on the bra that was also a bit too small in the cups, but she wasn’t about to complain about the free, clean clothes, so she just tugged on the t-shirt.

She could practically feel Dean’s impatience as he stood there with his hands on his hips. “I’m finished.” She told him and he finally spun around to face her, his expression annoyed as usual.

He started to say something, but when he caught sight of her, the words seemed to die on his lips. He scanned her from head to toe and Y/N felt her cheeks flame. It was silent between them, but something crackled in the air, hot and vibrant. 

Dean took a step closer, and her eyes wandered over his flannel shirt and the way the open sides framed his tanned, broad chest and flat abdomen. She looked at his belly button and the light trail of hair that disappeared into his jeans and she had the sudden urge to lick him, dip her tongue into his belly button, and then…

“Clothes good?” Dean asked, his voice soft and deep.

It took Y/N a solid ten to twenty seconds to figure out what he was talking about. Finally she nodded. “Oh yeah,” she ran a hand over her skin tight jeans, “they’re great.”

“Good.” Dean cleared his throat and nodded his head sideways towards the Jeep. “We should get back.”

The ride back to camp was tense as suddenly Y/N was aware of every move Dean made. She watched his hands on the big Jeep steering wheel and became immediately distracted by them. They moved smoothly, but she remembered the calluses she could feel when he grabbed her wrist, and it made her want to feel them again, feel them in more sensitive places.

The five minute ride felt twice as long on the way back.

When they reached the garage, Y/N practically leapt from the Jeep before it had even stopped fully.

“Well, thanks.” She said in a high pitched, squeaky voice. 

Dean followed her silently out of the Jeep and out of the building. When she started back across the camp to her tent though, he called her back.

“Y/N!” She turned around but kept some distance between them. She was honestly afraid of what her addled mind might try if she got too close to him. 

Unfortunately, Dean didn’t seem to be suffering from the same problem because he walked right up to her, leaving barely a foot between them.

“Just keep an eye on the bites. Leech bites aren’t usually dangerous, but the itch can be a real pain in the ass. If they get bad, you can go to the medical tent.” She followed his finger as he pointed at the big white tent to her right. “They'll probably have something for you.”

She turned back to face him and her breath caught in her throat. He was so close, and he smelled so good, like gunpowder, fire and something a bit warmer, softer, that she couldn’t place. She stared up into his intense green eyes and her stomach started doing somersaults. 

His gaze fell to her lips and for one insane moment, Y/N thought he was going to lean forward and kiss her. But he took a step back, nodded and then turned on his heel and walked away. Y/N stood staring after him for a lot longer than she had any reason to, holding her breath the whole time.

As he disappeared into the main cabin, she exhaled slowly, finally able to admit to herself that she was incredibly disappointed by the kiss that didn’t happen.

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[greyias]

I really don’t want swtor to shut down it’s the only eu thing that’s active we have left

I knew these asks were going to start coming in.

So for those who haven't heard, it was reported, and then later confirmed by Keith Kanneg on the forums, that EA is "selling" SWTOR to another developer, Broadsword. For those who want to read the article discussing it, you can read here: https://www.ign.com/articles/star-wars-the-old-republic-development-third-party-bioware

TL;DR -- It's not shutting down. The servers are going to stay active for a while

There's a few points to note here:

If I understand things correctly, EA actually owns Broadsword. So EA is in fact not actually offloading a property, I think what's actually happening is BioWare Austin itself is being divvied out and would not be surprised to see if that branch is shut down

At least half of the SWTOR dev team is part of this move, so the key things to keep an eye on is which members of the dev team are moving. If the narrative staff is kept intact, then we have more story ahead of us beyond what's been written, and they've confirmed we're getting 7.3, 7.3.1, and 7.4. It's important to note that their production timeline is generally a year out from things being written, so story-wise, if they have narrative staff, we'll likely still have some story drops ahead of us

SWTOR is profitable (it hit over $1 billion in profit several years ago), and I will admit I don't have the best understanding of video game finances, but my impresion it was far into the black and maybe not an enromous cash cow, but a decent consistent revenue stream. EA is a publisher that is about profits, so as long as the game is profitable, even if there's not new story drops, the game will stay online

Disney has seemingly taken a recent interest in SWTOR after mostly ignoring it after its acquisition of Star Wars, even going so far as to finally acknowledge the general KOTOR/SWTOR era in their presentations last year at Celebration. Does this ultimately mean anything? I don't know, but SWTOR is one of the longest running current properties with a stable player base. They're just as interested in profit as EA. Probably another indicator that the game will keep running for a while.

Other properties that Broadsword operates, such as Dark Age of Camelot and Ultima Online, are old games. Ultima Online was released in 1997, and the servers are still active. So like, I think regardless of what happens in regards of the story, we're not losing the ability to log in and play the game

Long term subscriptions - I remember reading, and forgive me, because I've long forgotten the source, that a key indicator if the servers are going offline is to also keep an eye on the six-month subscription option. Basically, if suddenly the only option for subs goes down to one month, that's when to worry about being able to actually play the game.

This is probably not about SWTOR, but BioWare as a whole. It seems there's a leadership issue at the main Alberta office that's causing issues. This is likely an Anthem issue all over again, but Anthem this time happens to be the Mass Effect and Dragon Age properties. Unfortunately, BioWare Austin looks like it's going to suffer the consequences of that, even though they've been running a tight ship overall compared to the rest of the branches. I feel for them. This sucks.

Now I'm not an oracle, I have no idea if this is ultimately a good or bad thing for the game itself. There's a lot of evidence for both sides of the coin, so right now the best thing is to wait and see. We at least have the promise of the next two patches. Let's focus on enjoying that, and celebrating what we love about our silly space game.

If you love the game, keep playing it. Spend money on it, and keep it profitable and it will stay around. Be kind and supportive of the devs, who regardless of how this shakes out, are going through a major transition. But immediately decrying an active game's death and going into doom and gloom is not going to help things.

Will we get more story beyond 7.4? I do not know one way or the other. I hope we do, but it's hard to say for certain on that front. But I do believe we'll still have our toons and be able to replay all of the released content for quite a while to come. Again, for now I'm just going to enjoy my favorite game, and support it as long as I have it. Even if this inevitably means it's going to change.

[mintytealfox]

Any thoughts on Infernal Sin meeting Eternity?

MUAAHAHAHHHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHHAAAAA AWWW YYEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅 -EXCITED SCREECHING-

I am going off the rails with this one so bear with me LOOOL

So I think Eternity would seek Infernal Sin out 👀 she seems like she moves around more than he does with the vibe that he just chills in his lava and has people brought to him, but that would change when Eternity has a proposition for him heh (cause I think he would happily 'work for her' but is really just taken off his leash to enact Eternity's justice. and when doing so takes on his full feathered dragon-phoenix form thing)

Needing a fourth member looks like heh

(also why is Joseph everywhere lol take a nap old man -wheeze-) I also like how she seems lorge here with her shadow

heh large power duo I love LOL

I keep getting distracted

ANYWAYS

So I think that would be the reason for their meeting, her seeking him out about her proposition to join her (even though he is infernal SIN, she can trust him deal out her punishments/cleansing, and in return he isn't in the line of fire or rather 'destruction of sin' lol)

I think he would be fascinated to receive a visit from her. Before, he likely knew of her and was keeping tabs just in case she became an issue and turn him into a target that needs to be eradicated. So, to see her in the same place as him, and it isn't because she is trying to destroy him, would be interesting lol. He also notes how cold and calculating she comes off as. It won't be until later in their cooperation that he will see what she is like behind the looking glass and the toll all of this is having on her.

random sidestep:

Infernal Sin gives me Eris vibes from Sinbad

the way he toys with mortals and just waits ((but that might just be because he seems kind of tied down to his realm and has to send mortals out in his place, soooo if a certain someone unleashes him and he is able to go wherever he wants to divvy out that justice, (in his full form) that he is assigned to do now, weeeeellll LOL))

So I think this proposition would be everything he wants lol Freedom and the ability to openly cause chaos and destruction. The only limitation is that it would all be limited to those Eternity has targeted. Which I don't think he would mind much anyway lol just full "you point, I go~"

He might have been prepared to toy with Eternity at the mention of a deal to get the most out of this, only for Eternity to just immediately lay out the golden plater, So he just melts and says, yes this is perfect I am yours LOL

-------------

Now some random situations lol:

~Eternity: "take off your mask" Infernal Sin: "and why would I do that?" Eternity: "let me see who I am working with..." -Infernal Sin, finding this interesting, decides to oblige and removes his mask- -Eternity using a moment to take in his features, then clears throat- "yes this union will work nicely" Infernal: "?????"

~Eternity seated alone while surrounded by fire and chaos all around her, until Infernal arrives in his full form, stepping into the calm and quiet that Eternity keeps around her. He curls up around her and rests his head near her and she pets the bridge of his snout. an unfortunate job well done

~Then Nightmare calling Infernal "the guard dog". So Infernal being like 'sure why not' and try to bite him LOL

~Eternity finding Infernal to be warm and comfy, especially when in his phoenix-dragon form and them nice feathers lol

~Infernal showing up to Eternity's lair and just "sheesh, this place is dusty, dreary, and falling apart" Nightmare: "you live in the literal depths of a volcano" Infernal: "where it is bright and warm and put together nice, so what's your excuse??"

~Infernal and Nightmare keeping their distance from Joseph cause that is one strangely young looking old man right there. Nightmare: "trade seats with me" Infernal: "no way, continue to suffer" -looks at the other person beside him- "........who is this by the way...." Nightmare: "why should I answer when you won't trade seats.." Infernal: "......." -jumps Nightmare- -the usual fighting resumes loool-

~when no one is looking, Infernal and Eternity are alone and finally able to show themselves with no walls or masks or anything and it usually ends up with Infernal comforting Eternity.

-------------

I love me some power duo my goodness graciouuussssss

Me:

[evegwood]

how do you atually write a script for a comic fhhhdhdhdh like do you write it the same as a movie script idk how to start

My basic system is using bulletpoints inside a table. Each table cell is a page, which is handy for planning page spreads, and each bulletpoint is a panel. This script also divvies up the scenes by colour so I can block out how long each scene is:

Because I'm the sole artist, I don't include any information that is obvious to me; that means expressions, poses, or individual panel sizes don't usually make it into the script. If there's something really dramatic and important I'll include it, but otherwise I tend to work out character poses when I'm thumbnailing or pencilling. I'm already kind of laying out the page in my mind when I'm writing so when I go back to actually draw it I'm like yeah I know exactly what face Vic is pulling here.

I do also have @spiremint on board now as colourist but because I don't really think in colour I don't have any notes for that in the script. Instead, I make notes on the inked/pencilled version of the page when I'm sending it to Spire for the colour script. Those notes will say stuff like the mood I'm going for, the weather, what happens in the scene so he can give me some cool alternate background colours. Spire never sees the script, it really is just for me when I'm pencilling/lettering, and then I discard it and work from what I have in front of me. It's a stepping stone tool, not a strict guideline of what the page should look like.

That's how I write a script, but you can write your script literally however you want! If it's just for you to read, you only need to include as much information as you find important. For some people that's everything because they either can't envision the scene without a description or because they want to make sure they don't miss anything important out, and for some people it's the most barebones thing imaginable. If it works for you, just do it!! You don't need to write a script like you would for a movie unless you really want to, or it's for someone else to see. Do you want to see the entirety of my script for the Chapter 5 lasertag scene?

Now here's a more helpful answer. I always start with an outline of what exactly needs to happen on each page so I don't need to work too hard figuring out how many panels should pass before I need a page break. Example:

You will probably want to think about three main things when putting your script together: dialogue, environment, and character. Each panel is an individual moment in time. That means you shouldn't have too many things happening in a single panel, and one panel should generally only have one dialogue moment, one environment note, and one character action. Someone can't jump up in alarm and then look relieved all in one panel, because that's two character actions (and would also be pretty difficult to draw but shh). A character shouldn't (can, but shouldn't) say they want to leave, then change their mind and ask for another drink all in one panel, because that's two dialogue moments. For environment notes, you really shouldn't have an explosion and the hidden treasure revealed all in one panel, because that's two environment notes. You don't need to stretch everything out into its own panel, but make sure you watch for too many things of the same category happening in one panel.

That's a lot of info, but I hope it helps!

--

I'm doing a little Q&A right now to celebrate the launch of the Inhibit: Book Two Kickstarter! If you have a question about Inhibit, comics in general, or anything else, shoot me an ask 🔥

[dailydemonspotlight]

Alright we have some of her Skeleton Granddads, but what about Alice herself?

Alice - Day 67 (Request)

Race: Fiend

Arcana: Death

Alignment: Neutral

July 9th, 2024

Demons are plentiful in the series, many with bizarre origins, but Alice herself is a rare case for the series, and as such, I'll have to make this DDS a bit different as well. Based primarily off of a multitude of sources, Alice is less of a concrete character from a myth or fairy tale, nor an urban legend- no, she's a conglomerate of what can be presumed to be Kaneko's imagination. So, today's Demon Spotlight will be less of a statement of her backstory- it'll instead be a descent into the many mixed fates of this young girl.

Initially, it's easy to pick up that Alice is based primarily off of Alice in Wonderland, the famous fairy tale told by Lewis Carroll going into the story of a young woman named Alice and her slow drifting off into boredom leading her down a quite-literal rabbit hole, ending up in a surreal fever dream-esque wonderland. However, this is only the source for her appearance, being primarily based off of contemporary depictions of the Alice in the story, being a blonde girl- specifically taking inspiration from the Disney movie based on the story.

Even with this, though, it's hard to pin down where her fates throughout the series originate. The series purports her origin as being from a Scandinavian folk tale, yet I've struggled to even pinpoint what the tale in question could even be. The closest I've been able to pin it down to is an Icelandic folk-tale recounted in this blog post.

Frankly, though, this might just be coincidence. It's incredibly hard to tell, given that the story on Alice seems to change constantly from game-to-game, compendium-to-compendium- it's even stated outright, in the Persona World compendium in the first Persona game, that she is simply an original character to the series. So, case closed, right? I'd still like to dig a bit deeper.

Original demons are rare throughout the series, especially after the first Megami Tensei, however, and I've always felt that there needs to be at least some sort of original source for every character- something you can trace the influence back to. Ideas don't just spawn from the ether, after all. And I might've found the original source, outside of simple offhand mentions from various posts and blogs about a secondary source beyond Alice in Wonderland.

Really, this is just speculation, but I believe the folk tale referred to most of the time in compendiums may actually be recollections of several different myths- namely, a conflation of La Llorona, a the ghost of a woman who lost her children and her life and spends her days roaming Mexico aimlessly, looking for children to make her own, the story mentioned earlier called 'Dear Mother, in the pen, pen,' the real world death and subsequent ghost sightings revolving around one Alice Riley, a young woman who was a former slave murdered in the 1700's, and of course, Alice in Wonderland. The behavior that La Llorona is outlined in partaking in is incredibly similar to the behavior stated in the compendiums' offhand mentions, that being that the ghost girl would kill children to gain friends in her eternal afterlife, the name Alice was likely pulled from Alice Riley as well as Alice in Wonderland, and the placing of the mythology in Scandinavian regions likely comes from the icelandic myth mentioned above.

Maybe all of this is me coming to conclusions, but I'd personally state that I think I've narrowed down some of the origins pretty well. The trope of a little ghost girl is widespread, and Alice may also simply be based on that trope, and the excuse of folklore was given to simply divvy up the waters a bit, but I digress. There could be so many different explanations for Alice out there, and while the fact that none of them fully match up is somewhat frustrating, I'd say that I think it's a waste of a good idea to simply brush her off as being just an original character loosely based on Alice in Wonderland.

Even in this spotlight, I feel the need to put a nice bow on things- overall, Alice is an incredibly complicated demon to look into, especially for those who love digging into things like me, but I managed to eventually track down that wild goose, even if it really is just a mirage. I'd be remiss to not mention her weird connections to Belial and Nebiros, as in the first Shin Megami Tensei game, she was brought back to life by those two, and they became her uncles, as referenced later in the series.

[indignantlemur]

Hey, so, I've got a question regarding some andorian headcanons and since it might interest others, I'm just doing it here.

What is your opinion regarding adoption in andorian cultures? Is it even a thing or do orphaned children get taken in in other families from their clan or allied clans if their own clan does no longer exist?

Or is it similar to earth? And do you think andorian parents sometimes give up their children for adoption if it's a thing?

I know, many questions, but I would be really interested in your thoughts to it!!

If you did that already and I just didn't see it, just ignore this :)

Hey there!

So, Andorians as I've written them are actually really big on adoption and looking after orphans. A lot of their cultural values stemmed from a dire need to pool various resources together so that the next generation survived Andoria's harsh conditions, and that included things like child-rearing.

Many Andorians, if not all, adore children and often fail to limit their hypervigilance and duty of care to just their own - or even just to purely Andorian children. If a child of almost any species is left unattended and in distress in the vicinity, there's good odds that that child is going to be corralled and kept safe by at least one deeply unimpressed Andorian until their guardian shows up. There's even better odds that the Andorians will have some very pointed questions for that guardian regarding their child-rearing capabilities and general vigilance when it comes time to return the child to their parent. Children are precious even in modern times, and Andorians know all too well that despite their advancements in defense and safety, it's entirely too easy to lose a little one in a spring thaw, or to the vagaries of Andoria's dangerous wildlife.

This isn't to say all Andorians are good samaritans, just as all Humans aren't, but even the Clanless and outcast Andorians tend to prefer not to involve children in unsavoury happenings if it can be avoided.

Andorians set up their home lives and adult relationships around the core idea that there must always be at least one person at home with any offspring a quad may have. Having four people to divvy up childcare duties amongst means that Andorian children are not truly orphaned nearly as often as they used to be, since they are rarely left unattended. Even in less prosperous Clans where it is not possible for a parent to stay at home all day, every-day there are other Clan members who will step in and provide assistance wherever necessary. Quite often the Clan leader will take on this role when they can, as it serves to reinforce bonds of trust between the leader and all of the families within the Clan - and also the individual relationships with each child within the newest generation.

The idea of hiring -never mind trusting - a stranger to look after one's children is both baffling and somewhat horrifying to Andorians. Babysitting is a joint responsibility between all Clan members, from the highest ranking to the lowest, and it's often a task assigned to older teenagers to help them grow used to some of the responsibilities they will have as an adult within the Clan. In ancient times when Andoria was divided by inter-Clan warfare, these teenagers were the last line of defense for a Clan's youngest generation; it was fully expected and understood that the ones given the responsibility of looking after the littlest children would kill and die to protect them. Many often did.

All that taken into consideration, adoption is very common on Andoria, and within a Clan it's almost a casual affair. Inter-Clan adoptions are messy and involve a byzantine amount of paperwork, especially if the Clans in question don't get on, but they do happen in rare cases where the birth-Clan of a child is unable to care for the orphan. Within the birth-Clan, an orphaned child is absorbed into the nearest relative's family almost as soon as their parents are confirmed as deceased or missing for long enough that there are concerns about the child's care. it's not uncommon, in that respect, for a set of parents to return home after being stranded on the surface to find that all of their children have been adopted out from under them in their absence by their Clan members. In these cases, unless there is a valid reason to do otherwise the children are returned to their parents' care readily enough.

Allied Clans will step in to assist at times, but it's unusual for that to be the case and it's cause for some embarrassment for the Clan receiving aid if it's a very large contribution or, worse, it needs to happen more than once. Many feel that such circumstances are a failing of the Clan leader, particularly in regards to proper planning, logistics, and emergency contingencies.

There are remarkably few cases of a child being abandoned or given up by an Andorian family for any reason, but when it does occur it is greeted with censure, dismay, and horror. When a child is surrendered, however rarely that may be, it's usually for one of three reasons: all but one quad member has been killed and it is no longer possible for the remaining parent to care for a child and provide for themselves; or, the Clan has been destroyed and the last surviving members are dying, which leaves the children under their care at risk; or, the parents have proven themselves dangerously incompetent or negligent, and are forced to surrender their children or face dire (and often deadly) consequences.

Abandonment is almost unheard of, more likely to be part of an ancient story passed down through the ages than an modern occurrence, but if a case is ever discovered it is investigated thoroughly and painstakingly. Any Andorian found to have abandoned a child is dealt with swiftly and severely by the Arbiter's Guild, often serving gruelling, life-long sentences in penal colonies in cases of deliberate abandonment. The current Emperor in Emigre has come down very hard on these criminals after Andoria saw a brief uptick in abandonment cases during the most recent bout of fighting in Weytahn, and the Arbiter's Guild has taken their cues almost a little too well.

Basically, Andorians are Hungry Hungry Hippos and children are the little marbles being snatched up and adopted as fast as possible, and they will fight you for the privilege if they think you're not providing adequate care.

[writingquestionsanswered]

me andy friend are planning on writing a story together but we don't have a concise plot yet. We have multiple plot ideas and genres in mind but we cannot choose one. How do we decide?

Co-Writers Stuck Choosing Between Plots

I think a good old fashioned "pro and con" list for each idea is a good way to go. That way you can a "big picture" look of the plus side and drawbacks to each idea. And be sure to keep in mind practical considerations, too, like how the story would be divvied up between you, who would write what, how long it would take to write, etc.

Depending on how many ideas you have, you could also do a process of elimination. You could take turns... flip a coin to see who goes first, and that person eliminates one idea, then the next person eliminates one, and so on until you're down to one idea. Or, you could each privately rank the ideas from favorite to least favorite and see if any of the ideas in both of your top three, then eliminate the others. You could really let fate decide and draw them out of a hat or use a random number generator to pick for you. And last but not least, you could try doing some general brainstorming on each idea and see which one grabs you both the most.

You might also want to read my post Guide: Collaborating with Another Writer. ♥

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[hotheadrednecksimmer]

Summer Lovin' - Struck by Love Legacy Challenge - Season 2, Episode 17

Spring came and went with Naomi focusing on her Piano and Guitar and her career. Summer was here and she was gearing up for her vacation with her parents that they take every year. She had been so focused in the spring that she didn't have time for any fun, so every week she was dating someone new.

All of the relationships she had were brief and when they got too serious, Naomi would end up breaking up with them. She didn't want anything serious, she just wanted to feel something other than this pain that she had been carrying since winter.

As the Summer Vacation came, a new passenger was going with them to Sulani this year. The beautiful lady that Kaito had met on vacation. After meeting at the bar in Mt. Komorebi, they talked all day every day and began a relationship. At the beginning of summer, Suzu ended up moving in with Kaito in a home that he purchased with the money that their parents had given him for college. He was stationed in Oasis Springs. Kaito had been waiting to ask Suzu an important question that he felt was long overdue, even though they hadn't been together that long.

Kaito took Naomi with him ring shopping proclaiming that she would be his best man if Suzu said yes. Naomi was excited for her brother but knew in her heart that he would get hurt. Suzu would treat him like Akira treated Maeve and how Gabrielle cheated on Naomi. Love always ended badly, no one ever stays faithful, it wasn't real.

The first night at the vacation home, they got there pretty late to make up for Naomi working late. Star made the family a meal while the others sat and talked at the dinner table.

Suzu: Thank you for letting my brother come along on the vacation. We really appreciate it.

Maeve: The more the merrier, I'm always open to more family joining us on vacation! It seems like our family gets bigger each year!

Kaito: You should see this guy play cards, he always wins. I swear he cheats!

Hiro: You're just a sore loser.

Naomi: Always has been, I once beat him in chess as a child and he cried for an hour.

Maeve: I also remember you telling him that he should protect his pawns instead of protecting the king Nay.

Naomi: Not my fault he didn't understand the rules!

Kaito: It's entirely your fault, you actually cheated!

Naomi: You're the boy who cried cheater.

Star: I remember Naomi beating him as a teen and he got so mad then too, he knew the rules by then!

Naomi smiled towards the kitchen where Star was, she always had Naomi's back for as long as she could remember.

Kaito: I don't recall that at all.

They all break into laughter, they shared a meal together and started divvying up the vacation rooms.

Maeve: Well, I thought I booked the vacation home that had enough rooms for all of us but it looks like I didn't. Star and I can crash on couches while you guys get the bedrooms.

Naomi: No mom, you shouldn't have to. I'll sleep on the couch, don't worry about it.

Hiro: Since I'm the extra body, I'll sleep on the couch.

Naomi: You're family Hiro, I'll take the couch, you have the bed. Seriously, I stay up way to late anyway with my work hours.

The protesting stopped and Hiro finally agreed to Naomi. With bedding all arranged, each of them went to their room and settled in. Kaito and Suzu took the biggest room, Maeve and Star offered it up knowing that Kaito was going to propose this trip, the main reason the family is staying for days and not just one day. Maeve and Star took the next biggest, Hiro took the smallest, and Naomi put her belongings in the closet nearest the living room where she would be staying. Although she was sleeping on the couch, she'd be able to have privacy with the bathroom down here and everyone in their own rooms. Naomi thought it wasn't that bad.

As Naomi was getting ready to lay on the couch and flick through the tv channels, she heard a light cough.

Hiro: You really could have the bed, I feel bad about it.

Naomi eyeing Hiro, why does he look so familiar? she thought. Naomi: Half the time I sleep on my couch in my apartment, I prefer it over beds. I think my back likes it better, or maybe I just like the noise from the TV as I sleep. I'm not sure.

Hiro: Well, there's a TV in the bedroom that works I'm sure. So you could sleep in there.

Naomi: Look Hiro, I know you're trying to be nice and all, but I've already claimed this couch and my butt is not moving.

Hiro stood still eyeing Naomi: Is this not awkward for you?

Naomi: What's awkward?

Hiro: The night that Kaito and Suzu met, we hooked up.

It all came back to Naomi, the sneaking up the stairs to the bar's bathroom that she didn't know but it felt familiar, she had done it multiple times before. It wasn't new.

Naomi cursed under her breath. Her bad decisions finally catching up to her. Naomi's eyes grew wider as more drunken memories came back to her.

Hiro: You didn't remember, did you?

Naomi: I- No, I didn't. I'm sorry.

Hiro: Then I guess that's the regular for you then? Flirt and sleep with strangers?

Naomi: No I-

Hiro: Save it, I don't want to hear it. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night. But I guess I was just another fuck for you.

Hiro left Naomi alone in the living room. Naomi turned the tv off and sat in the silence and shame that she felt. She thought that what she was doing wasn't hurting anyone except herself. How many people had she slept with and flirted with that actually wanted something more than just to sleep with her? Was she as bad as Akira, Grace, and Gabrielle?

She buried her face in her hands as her thoughts spiraled, knowing that she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

╭┈◦•◦❥•◦ Season 1 | Season 2 First | Previous | Next

[pygmi-cygni]

anon ask - "how do i write introductions?"

my inbox is being pissy so i am having a hard time responding but anon i hope you find this bc i rlly wanted to answer xox i'm sorry :(

yall can still send in requests but I might just have to tag you rather than do a direct response. maybe it'll fix itself soon? idk

introductory paragraphs are probably one of the most important paragraphs of your story. and really, I'd extend your introduction to the first 'chapter' or 'act' or however you've decided to divvy up the writing.

What does the introduction do?

It introduces the story. 'Holy fuck!' I know, crazy. bad jokes aside, the introduction does a lot more than introduce characters and setting. It also introduces the voice and style of your writing, which can make or break your writing just as much as a character.

This is more geared towards original 'published' work, but can absolutely be a tip for fic writers too. Most of my writing tips I've tried to make accessible to both, so take it with a grain of salt.

"Voice" "Style" and "Narration" are all used to describe the way the story feels. When you write the first couple of pages, it needs to grab the reader and shove them into your little world. There are good and bad examples of this.

I would say a good example of this would be Harry Potter (sorry i know but it's v accessible). The voice is introduced, we get a sense of the backstory without it being too overwhelming, and it gives enough mystery to keep you reading. (look up a pdf)

Here are some Dos and Don'ts

Do: describe setting. Don't: give us a verbal blueprint. Describe the setting subtly. Instead of, "The coastal town of Whalebone was frequently rainy, and it never got above a brisk 65F" try, 'the sky was grey and dreary. it had been raining the past week, and the air had a bite to it.'

both sentences describe the weather, but the second one does it in a way that is more relevant to the story rather than sounding like a weather report. The reader will pick up on the setting nuances as they read.

Drop descriptions in occasionally, try to create an ambience rather than an overwhelming situation. describe setting in context to the event. The reader doesn't care if it's sunny when they're more concerned about the fight scene. They might care about the weather if there's a traveling caravan that can't go through mud. (I'm using weather as an example but this can be applied for every setting)

the hobbit would be an example of overwrought setting.

2. Do: introduce your character. Don't: overdo it.

The audience will be spending the entire book with this character. there is no rush to explain everything in the first chapter. Don't do the "She woke up at 8 am and rushed downstairs to eat breakfast. Her mother, Deborah, had made her favorite pancakes. The girl wolfed down a couple before running to her friend Emily's house." that's too much. I quickened the pace to provide examples but all of that can be found out subtly.

The readers should determine the relationships based on their interactions. Don't tell the reader. Show them. If 'Emily' (bff) and Girl are chatting together and making jokes, you can assume they're good friends. Flat-out telling the reader takes away an opportunity for building dynamic.

3. Do: set the tone. Don't: change it later.

pick the style and stick with it. If you flip between waxing poetic and writing like a sarcastic teenager, it'll give your readers whiplash. pick a style of storytelling that can accurately convey your writing to its full extent. If you write a scene and it's out of the theme, we'll notice. the introduction is a good place to mess around with this.

Hope this helps!

(sorry about the inbox thing, i'm gonna do some digging to fix it!)

keep sending requests ily guys xox

[actually-factually-anonymous]

Marinette is not poor.

Just posting something I wrote a little while ago:

I always have a little snicker whenever people call Marinette "poor". While the writers put her and her school in a fictional 21st arrondissement; the position of the Eiffel tower and general decor actually point to the girl living in what is very clearly (at least according to the few French speakers I've had the pleasure of talking to about this series with) the 16th arrondissement.

Aka: The Old Money district of Paris.

Her family are apparent minor celebrity bakers who cater to high class events and who get to own (that's important, the Dupain-Cheng's own the bakery, not rent it) and live in a building worth millions of euros in one of the most wealthy parts of Paris. A building and business they likely inherited from Roland at some point, and that family also contains a clearly rich Grandmother who can spend her golden years traveling and can casually buy her Granddaughter a new motorcycle for her birthday.

Her room alone would be unaffordable for any working class person, it's the size of a studio apartment. Add in the location and Balcony; and an actual Parisian commoner would probably need to divvy the space up between a dozen roommates just to make rent. Sure it looks tame compared to Adrien's gilded cage, but make a comparison to let's say... Alya's room (which we have seen and actually resembles a working-class teenager's living space) and suddenly she's looking pretty bougie.

Let's not forget that direct across the road from a school (based on the prestigious Lycee Carnot by the way) attended by the children of the rich and powerful to a degree that cannot be coincidental. But it's unsurprising that Marinette's mingling with the elite when she's already babysitting news-achors' children and has a host of personal connections with celebrities.

As for her hobbies, anyone that has ever taken up design or dressmaking, or really anything creative has to know that it's not cheap. And that stuff that Marinette makes? There's no way that she's covering that with the odd babysitting job unless Nadja is paying her with hundreds of euros per session (I don't know, maybe Manon's on a blacklist so Marinette can choose her price?).

Correct me if I'm wrong: but the closest thing to Marinette or her family having any kind of money problems in the show was the fact that they'd been saving up for Marinette to have a trip to China. Which implies that at least they can't go out to another country on a whim: but that's not exactly poor now is it?

If Marinette looks like some schlub from the Banlieues, it's only by comparison to her ultra-wealthy classmates. Her parents show no signs of financial struggle, and Marinette herself is rarely called to help out in the family business. She lives in a room bigger than some apartments. Her hobbies are ridiculously expensive, but the most she has to do to cover them is occasionally babysit for one of her celebrity connections.

Marinette's. Not. Poor.

She is upper-middle class at worst.

And as for hardship in the future? The girl has already had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity dropped in her lap via Audrey Bourgeoisie, another one through Jagged letting her design his glasses (talk about visibility for a young designer), gained recognition through Gabriel Agreste's competition and is the sole heir to her parents' and Gandmother's combined wealth. Unless she well and truly flubs every opportunity she has her fashion career is about as close to set as it can be, and even if it bombs: her familial wealth means that unless she goes on a spending spree she probably won't even have to work. She could literally just appoint a manager for her family bakery and live full time as Ladybug...

Oh, and she's also dating Adrien Agreste. Who was the sole heir to the Agreste Fortune, but now that his parents are gone: he's probably one of the richest minors in France. Worst come to worst, she has a sugar-kitty to keep her afloat.

Marinette is not poor. She was never poor. Barring multiple acts of absurd misfortune that destroy her family's wealth and home and her celebrity connections and her burgeoning professional reputation and her relationship with Adrien: she never will be poor.

Even then she'd still be Ladybug and The Guardian of the Mother Box. She could have a single euro to her name and would still have a home in the Guardian Temple- she's not exactly one missed payment away from being on the streets.

This idea that she's some working-class underdog is much like the romanticized trope of the "lonely hero struggling under her responsibilities" that Marinette often gets in fanworks: it's something that ignores her canonical privileges for the sake of drama and putting her on a pedestal for how she suffers under her duty. In reality, Marinette has a literal wealth of riches in terms of generational wealth and metaphorical riches with her massive support group formed from her family and many friends (many of whom are ultra wealthy themselves).

Marinette is not poor.