#but yeah. i love them and it's so. hard to explain the exact dynamic i guess?

[you-are-my-neverland]

love love love godhood... do you mind talking about ashka and naying? whatever you want, these kinds of dynamic just fascinate me endlessly <3

oh, i would be happy to discuss ashka and naying. maybe too happy, even.

where to start? naying doesn't remember the first seven years of her life, only waking up to find ashka watching over her. he tells her that her parents died in a car accident, the same one that injured her severely enough that she has to relearn just about everything. to her, he's the only parental figure she's ever known, and she's always felt a complicated sense of debt, awe, worship, and love towards him. sometimes, she felt as if she didn't know him, or understand him, that he was a distant point she could never reach, but she never doubted that, whatever happened between them, he loved her.

and then, when she's eighteen, he disappears. vanishes from her life. he had said he was going to meet someone, and then had never come home. she made missing posters, even talked to the police, but, eventually, it feels as if everyone but her stopped caring, stopped looking. the police found his bloodstained clothes, ruled it as a death, or murder, without a body, let it grow cold. naying dabbled in alcoholism, anger, and ruining her life one piece at a time. she never gives up hoping that he's alive, insisting that he's alive, because sometimes he leaves her things, groceries or gifts, things she knows are from him but can never prove.

so he didn't die. he didn't abandon her, he's not gone like everyone says. he just, for some reason, can't come home, and even though naying has rationalized it a hundred times in her mind, there's still a part of her that whispers he left you behind. it doesn't help that when she enters the outsider world, she's told some rendition of that line; her knee jerk denial is a defense mechanism, response, a way to protect herself, to not let it become the truth.

the ashka naying knows, though, the man that is her father, is a monster to the outsider world. he's the perpetrator of the greatest tragedies in the past century, a man honored as a god and then reviled as a devil. for his own greed, for his own selfish desires, he committed genocide (intentionally?), slaughtered a generation (intentionally), and, apparently, kidnapped a child just when they thought he might have gone to ground for good.

ashka is a man who looks to be in his thirties, but has actually been alive for almost a century. his believed power is unmatched, and, in the fifty plus years since the Battle of Black Cliff, he has become the bogeyman of the Outsider World. he's the last member of the last, revived godhead, a vengeful ghost who will not let the world move on. as long as he's out there, he's a threat to everything the Families and the World stand for. he's Wanted Number One basically. no one knows why, but everyone knows that, when she was seven years old, naying yue, heiress to the yue family, the next in line to be saintess, vanished. was taken. kidnapped. by a man described to be no other than ashka mihari.

most of the world has accepted that she was killed, but some outsiders never stopped looking, including the yue family. no body, no crime. when our naying appears again at twenty one, she is and isn't the naying yue they are looking for - to naying, they have the same name, but they aren't the same person. to everyone else, she's either a fake or a copy. no one knows the game ashka is playing, least of all naying herself.

now, in terms of writing, ashka and naying's dynamic/relationship haunts the narrative. particulary for naying, who has the main pov of godhood, ashka is a ghost in her past, always cropping up in her thoughts, memories flooding in at the most inopportune moments. the littles things bring him to mind; in her memories, we are shown a man who loved his daughter, a man who sometimes hurt her in ways only father's can (not in a dv/sa way though. let me make that clear; there are enough other evil people in godhood), a daughter who tried her best to understand him and be the best she could be. she's bitter and angry at him, but also longing for him. she just wants him to return, to prove he didn't abandon her.

to prove everyone else wrong.

but for the majority of godhood, we have naying's pov and memories contrasting with what other people tell her about ashka. we slowly learn the extent of the things he has done, the reasons he is hated and reviled. naying might not judge him, but the readers will have to form their own opinions on what sort of man he is. ashka himself doesn't make a (re)appearance until close to the end of the first novel at least; he himself haunts the narrative alongside the girl naying was.

[cybersunnie]

the look of love | collection

01 RAFE CAMERON meets the new art teacher.

includes fem!teacher!reader / uncle!rafe / reader goes by "miss sugar" / fluff / grumpy x sunshine / family dynamics / safe to read! / wc 1.5k

Sarah already had her own family. Two rascals, Jackson and Josie. Meanwhile, Rafe didn’t. He had no kids. Nada. Zero. And he planned to keep it that way for a while.

As much as he loved his niece and nephew, they depleted his desire to have any. They were both rowdy and talkative and an awful lot like their parents. 

It scared him. 

He didn’t need more John B’s and Sarah’s walking the earth. Those little devils.

And yet, he was on his way to pick them up from school.

He never had to before. It was typically JJ, Kie, or anyone who wasn’t him. But apparently, the Pogues were more swamped than usual and had a ‘customer issue’ at their little Surf Shop. Whatever that meant.

Safe to say, Rafe wasn’t too thrilled about it. He was a busy man—the CEO of Cameron Development, to be exact. Children didn’t fit in his schedule. At least, that was what he told himself on the lonelier, quieter days. But family was family, as his dad always said. So, when his sister had called him, pleading, he reluctantly agreed. 

When he pulled into the pick-up zone, driving along the curb, he spotted his niece and nephew. They were hard to miss, not only because they were the only kids in front of the school, but because of the woman accompanying them. You. 

With the sweetest smile Rafe had ever seen, you stood between them, hands clasped behind your back, your eyes darting between the two children as they talked over each other. 

Rafe stopped in front of them and rolled the windows down. The youngest of the two, Josie, was the first to notice. 

An exaggeratedly loud gasp left her lips, her eyes wide. “Uncle Rafe!” 

That set off a chain reaction. 

Jackson looked up, his brows furrowed. “Uncle Rafe?” 

Rafe didn’t know if he should feel offended.

Then, your gaze shifted away from the kids, meeting his eyes through the passenger window. Time slowed. He saw your smile soften, and you waved at him. His heart lurched out of his chest, the feeling foreign and borderline uncomfortable. 

What the fuck?

But he didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling as his niece and nephew rushed towards his car.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle,” Josie chanted, panting like she ran a mile. “You’re pickin’ us up?”

Jackson stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You never pick us up.” 

Damn, what was this kid’s problem?

“Yes, Josie. And, well, they’re busy at the Surf Shop,” Rafe sighed, unlocking the car doors to let them in. “So, you guys got me for today.”

Through the rearview mirror, he watched the children clamber into the vehicle, feet kicking and hands flying as they argued about trivial matters—I always sit on the left side! So? I got in first. You’re being a butthead! I’m telling mommy you called me a butthead!—and so on. He chuckled, his lips curving into a grin.

Suddenly, you spoke, “They’re special, huh?” 

Your voice was warm and inviting. He didn’t know a person could sound so lovely.

When Rafe looked at you, he forgot how to speak. Every word he knew? Gone. And you barely did anything. You were just standing before the passenger door, staring back at him. He couldn’t help but notice the smudge of orange paint on the bridge of your nose. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he ultimately said, nodding.

You extended your right hand out to him through the open window. He saw more dried paint on your fingertips. “I’m Miss Sugar, the new art teacher here.”

Ah, that explained it. 

“Rafe.” He shook your hand, his eyes locked on your face. Your hand felt soft but far from fragile. “Rafe Cameron.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you beamed.

Did you ever stop smiling? Your cheeks should be hurting at this rate. 

He nodded, letting go of your hand before he looked like a creep. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, Uncle Rafe,” Josie called, rummaging through her backpack, “me and Jackson made a paper chain thingy with Miss Sugar! Look, this one’s you!” 

He turned his head, eyes squinting at the paper doll chain she held up. Josie explained they made it during the after-school program, where she and Jackson spent a few extra hours each day. There were nine cut-out paper dolls, with what he assumed to be Josie at the start and him at the end. It was rough around the edges, but what did Rafe expect from a five-year-old? And the longer he stared at it, Rafe figured he was a last-minute addition, his hand glued to Sarah’s doll, the paper there wrinkled. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw you tilt your head into his car, looking at the kids. You seemed proud. It made him wonder what it felt like to have someone be proud of him.

“That’s really nice.” Rafe looked at his niece, who grinned brightly at his praise. He then stared at the frowny face drawn on his doll. “Why’s everyone smiling except for me?”

“Because you’re always grumpy,” Jackson replied bluntly. 

Little Josie slapped a hand over her mouth and erupted in giggles. Of course, his nephew was the one behind it.

Seriously, did this kid have a vendetta against him?

“Okay, you—” Rafe caught sight of your amused expression, and he bit back his words, “—I’m not always grumpy.”

You tried to cover up your laugh with a cough. “Yeah, he doesn’t look grumpy right now,” you defended, though it was far from convincing. Then you shot him a wink, and the gears in his mind stuttered and fell apart. Were you flirting with him? Or was it more of an ‘I got your back’ sort of wink? 

Fuck, why did he even care? He needed to pull himself together. 

“Anyways, I have to get back now,” you sighed, and the kids protested almost immediately. He saw a frown tug on your features, and you moved to the backseat window, cooing a mix of ‘I know’ and ‘I wish I could stay longer’ that eased their complaints. Eventually, you moved to the passenger window again, telling him a sweet, “Get home safe.”

Rafe felt himself having to fight back a smile. “Thanks.” 

You pursed your lips, your fingers tapping the window seal. “Don’t be a stranger, Rafe Cameron,” you said, stepping back from his car.

Jackson and Josie shouted their goodbyes to you before he could respond, but your words rang in his ears. Don’t be a stranger. He watched you wave to him and the kids before turning on your heel, your long skirt dancing around your legs as you made your way to the school’s entrance. Once you disappeared behind the door, he eased off the brake and pulled out of the pick-up zone.

As Rafe drove the kids home, the wind whipped through the open windows, the music on the stereo hummed softly, and his niece and nephew whispered to each other in the backseat. What about? He didn’t know, nor did he want to know. But he suspected they were up to no good. 

Josie cleared her throat with an over-the-top ahem, ahem! “Uncle Rafe?”

“What?”

She didn’t waste another second. “What you think of Miss Sugar?”

Rafe stared hard at the road. He had many thoughts about you: beautiful, messy, stunning, smiled too much, gorgeous. 

“Uh, she seems nice,” he answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“Just wondering!” Josie chirped.

Silence fell between them.

He thought that would be it, and then he heard more whispering. Dread flooded his body. Rafe tweaked the stereo volume higher. They hadn’t caught that you piqued his interest, right? No, that would be ridiculous. They were kids. They would be none the wiser.

At least, he thought so until his niece asked, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

No wonder the Pogues called her Nosy Josie. It all made sense now. And, of course, he thought you were pretty. Who wouldn’t?

Rafe sucked in a breath, scratching his brow. “I’m not answerin’ that.”

Jackson grumbled, “I told you, Josie.” 

“You didn’t!” 

And a new argument ensued. But for once, Rafe was content listening to their high-pitched shouts because that meant the attention was off him. He didn’t want to be pestered about you any further. If Josie had kept pushing, he feared he would be sent down a rabbit hole, you consuming his thoughts.

But maybe he had already fallen down the rabbit hole. He was just too busy denying it.

Soon, Rafe arrived at their home, and the kids hopped out of his car and ran to their parents. Sarah thanked him for picking them up as John B took them inside—Josie sat on his hip, with Jackson walking beside him. He brushed it off, even offering to pick them up from school more often. His sister looked surprised and a little skeptical, but she didn’t question his change of heart. 

While Rafe Cameron didn’t have time for children, he could make time for you.

sunnie speaks! i realized miss sugar is barely in this WHOOPS!!! but i hope you guys found his dynamic w jackson and josie fun, haha! i sure had a fun time writing it :D let's chat about rafe cameron / teacher!reader

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[imustbenuts]

nuts reading trigun in japanese 7 - filial piety, and meryl

my alternate readings/translation/interpretation of jp lines are for triangulation purposes and nothing else.

ch 10-12. a more general scattershot of a post than over analyzing the japanese texts this time round. i think meryl in these 3 chapters is the most interesting character for me. but mainly bc she seems to be carrying a baggage: her struggle with filial piety.

^OH's version

ソレが普通ですわよ That'd be the most common sense thing to do. それにもともと家訓からして『自立せよ』ですからね But our house's motto is to first be independent above all. ドライといえばドライなのかも Mine would just be dry beyond dry...

me: hm. an office lady in the context of being written in 1990s by a japanese guy. i understand.

(i actually prefer OH's version bc the implications of what shes saying is the exact same, but more importantly leads into this page)

いきついて見れば When I realized all that 何か大切なものを忘れてるのかも… Realized that perhaps I've forgotten something (filial piety) so important... 私… I...

(you can see how this raw translation fucking sucks. I'd reword it in a way that's along the lines of 'feeling so ashamed as to forget getting angry', but OH's version is a downright banger. 11/10 the implications of what she feels is still the exact same. love it a lot!)

right so.

filial piety.

filial piety for a lot of asians is... kind of hard to break down. but perhaps can be explained as "abandoning ones' parents is the worst sin one can do".

not being filial is an invitation to the most extreme judgement from relatives and outsiders in a society which upholds it as the absolute virtue. at least, for the most part. (late stage capitalism fucked it all up yayy)

abandonment can be in the form of presence and/or financial. if a child doesnt make bank to pay back for their parents raising them up, they're not filial. if a child is absent and not there to take care of their parent, thats not filial.

and not being grateful, not being filial, equals shame and warrants divine punishment. (check out folklores like momotaro and kaguyahime that touches on these themes)

meryl i think struggles with that bc shes likely an only child who is expected to work an office job after studying super hard for it, and is now living independently away from her parents. meaning, she is technically not present to take care of them, which in this context makes her feel immensely guilty.

to make matters worse, it sounds like shes one of those types where her parents possibly had to work a lot to pay for this and that, resulting in a severe lack of communication. so this compounds, and she can only write dry stuff in her mind.

milly, by the way, does not have this problem as much:

she has a lot of siblings who can shoulder the weight of it all together, so in terms of that filial piety stress shes not doing so bad.

Badwick, the focus of this arc, by the way, faces the same struggles with meryl:

i mentioned the financial part bc from how chill the parents are with him, i think its possible he was trying to sell the land for large sums of money for his parents to retire. theres an added level of resentment going on that complicates their dynamic, with a dead brother and a land that means too much to sell for any sum of money.

and also his parents are... too nice and understanding, jeez.

i dont think meryl has the resentment. i think her case was similar in that her parents worked hard to provide and kinda neglected her in the connection part.

ofc this might then bring up the question of, 'isnt filial piety kinda transactional?', and, yeah. it... frankly can be. some parents have weaponized it, knowing that a society which forces unconditional love and financial support from a child is a good retirement plan. and it sucks. nightow must have realized this and sidestepped it.

whether bc it will not be well received by the then jp audience or if he just doesnt want to tell a story about this, i dont know. there could also be the fact that the 90s was a bad time to be talking about securing retirement for parents when the economy was circling the drain.

trigun gets dark later. we are getting love and peace above all else, at least for now.

...hm something seems to be rising over the horizon. but we can deal with that later. domestic violence

also i think vash is the kind who would also be a filial son to rem. this aspect of him is just lurking silently in the background in hindsight. in a barrel.

(incidentally i think this is also why luida and brad got promoted to surrogate parents position in stampede. much to ponder ponder...)

[annerly-san]

Love and Deep Deadlines | A LaDS Corporate AU - Chapter 4

Summary:

Amidst the cut throat culture of Onyxion Enterprises where cutting-edge innovation is overshadowed by corporate chaos, no one talks about how hard it is to be an intern.

Alongside Caleb, the sales department smooth-talker; Zayne, the cold and unflappable CTO; Xavier, a director who might as well be an intern himself; and Rafayel, the overly dramatic Creative Director who brings his own flair to every meltdown, our intern is just trying to survive the workday. Oh, and don’t forget Onyxion’s very own CEO, Sylus, a walking HR violation who gets off on terrorizing his employees.

In this company, will love bloom before the deadlines run deep, or will the company go under first?

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | ?

Alternative AO3 link:

The next week came faster than I was ready for, and I spent the morning frantically reviewing my notes, making sure the script and key points were flawless. Everything had to go smoothly; there's no room for mistakes. But the real challenge wasn’t in the content, it was facing Zayne after that awkward interaction with him the other week.

A notification popped up on the bottom of my laptop screen.

[Zayne]: "I’ve reviewed the email. Let’s meet today at 3 p.m. I’ll be in Conference Room B."

I stared at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as I was trying to think of a reply that wouldn’t betray how rattled I felt.

[Me]: "Sure, sounds good. See you then."

That was cordial enough for work, right?  I hit send, then sat back in my chair, exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding.  As the clock ticked closer to 3 p.m., my nerves didn’t ease up one bit.

I arrived at Conference Room B a few minutes early, setting up my laptop and pulling up the materials for the interview. My hands shook slightly as I adjusted the microphone and camera, trying to steady my breathing.

The door opened.

Zayne walked in.

He entered the room with the same cool air of confidence he had back during the all-hands, his movements precise, his gaze focused on me for the briefest moment before shifting to the materials on the table.

“Are we ready to start?” he asked.  His voice calm and curt, offering no warmth or familiarity.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.  I handed over the neatly stapled documents containing our agenda and speaking points to him, putting my full effort into stabilizing my hands and prevent them from shaking too much.  “Yeah, I’ve prepared a script for the interview, and we’ll go over the key points you wanted to highlight.  I know you're busy, so I've kept this short and concise.”

Zayne glanced at the script I handed him, his eyes scanning the page before he gave a short nod. “Yes.  We'll do that.”

The camera started to roll, and I settled into the professionalism of my role, asking the questions in the exact order we’d planned.  Zayne answered each one clearly, his tone authoritative and precise.  But as we continued through the laid out speaking points, the dynamics of the conversation changed.  Where it had started off with a brisk question and answer format, his responses spoken with a few short words without additional elaboration or commentary on it, Zayne gradually provided more elaborate responses and would take the time to explain out the more difficult concepts of the technology he was working on.

It reflected in his body language, as he settled more into his seat with a more relaxed stance than his previously stiff and upright posture.  Rather than staring straight into the camera with a stoic face, not sparing a glance at me once since we first started, he started looking at me directly when I asked him questions, maintaining eye contact and smiling politely here and there.  The longer the interview went on, the more I found myself drawn into the conversation; it was no longer a singular exchange of words and answers, but an actual conversation between the two of us that went both ways.

By the time we wrapped up, it felt like I was talking with Zayne just like when we were back in school; I was always asking him questions on difficult topics that I didn't quite understand, and he would patiently explain things and sit with me until I was able to grasp my head around the topic I was hoping to learn about.  I caught myself smiling as I turned off the camera, feeling as though I had been swept up in lost times.

Zayne stood up, gathering his things. “Good interview,” he said, his voice more relaxed than it had been the entire time.

“Thanks,” I replied, the weight that had been pressing on my chest since the start of the meeting finally lifted.

Zayne glanced at his watch and I panicked at the realization that the interview went longer than I had anticipated.  I was mortified.  The words he spoke to me when we first met rang out in my head like alarming bells.  He was a busy man.  And I was just someone that was taking up time in his day unnecessarily.  “S-sorry that we ran over!"  I stammered.  "We’ve been at this a while,” I noted, glancing at the time myself.  5:00 p.m.  It was the end of the day already.  “I’m really sorry if you had something else planned for today. I know you’re probably really busy-”

"Don't be," Zayne interrupted.

I looked up at him, confused.  Instead of looking rushed or upset, he seemed completely relaxed and at ease.  “I cleared my schedule for this.  Don’t worry.”

“Wait, really? You didn’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” he cut me off smoothly, his eyes locking onto mine. “I wanted to.”

My heart skipped a beat.  The way he said it felt so familiar. It wasn’t laced with the cold distance intended to keep me at arm’s length.  It was spoken with the subtle warmth and patience he used when it was just the two of us back then. His gaze lingered on me a moment longer before drifting casually to the window.

I nodded slowly, pulling myself back to the present. “Well, I appreciate it.  Thanks for taking the time for this today.  Caleb’s probably coming to pick me up soon though. I should text him and head back.  I don’t want him to wait on me.”

The mention of Caleb’s name made Zayne’s expression flicker for just a second. He didn’t say anything at first, but I noticed the subtle tension in his jaw—almost imperceptible, yet one of those traits I’d become all too aware of after knowing him for so long back when we were kids.

“Caleb still insists on chauffeuring you around?” Zayne asked, his voice neutral, but I could sense that there was an unpleasantness there.

“Yeah, but it’s Caleb.  He’s like that,” I admitted, chuckling lightly, trying to defend him.

The corner of Zayne’s lips twitched up, but his face remained otherwise stoic and unreadable. “I can text him for you, let him know he doesn’t need to bother.”

I hesitated, surprised.  Did Caleb and Zayne keep in contact all these years?  The thought of being left out from their continued friendship sent pangs of hurt running through my chest, but I tried to stamp out the thoughts to keep my composure.  “O-Oh, but we finished up, I can just head back—”

Zayne stood up, picking up his phone with a casual swipe of his fingers. “But we’re not done yet.”

I blinked, confused. “...We went through all the questions though.  Everything we had in the script and agenda was recorded.  The interview’s finished.”

Zayne gave me a pointed look, his tone deceptively calm as he slipped his phone into his pocket. “You asked me to dinner the other day, remember?”

My heart stumbled in my chest. “Wait, that was—”

“You asked. I’m accepting,” he cut in smoothly, stepping past me toward the door. “Unless, of course, you’ve changed your mind?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come out.  This was beyond my expectations—especially not after the cold reception earlier.  “I just didn’t think you’d actually want to...” I trailed off, glancing at my phone again. “But Caleb... Caleb's waiting-”

Zayne didn’t look at me as he tapped at his phone. “I’ll let him know the meeting ran longer than expected and I can drop you off back home.  He doesn’t need to wait.”

I hesitated, watching him for a second, as the doubts that Caleb would agree to heading home by himself plagued my mind.  Locking eyes at Zayne, who seemed to be assured in his actions made those thoughts quickly disappear.  “Oh... well, okay.”

Zayne typed something quickly and slid his phone back into his pocket. “All set.”

Zayne picked up his things, and we left the conference room together, the silence between us not awkward but filled with a strange kind of anticipation.  As we made our way to the elevator, my mind raced with thoughts.  Was he being distant unintentionally?  Was he just stressed with work?  Maybe he was trying to keep things professional at work?  Maybe... were we still friends after all this time?

The elevator ride felt longer than it actually was, and even though neither of us spoke, the tension lingered in the air. When we finally reached the lobby, Zayne led the way out of the building, holding the door open for me as we stepped into the fading daylight. The cool breeze of early evening hit my face, refreshing but doing little to calm the nerves bubbling under the surface.  Zayne’s car was parked just outside, sleek and understated, much like him. He opened the door for me, and I slid into the passenger seat, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence as we drove through the city streets.  I glanced out the window, watching as the buildings blurred by, trying to piece together my scattered thoughts. Should I make small talk? Or would that just add to the awkwardness? Before I could decide, Zayne spoke.

“Do you still like that Italian place on the corner of 5th?” His voice was even, almost casual, but it caught me off guard.

“Yeah, actually... I haven’t been there in years,” I admitted, surprised he remembered something like that.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, barely noticeable, but it was enough to ease some of the tension building inside me.

When we arrived at the restaurant, Zayne parked, and we headed inside. It hadn’t changed much over the years—the same cozy atmosphere, the same soft clink of glasses and silverware filling the space.

We sat down at the table, and an awkward silence settled between us. The clink of silverware on nearby tables filled the air, but neither of us spoke. The tension was palpable, and I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. Zayne flipped through the menu with casual ease, his expression unreadable.  I cleared my throat, trying to break the ice. “Uh, maybe we should start with an appetizer?”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the menu. “Sure.  How about the... fritter platter?” he suggested. “I remember you liked those.”

Surprise flickering across my face.  “You remember that?  But... this one has carrots in it.”  I couldn’t help but laugh softly. “And you hate carrots.”

Zayne looked up, his expression softening for just a moment, something akin to nostalgia in his eyes. “And you still remember that?”

I nodded, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Yeah, I do. It’s been a long time, but... some things stick.”

He nodded slowly, and for a brief moment, it felt like we were back in time—just two kids who used to know everything about each other. The weight of the years that had passed seemed to lift, if only slightly.

We skimmed through the rest of the menu, finally agreeing on an appetizer that catered to both of our tastes—something simple, reminiscent of the flavors we used to enjoy as kids.

As we waited for the food to arrive, we made small talk.  Nothing too deep, just the basics. He told me about his work, how intense things had been lately at Onyxion, and I shared a bit about my internship, carefully avoiding the awkwardness of our earlier interactions.

I picked at my food for a moment, then, without really thinking, I blurted out, “I missed you when you moved away.”

Zayne’s hand froze mid-reach for a piece of food, and he looked at me, his expression unreadable again.

I felt a nervous flutter in my chest and quickly tried to laugh it off. “I mean, you never wrote back to my letters. I figured I must’ve been annoying back then.”

‘Maybe I still am.’ I forced a smile, that last thought remained unsaid.

Zayne frowned, looking genuinely confused. “Wait... what? I did write back.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “You did?”

He shifted uncomfortably, his usual composed demeanor cracking just a bit. “Yeah... I... I remember writing to you a few times. I thought you were ignoring me.”

My confusion deepened. “I never got any of them.”

Zayne leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. “I sent them. I... thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me anymore, so I stopped after a while. Caleb would reply, though. He’d mention you so I figured you were doing well, but... I just thought you-”  The sentence trailed off there and I watched as Zayne shifted about as he tried to find the word for it.  He cleared his throat.  “I supposed you didn’t want to keep in contact anymore.”

The air between us shifted, tension thickening with unspoken words. A million questions raced through my mind, and I was about to tell him that what he said couldn't have been further from the truth. I opened my mouth to speak, but a familiar voice cut through the moment, interrupting me.

“Well, well, well—if it isn’t my favorite duo having dinner without me.”

I looked up in surprise as Caleb strolled over to our table, his usual playful grin stretching across his face. Zayne’s expression instantly shifted, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he watched Caleb approach.

“Caleb?” I blurted out, trying to keep my voice light, even as nervous laughter bubbled up in my chest. “What are you doing here?”

Caleb gave me a feigned and exaggerated look of hurt, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “I can’t believe you two went out for dinner and didn’t even invite me. The betrayal!”

Zayne sighed beside me, clearly less than thrilled by Caleb’s sudden arrival. “You don’t even like this restaurant, Caleb,” he said, his voice flat.

Caleb slid into the seat beside me with a grin, completely unbothered by Zayne’s reaction. “That’s where you’re wrong~!  I love this place... especially when I get to eat with my two favorite people!”

I could practically feel the tension radiating off Zayne, but Caleb seemed completely unfazed, casually motioning for the server to bring him some utensils.

“I was waiting for you, by the way,” Caleb said, turning to me. “Almost called the police when I couldn’t find you. Thought you were kidnapped or something.”

I blinked, suddenly remembering. “Oh! I thought... Zayne said he texted you?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, his gaze sliding over to Zayne. “Did he now?”

Zayne didn’t respond, instead folding his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable. “I must have forgotten to hit send,” he muttered, not meeting Caleb’s eyes.

The server stepped in before Caleb could press further. “Are we ready to order entrees?” she asked, placing a glass of water in front of Caleb.

Caleb smirked, clearly sensing the shift in Zayne’s mood. “You know what? How about that grilled chicken dish with a side of glazed carrots for Zayne here? It’s his favorite.”

Zayne’s jaw clenched slightly, about to interject when a smile, mirroring the one that Caleb had on his face, tugged at the corner of his lips. “That's fine.  Then how about the sesame tofu dish with the cilantro lime rice for my old friend here?  Please tell the chef to add extra cilantro in it.  Extra.”

Caleb’s grin faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “Sounds... delicious,” he said through gritted teeth, not wanting to make a scene in front of the server.

As the server left to place the orders, I shook my head, barely holding back laughter.  “You two are impossible.”

Caleb leaned back, drumming his fingers on the table. “Just keeping things interesting, Pipsqueak.”

Zayne said nothing, but his gaze flicked briefly to me before settling back on Caleb. “Speaking of interesting,” Zayne began, his voice deceptively casual, “what ever happened to those letters?”

Caleb’s grin faltered. “Letters?”  he laughed.  “What are you talking about?  What letters?  You’re a CTO, Zayne.  We’re in the digital age.  It’s emails now.  Was I supposed to send you something at work?”

“I'm talking about the ones from back when we were kids.  The ones I sent the both of you back then,” Zayne glared at Caleb in annoyance.  “When I moved out.  What happened to them?”

Caleb’s posture stiffened slightly as a few moments passed by.  But then, as if a switch flipped, his usual grin reappeared and he raised a dramatic finger to harken his recollection. “Ooooh!  Those letters. Right, right, right.” He scratched the back of his head, laughing awkwardly.  Caleb glanced strangely at Zayne with a smirk on his face.  “Man, you know, I always meant to ask you about one of those...”

Zayne’s eyes narrowed, and I could see the tension ripple through his body. “Ask me about what, exactly?”

Caleb leaned back in his chair, trying to seem nonchalant. “Well, there was this one letter... and, uh... I’m not gonna lie, Zayne. It was kinda... It was kinda …”  He paused, a devious twinkle in his eyes.  “It was kinda zesty , my guy.” He wiggled his eyebrows with exaggerated flair, a chuckle bubbling out. “I didn’t really know what to say, bro. I thought maybe you were going through something.  But hey, I was all for it.”

Zayne blinked, momentarily thrown off his guarded composure. “What are you talking about?”

Caleb waved his hand dismissively, but his grin never faltered. “I mean, you know, I get it. We were all kids back then, right? But that letter, man... That first one when you wrote that you missed me, but it was, uh... a little... a little too much, if you catch my drift.” Caleb winked at him, throwing in his usual playful swagger. “It sounded like you were ready to run away with me or something.”

Zayne’s expression shifted, and a faint flush appeared on his cheeks.  He let out a small cough to clear his throat, eyes narrowing as his gaze flicked toward me before settling back on Caleb. There was a brief pause before he responded in a measured tone, “That... that letter wasn’t for you, Caleb.  What about the others?  I sent a couple others.”

“Oh-  OH-!”  Caleb flailed about dramatically and laughed, voice tinged with embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his head.  “Oh shit-!  Damn…. Dude…”  Caleb gave me an apologetic pat on the back.  “Ok, for the others, and I swear this only happened twice!  I guess I might've... uh, accidentally opened them thinking they were for me." He gave a sheepish grin, shooting me an apologetic look. "You know how I am, Pipsqueak. Attention to detail isn’t exactly my strong suit."

I blinked, glancing between them, feeling a little lost. "Wait... so Zayne did write to me?"

Zayne’s expression didn’t soften, but his eyes narrowed slightly, catching on to something that Caleb wasn’t saying outright.  I could sense the tension building up between the two of them as their eyes met- a silent standoff hanging between them.  There was a silent anger that was boiling up behind Zayne's eyes, and a strange knowing look of defiance and challenge that was behind Caleb's.  There was something more to this miscommunication than I was let in on, and there was rising apprehension in me as I sensed that the two of them were about to break into a fight.

Zayne broke the deadlock between the two of them first.

"I only wrote a couple, Caleb.  But I stopped writing since I thought she didn’t want to talk to me anymore."

I could feel the weight of the world crashing around us at the declaration.  There was a sound ringing in my ears as the world seemed to grind to a halt around me.

Caleb's eyes widened, any semblance of his previous gripe with Zayne vanishing.  "W-what, really?"

Zayne looked over at me.  I felt my heart sank as the realization hit.

All this time, we both thought the other had just... moved on. “Zayne, I—"  The words choked in my throat.

“O-oh shit..." Caleb clasped a hand over his mouth and looked guiltily down at the table, occasionally peering up at Zayne and wincing as he stared back.  Caleb glanced over at me and then looked back down at the table in shame.  "Oh dude- Shit- Oh fuck- I'm so fucking sorry, Zayne-  I'm so sorry-"

There was a heavy air that hung over the three of us as the realization of what had actually happened back then dawned upon us.  It was a misunderstanding.  A mistake.  One that fractured our friendship for years.

I caught sight of Zayne looking over to Caleb- who had flopped his head down onto the table with his hands hiding his face in shame.  Zayne's expression was evidently conflicted between retaliating his frustration and anger at Caleb for what he did, and wanting to let bygones be bygones in the face of a careless mistake that was done by a kid.

The moments that passed between the three of us felt like an eternity.  But I finally met Zayne's eyes and his gaze softened.  The boiling tension and anger subsiding enough for rational thought to flow through as Caleb finally decided to look up at Zayne, face scrunching up in the realization of his wrongdoings.

Caleb spoke first.  “I’m sorry, man. Really. I'm really, really sorry.  I never meant to mess things up between you two."  He sighed.  "...It was a careless mistake on me back then."

Zayne’s jaw relaxed, and the tension in his shoulders eased, though he didn’t say anything at first. There was a long, heavy pause, the air between the two of them thick with unspoken words.

Finally, Zayne sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing down at the table. “It’s... fine. We were kids. Things happen.”

Caleb nodded, straightening up and rubbing the back of his head as he shot Zayne an apologetic look laced with underlying gratitude.

There seemed to be an unspoken message between them as they came to a conclusion in silence.  Zayne let out a breath, his lips twitching into a faint, reluctant smile. “I guess some things never change.  You've always been an idiot, Caleb.”

Caleb feigned indignance, grasping at his heart dramatically.  “Ouch!  Ok, ok!  I deserved that."  He looked over at me with the puppy eyes that he would always make when he was trying to make me less upset.  "Forgive me, pipsqueak?"  He poked my arm gently as he tilted his head to the side.  “No hard feelings for your big brother being a bit stupid back then?”

Instinctively, I slapped Caleb on the head, immediately feeling the annoyance leave my body at the act.  "Stupid Caleb."

Caleb cried dramatically and I could hear Zayne chuckle off to the side.  I looked between them, feeling the tension slowly dissipate. There was still a part of me that ached for all the years we’d lost, but seeing both of them willing to put it behind us made it easier to breathe. “It's fine,” I agreed softly, smiling at Zayne. “It's not like you got any less stupid as we got older either.”

Zayne actually laughed for once.  He met my eyes, something warmer in his expression now, and nodded. “I can say that's for certain.”

Caleb looked between us with his jaw dropped.  His finger pointed between us accusingly wanting to bite back at the insult before he let out a frustrated sigh and a pout as he accepted the punishment for his actions back then.

Right in time, the server arrived with our ordered food and set the plates of glazed carrots in front of Zayne and cilantro-laden rice in front of Caleb.  The thick, emotion-laden air between us receded quickly as the petty quarrel between the Zayne and Caleb came back swinging.  The childish banter that the two of them had with one another -- the same as back then-- resurfaced.  Zayne poked at the carrots with clear distaste, while Caleb eyed the rice with barely concealed frustration.

I couldn’t help but break the silence.  “So... are we going to eat, or are you two just going to stare at your plates all night?”

Caleb sighed dramatically, lifting his spoon to poke at the cilantro-covered dish. “Fine, but just know, Pipsqueak, I’m only doing this for you.” He took a tentative bite, his nose wrinkling at the taste of cilantro.

Zayne smirked slightly, but it was short-lived as he begrudgingly took a bite of the glazed carrots, chewing slowly, as if they were the worst thing in the world.

The tension between the two of them was palpable, but there was an underlying playfulness to it—like old friends who had never quite grown out of their rivalry.  I laughed as they both suffered through their respective dishes, deciding to swap entrees with one another after not being able to make it through the second bite.

When the bill came, Caleb snatched it up before either of us could react. “I got this,” he declared, flashing a mischievous grin in Zayne’s direction.  “Payback for my fuck up with your letters.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “How generous of you,” he muttered dryly. “I’ll get the next one.”

“Next one?” Caleb’s grin widened. “So we’re doing this again?”

Zayne didn’t respond directly, but the way his eyes flickered said enough. There was a begrudging acceptance there—something that hadn’t been there earlier in the night.

As we left the restaurant, walking into the cool night air, I couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle in my chest. The three of us weren’t kids anymore, but at that moment, it felt like we had regained something that had been missing for far too long.  I stared at our shadows casted onto the sidewalk by the setting sun, three friends reunited once more.

[clearlyacollectortragedy]

Hey, how’s everyone doing? So here I am again, like a year later since my last post, because I just need to vent before I lose my mind.

So, the thing is, I was watching 9-1-1 again for like the millionth time, and just so happens that my mom walked by and got curious about what I was watching, so naturally, like the very noisy mom that I have, she decided to sit down and join me. And of course, the episode I was watching just so happened to be the lawsuit one where Eddie and Buck are fighting (iykyk), I don’t remember the exact episode number, but you get the idea.

Anyway, my beautiful yet very old fashioned mother looks directly into my soul with this very serious expression and goes, 'Are you watching a gay show?' Now, my mom isn't homophobic but feels a bit uncomfortable about queernes and all of that, she's kinda having a hard time accepting people but she's not against it, although she's trying her best. So, you can imagine I was shitting my pants a little bit with that one when she came out with that. I was like, 'Uh, yes… but also no?' Then I asked why she thought that, and with a very 'Are you shitting me' look she says, and I quote, 'They’re married, like, they’re literally fighting over custody, right? Talking about lawyers and all that. I did this with your dad so you can't tell me they’re not... Homosexual or whatever you call it these days.'

So yeah... All I did was laugh like a maniac and managed to explain her the situation (sort of) and even showed her bits from other episodes to give her the full picture of Buck and Eddie’s dynamic. And I kid you not, just when I was showing her The kitchen scene™ my sister walked in and got somehow involved, a minute into the conversation she tells me 'Michelle what the fuck are you talking about, those two have to be fucking, look how the guy with the beer is looking at that other dude, is like that meme with the cat and the cookie.' Like I'm not the one who is obsessed with the show, anyways my mom later agreed and in disbelief told me that they've had to fucked at least once. At this point, I was on the floor, either crying from laughter or pure shock because here’s my 'I'm very uncomfortable about gays' mother telling me that the way those two looked at each other was with, and I qoute again: 'Very sex deprived eyes.'

So, to wrap this stupid and totally unnecessary post I’ve come to two conclusions:

1.- My mom may no longer be in the "I'm not homophobic I just don't really like when two boys or girls kiss each other" category because, after all that, she literally started rooting for those two to not only kiss but fuck each other. So... Thanks 9-1-1 I guess?

2.- And two, if MY mom is now convinced that those two Need to be together, or more like belong together in words of my sister, so can ABC. So if Buddie doesn't become canon these season I will personally go down to the ABC studios and force them to make it happen.

That’s all folks, thanks for letting me rant, because I was about to lose it. Have a lovely afternoon or night or whatever you're having. And if you’ve got someone who may be homophobic or is uncomfortable with queerness, maybe tell them about Buck and Eddie. It did worked for my mom after all.

[theflowergothic]

I lost count how many times I read the same asks with exact same sentences (probably same people or person) explaining something is ‘weird’. even if it’s ‘weirdness’ or ‘off’ it’s crystal clear now the perceived weirdness isn’t strong enough to come between their relationship. he isn’t aware of kelly’s antics or maybe the hard truth: they got along so well because they are fundamentally similar people, they both support right wing politicians, they are both angry (max on track and yes sometimes also off track) and even petty lol. they both have horrible fathers who emotionally didnt give a crap about them, wasn’t nelson not sure kelly was his? Ir was it another overgrown sperm of his? at least jos sponsored max nelson left kelly alone, maybe this is another reason why she is so attached to material things. and also from julia’s instgram its evident who was the daddy’s favorite girl.

i have been around tumblr and I also thought (especially around his 3rd championship) that their relationship was weird, ngl. But i think the way they look weird is that max doesnt like pda when he is racing and kelly being a spoiled brat always forces him to. Is this a problem? Yes. But its clearly not getting between them and its his problem that he cant draw boundries even tho he rarely sees her. or this is his kink he likes to be overpowered by women, he is a libra after all 💀 again, this becomes a dynamic but its not an omen for breakup. they dont see this issue as a deal breaker because they are still together.

and this is also another way to improve your blog, by stop repeating the same stuff about them, it is boring at this point. we lost verstepponme, gossipgirlofficial my favorite blog. your blog is the rare blogs that we can still express ourselves and talk about these stuff. but please come with solid and new things, like sifferman thing, or when you point out how kelly tells people exact opposite of what she is doing or the fact that she lied in her resume, these are solid things because you can back them up with truth. and even tho i have been around i had no idea kelly lied that much about her employment status and qualifications and education history! see this is good, because you have evidence.

but everybody here collectively have the same ‘feeling’ about their relationship: this is boring, cannot be explained with any solid reference and it has been repeated at least 100 times over years and its still not true. because after 5 years of not breaking up its not hunch its their wishful thinking.

I appreciate the thought you put into this, but I think you're missing the point. It's not "when will they break up?" It's "why does this relationship look the way it does?"

Yeah, their similarities might be part of why they work. But that doesn’t erase the glaring power imbalance or the fact that their relationship is built on something deeply unsettling. It’s not just about having bad dads. Kelly groomed Max. She inserted herself into his social sphere when he was barely an adult, maintained a presence in his life while he was still with someone else, and built their dynamic around control.

That’s why they "work." Not because of some mutual understanding of childhood neglect but because Kelly ensured Max would see her as a guiding force, someone he "needs" in his life. That’s not love. That’s conditioning.

And look, I get that some of these conversations can feel repetitive, but people are trying to make sense of a dynamic that is deliberately manufactured to look normal. The reason the resume lies and the contradictions are interesting is because they expose a pattern. Kelly is someone who carefully curates her image and narrative, and her relationship with Max is no exception. If that’s "boring" to some people, fine. But pretending it’s irrelevant just because they’re still together is missing the bigger picture.

[aeonophagic]

for some reason I'm imagining the idea of welt weilding VA but I feel like it could only work as some wild hypothetical where VA loses their original body and has to return to being a cube (mainly because i feel like without the pre-established bond they already have it would create a really dreadful power dynamic, plus the bond they have makes it much more impactfull, this message of "i love you for your essence not the form you take") but like, instead of VA being used as a weapon Welt would work alongside them, try and help them and like- its hard to explain but I hope you see my vision

…I have thought about this exact scenario before but never shared it. Word for word. Hell I even tried to draw something like it

I imagined it would be, because VA inhabits a soulium body— they’re very, very, very resistant but there are things that can destroy them, for example, the 3rd divine key.

In HSR the astral express crew gets involved with the Stellaron and Aeons, I don’t doubt either of them would have abilities powerful enough to reduce their body to atoms, like Raven did to Otto in London Holiday.

Or Rita (not Rossweisse) did to Otto in AE VN with a spray made for the purpose of hindering soulium

The interesting thing to me is that Void Archives can live without any physical form at all until they find a new host, but I’ve still thought of Welt temporarily hosting them as a way to keep them safe (even though there’s virtually no way to hurt someone who has no physical form, is there?) which is both like. kind of awkward because he will have no privacy at all until they get them a body but also it shows how far he’s willing to go for them. having that manthing in your head that rambles 24/7 is like hosting the 300k minds again

It’s interesting, I think. I think a lot about the many possibilities with the nature of VA’s body, I won’t ramble rn because that’s not the question but yeah

I’ve thought about the scenario of VA fucking up in a mission so their body gets wrecked which is very unfortunate because yes, they have hundreds of other clones they can host, but those are on Earth, and clearly the Astral Express hasn’t been able to get there or Welt wouldn’t be stuck. We know VA can teleport, so I wonder if they’d be able to just… teleport between earth and the train whenever they want? I’ve thought about it.

[castlebyersafterdark]

I think to understand why madwheeler is getting negative reactions lately, you have to know the whole extent of it. I've been in byler fandom for more than 2 years now and I read a lot (and when I say a lot, I really mean A LOT) of byler fics. And I didn't mind madwheeler in the very beginning but with time, people' obsession with it got so ridiculous that I couldn't help but grow to dislike it. It's not a hate ask, I'm just trying to explain my perspective.

You mentioned Dustin and Will not having a lot of screentime but still being friends. Well, nobody hypes up Will and Dustin's friendship that much. Nobody claims that Dustin and Will are the bestest best friends of all time. Nobody claims that Dustin and Will are soulmates. Nobody claims that Dustin and Will are essentially the same person but in different font. Nobody writes what essentially is a byerson fic but then tags it as a byler fic, even though there is close to none byler interactions in the fic. And that's what's been happening with madwheeler in recent years. People invented madwheeler bestfriendism in hopes of exploring an under-explored dynamic— which is good! fanfiction literally exists for this exact purpose— but at this point it's so overhyped that Mike's friendships with Lucas, and Dustin, and even Will became under-explored in the fandom. That's why people bring up the fact that Max and Mike don't interact much in canon. Of course, they interact! But they don't interact enough for this fanon version of madwheeler to exist.

And I feel like a lot of people confuse madwheeler with byler, because they literally write madwheeler friendship with romantic undertones: they understand each other better than anyone else, they don't shy away from skinship, they have intimate moments, and oh yeah, Max is so protective of Mike that she defends him from horrible mean Will. There are also times when people write madwheeler having a thing for each other, or them fooling around, or Mike being incredibly attracted to Max, and they don't tag madwheeler in any shape or form (or tag it only after the fact, if it's a multi-chap fic), and they disguise it as a byler fic, so it becomes an unpleasant surprise for people who open the fic for the byler. Sometimes I wish that these people just fully embraced their love for romantic/sexual madwheeler and just left byler out of this, because it's obvious that byler doesn't interest them as much.

And you also have to take into account that a lot of bylers can't even openly talk about their dislike for madwheeler, which is absolutely crazy to me because bylers talk shit about mileven all the time. So what's so different about this straight/"platonic" ship?

Thank you for the perspective!

It's interesting seeing how different people have had experiences in the fandom, and how we all get different mileage in the same fandom, same website. I kind of see what is implied here with characterization in fanfic. I don't think I've seen as much as was mentioned, but I do know what you're talking about. I'm notoriously very picky about fanfic, though early on I read everything I could get my hands on as I was swayed into being intrigued about the fandom.

Ohhhh, I really detest the "essentially the same person but in different font" thing, I have seen that. I get it. Because with Max and Mike... they're not? At all? I think they have similarities and parallels, but very different people. Different stories and arcs. But - within the same friend group. They do know each other deeply in canon, they've been through it, they're friends - this is a catch all statement for everyone in the core 4 plus Max. I cannot cosign insinuations that any of them outside of Mike and Will being "soulmates" because. Weird. No.

Tagging things one way but writing another - yeah, that's annoying with anything. Just write what you want and label appropriately so it can be avoided. Bad characterization is harder to avoid. I get that. It's hard because we all have such varied tastes but we also have our own agendas. If we were a lot more honest about that upfront, we can find our kind of people and avoid those we don't click with. Just be honest! Maybe that's unhelpful for this topic. When I'm engaging with works that aren't strictly Mike/Will romance and spice - I like stories about the Party being friends and engaging stuff about that so yeah, I look for fic to fill in the gaps we don't get from the show. I look for certain dynamics and back out of stuff that doesn't jive. Sucks when you discover that too deep into the story, and harder when the characters exist and you go searching with a preconceived expectation, unlike picking up an original book and partway through disliking it and ending up wasting your time. But - reading does always come with risks, no matter the medium!

I think I actually respect those who just embrace what they're into, even when it's not my thing. I'm not devastated about it. Can I imagine Mike Wheeler with a woman intimately? Not at fucking all hahahahaha that boy is gay as hell. But if someone likes Mike and Max and wants them to get it on - go ahead. Just write that. It's fic. It's not saving or destroying the world. But tag it. And don't go around making demands of canon that aren't there when people disagree with that wild divergence from the reality of the show. A more peaceful fandom if we do these things.

[jihyoruri]

me when it’s time for the yearly anon confession potluck and I have to admit that to me… wowyn.. is just.. 🙂. I think she is a little toxic and the wonyn situation takes me out so bad like it’s genuinely the funniest thing to me EVER. like I can not explain why but the wonyoung is like eh ik u like me but I don’t rlly wanna deal with that so! uhm!.. anyway! and wowyn just… listens tew her😭😭like ur telling me wowyn breaks up w girls If wonyoung doesn’t like them LMFAOO😭

idk for some reason wowyn to me is more of a loser than loseryn not even in a mean way just.. I don’t know I feel like if I met her fr I’d be like.. ur such a sad person…

moving past this… who is your favorite yn? we all know mine…

(1. shamelessyn 2. richgirl yn 3. aespayn/firecrackeryn)

i may not be the president of the aespayn or richgirlyn fanclub but I’m actually both of their therapists btw. yeah Ik you guys don’t know but my side gig is actually fixing them. yeah no aespayn is in the trenches… it’s bad in these streets. (I love richgirlyn almost the same amount as shamelessyn I’m a cheater sorry)

also side note I am sat for anything u write but I hope you continue to explore richgirlyn’s dynamic with chaewon and the other members.. idk maybe it’s bc I grew up with a lot of money but the way ppl w wealth act has always been so.. weird tew me. like I know these r just sillay yn works but I feel like people who write rich characters forget like.. these r the most emotionally stunted people on earth. they never learned to socialize or explain their emotions 😭dealing w rich people is insane because no one talks abt anything or knows how to interact with regular people like they have such hard times w it for some reason?? (because they never had to)

ANYWAY sorry for the long ask 😞I hope we get some aespayn fans out here for 4/20 SHOW SUPPORT FOR UR GIRL😭😭

-🎏

LOL babes imma have to correct you on some things. 😭

it’s not that wony is like “eh ik u like me but I don’t rlly wanna deal with that so! uhm!.. anyway!” she’s genuinely playing hard to get with yn, she feels like yn will always wait for her so she just doesn’t want to get into a relationship just as yet, I think I’ve mentioned it in early asks but wonyoung is playing hard to get with yn😭. wonyn is really a sad situation when you think about it because they’d be really good for each other but they’re not on the same page at all like wow!yn doesn’t think wonyoung likes her even tho wony does hold some feelings for her but she’s waiting it out but realizing that her time is running out. The only reason why wow!yn breaks up with people sometimes if wony doesn’t like them because wonyoung is genuinely her best friend if Giselle didn’t like one of yn’s gfs yn would probably break up with them as well, it’s so easy for her do that because she was just bored like she wasn’t in the relationship for real feelings if she acc had real feelings for the person it would be a different story take winter for example BOTH wonyoung and yujin didn’t like her and yn knew that but yn didn’t break up with her because she genuinely liked her but then she realized that she genuinely liked her so she broke up with her LMAOOOOOO. I wouldn’t call wow!yn a loser because she genuinely has problems, she has some mental instability. like her problems with her dad has definitely affected how she thinks about things and butchers how her mind functions in certain situations, she is a sad person tho. ANYWAYS moving on from wow!yn

my favourite yn and wow!yn and nwjns!yn THE SISTERS honestly I love wow!yn because she’s my most complex yn and honestly she’s just such a shit head and it’s so fun and amusing writing her and nwjns!yn is just a sweet mess like when I finally introduced her fic you guys will see what I mean, she’s the exact opposite of her sister 😭 (also a respectful mention of aespa!yn)

LOL they both need therapists for real so you got the job‼️ aespa!yn is a mess she’s a rich mess (I just took in that you like the two extremely rich yn’s LOL also firecracker!yn is always on someone’s favourite list and it always makes me laugh LMAOOO)

yes I am totally gonna explore richgirl!yn more, I tried my best to give a small peak into richgirl!yn having some problems I was so happy when you picked up on it in ur last ask for her

I honestly love long asks so much so this was fun to read LOL and thank you so much for reading and enjoying my works

[fandoms-ruin-life]

Trope Rating Game Rules: how much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 - don’t care either way

+10 -> very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged.

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

***

Thanks for the tag @glitter50000 ! I love these kinds of things lol, they're always so fun (even if it always takes me a million years to respond)

Age gap: 1 I'm usually indifferent about age, idc either way if they're the exact same age or have a super big gap lol. But I didn't put 0 because I have seen some situations where it is done in a way that's super fun and can make the dynamics more interesting. Codependency: 10 Gimme allll the codependent unhealthy pairings! I will say that I tend to prefer super codependent friendships who prioritise each other over their significant others, and the partners just have to deal with the permanent +1. But honestly I'm always there for any codependent dynamics in fiction lol.

Obsession/possessives or Jealousy: 5 Depends on how its done. If its done well and the story is juicy? Hell yeah, that's gotta be one of my fav tropes. But if it's done in a way that doesn't quite tickle my brain right, it can be a squick and I wont be continuing the fic

Opposites (grumpy/sunshine, etc): 10 Most of my OTPS fall into this trope lol

Enemies to lovers, enemies with benefits: -10 I need the love to be there. I can't deal with any sort of hate sex or even too much conflict. It isn't a "nope" though because I have read maybe one or two enemies to lovers fics that were pretty good- they need to meet very specific standards for me to click on the fic and continue it, so most of the time I just don't bother.

Friends with benefits: -8 Ehhh... I can enjoy these on a rare occasion, but again, definitely not something I seek out.

Sex with feelings: 0 If its in a fic, then great love to see them connect. But I'm not gonna seek out a oneshot that's just this trope. Sex just doesn't do anything for me lol

Fake/pretend dating relationships: 3 These can be good, but only if there are no misunderstandings (my least favourite trope). Unfortunately they tend to go hand in hand, so I don't click these fics often, but when they're good, they're good.

Friends to lovers: 8 Super cute! I love when they already have a foundation to their relationship

Found family: 10 Found family is my kink

Hurt/comfort: 9 As long as the comfort is super good and lasts just as long (if not longer) than the hurt, I'm all for it. Makes for some of the best fics, the roller coaster of emotion is always *chef's kiss*. But I'm def not a fan of when the comfort is literally there for all of two seconds before the fic ends. If fics tagged with this trope reliably had long comfort scenes then this would easily be a 10, but it's -1 point due to those blue balling situations lol.

Love Triangle: Nope Hell no. I hate that it's so prominent in media, I'm not about to seek it out in fic too.

Poly, open relationships: 0 Don't care either way. As long as its an interesting storyline and characters that I care about, I'll read it

Mistaken/hidden identity: -5 Not usually something I look for or enjoy, I have read some good ones tho.

Monsterfucking: 5 As long as the focus isn't on the fucking (again sex doesn't do it for me lol) then sure, super interesting dynamics at play there

Pregnancy: -1 Will only enjoy if I'm in the mood for it

Second Chance: 9 I love a good grovelling fic... as long as the second chance isn't due to cheating or some other major betrayal/literal crime against the person. That's not something I can forgive, and as such don't like seeing it in characters. It also only works when the one giving the second chance doesn't immediately forgive whatever the hell happened... we need gradual progress where the one in trouble proves that whatever happened will not do so again.

Slowburn: -5 The only time I will read is if it is secondary to the plot. An entire focus on two characters either just not communicating or taking their grand ol time realising what we all already know? Nah, not for me. Tagged next, if you want to!: @penguinsr4ever @fantasy2739 @disney-marvel-starwars-blog @a-wraith-in-the-mountains (I mean it when I say if you see this and want to do it but aren't tagged, please do. I'm not very good with names so I've also almost definitely forgotten someone I would usually tag in these things. Sorry if I have!)

[musclesandhammering]

(sorry, I had to respond in a reblog because I ran out of characters in my reply)

I’m sorry if I had an attitude with my reply!! I feel bad about commenting now cause I usually make a point not to bring my anti attitude onto pro posts & vice versa. I really did get a laugh out of it just because of my *insert shocked Mr krabs meme* when I realised we were on different pages lol- not because I thought your tags were wrong, just because I expected it to go in a different direction.

I probably did let some passive aggression slip in there, though, just because I always feel like Dean is largely a fandom sweetheart (especially among shippers) and usually when he’s criticised, it’s met with outrage and accusations. I should’ve been more careful not to project that onto your post, though, because i don’t even disagree with anything you mentioned.

Like… people trying to make Sam into the one who always pushed back against John and stood up for the “good” monsters and tried to protect Jack and didn’t want to kill demon vessels, while Dean did all the opposite? Yeah, definitely not. Part of the complexity of their dynamic is that they were both problematic in different ways and a lot of their issues overlap. I SO agree with you on that.

That being said, I will mention that a large part of my issue with both the character and the fans (not you in specific, I’m just speaking generally) is the exact thing you made the post about- just in the opposite direction. People insisting certain things about him are hard canon when they’re either strongly up to interpretation or just flat out fanon. I see the things I mentioned as examples of this.

And I really think like 80% of it (particularly the early seasons stuff- the porn thing and the slut shaming and jailbait comments etc etc) is that, at the time, the writers just genuinely didn’t see anything wrong with any of that stuff, so they didn’t intend those things to be negative traits on Dean’s part. They just wanted to give him some edginess and some funny one liners. Which is annoying but understandable. But now we can look back at it and say “yea so that was.. iffy” and it results in some Dean fans either calling it ooc (which.. unfortunately, it’s not) or twisting themselves into knots to explain why those things weren’t actually that bad or he only said them because of internalised whatever whatever etc… that’s a bit irritating.

The only other issues I have are how some deangirls have a slight disconnect when it comes to his actual personality (ie emphasising his protectiveness/brotherly love and brushing over his domineering behaviour and anger issues). But I mean samgirls and casgirls do that too- it’s just kinda natural to focus on your fav’s best traits and ignore their worst ones.

The other thing is his sexuality. …Listen. I’m queer myself so I know how frustrating it is to see such a perfect opportunity to make a character bi/gay- to see so many little hints and offhand comments that could have been developed into something if the writers weren’t cowards- and have to admit that all those bits of “evidence” never got solidified into anything… but they just didn’t. I’m being completely genuine. It’s so so easy to read Dean as bi via interpretational subtext, and I don’t disagree with anyone doing that… but canonically? He’s not. It’s a missed opportunity and it’s unfair as hell but he’s just not. Jensen has said he’s straight, the writers have, Dean himself has. Every bit of bi evidence can be explained away as a joke or coincidence.

And it really pains me to say that, because I get why people are so ready to die on the “Dean was intentionally queer coded” hill. But stating it as a fact, calling anyone who disagrees homophobic, letting the writers off the hook for chickening out by deluding themselves into believing bi!Dean is as good as canon when it likely never will be?? It’s so annoying. Especially when there’s other characters who (imo) were a bit more intentionally queer coded (like sam) or were outright confirmed to be lgbtq (like cas).

Again, I’m not shading you with any of this, cause I have no idea if you’ve said any of those things before. I’m just ranting out my opinions. I’d love to see your take on it, though! Seriously, I think it’s really cool that you were so nice about it and I’m really interested to hear your thoughts!!

(Reading back over this, I feel like my tone here sounds a little standoffish too, but I swear it’s not! I just don’t know how to convey emotions on the internet!! 😂😭)

so much supernatural discourse boils down to claiming a thing we actually see dean do on the show is something he would not do, claiming a thing we see dean specifically not do on the show is something he would do, claiming something all the main characters do is something dean alone is doing, or claiming something sam does on the show is something dean did.

and im so confused. because the answer is comically simple and it's a thing we all allegedly love doing and that is... watching supernatural?

[karoochui]

Hello there Mika!! Your art is huge inspiration to me and I love it so much words can't explain it, I absolutely love your sketches, doodles, full art pieces, whatever you make I absolutely adore. Sorry for blabbing but just wanted to ask about things you really hate about sskk, like what the fandom does with the ship that you dislike?😭 Take care of yourself drink some water!💜💫

TW for sa mention!! Sorry but i ramble a bit here so im gonna add a cut!! (Plus the tw) Take care of yourself too and ill get some water right now actually😋

Okay firstly!! Hello!! Thank you so much!! And no worries no need to apologize its very sweet of you im so glad you like my art i really do appreciate it!! Thank you!

And its hard for me to say exactly? Im still very much into bsd but ive been distant with the fandom for a little while now BUT!! From what i remember what i usually didnt like was when people would make them so..two dimensional kinda?? BSD has pretty morally complicated characters and it was really weird when people would flatten sskk's personalities down to just some ship dynamic bc they are SOOO much more complicated than that. And thats just as INDIVIDUALS!! Even when considering them together theres a lot to think about when it comes down to their functionality, whether or not its viewed as romantic or platonic. And of course youre always gonna have those people who just water down any mlm ship into some weird dynamic that doesn't even fit the character's relationship which is just obviously Not Great.

And then as far as the characters individually i feel like a lot of people baby atsushi its really odd. Like that man has gone through some shit he is GROWNNN. I think its because hes the "softer" one out if the two or whatever. Which yeah he's nicer, its made clear akutagawa isn't a great person but atsushi isnt the exact opposite of akutagawa or the "softer" one. They're narrative foils of eachother, they mirror many of the other's character traits and atsushi has also done some Not Super Stellar shit. Do i think most of it was within reason? A little, considering what hes been through and exactly what he did. I do think he is the better person between the both of them - and i feel like thats also proven - but he is by NO means "innocent" or anything weird like that.

Then for akutagawa its really only that weird sa headcannon that originated from something he said in Beast (i can't remember exactly what, but i remember thinking it was NOT enough to warrant a hc like that. I remember that much). And as someone who's been through that a couple times i think its one thing if its some way to help someone cope or feel more seen (more specifically it isnt my business to cast judgement -unless it hurts them or someone else- and im no therapist), but i have seen people apply the headcannon simply because they say its "implied" or it "makes sense". Which, once again, as someone who's gone through that i think thats just. Weird. I dont like it. I personally try to stay away from any talk about it at all from anyone.

I also don't like when people make it seems like Atsushi has to save Akutagawa or something like hes some knight in shining moral armor. Its much more complicated than that and I could go further into this but it would be a whole rant about their characters and dynamic and itd go on FOREVER. So im just gonna say that akutagawa is also a grown man and knows well enough what hes doing with himself, even if its unhealthy (not that Atsushi is any better but lets be real no one is this show really is) and he wouldn't listen to atsushi if he didnt want to anyway. This part is really just personal opinion though, and i don't cast hard judgement on people who see them that way. Im not the type to care enough.

So yeah i guess it wasn't really hard to say at all LMFAO but otherwise i dont think ive had any other issues abt it?? I dont pay much attention to things i don't like anyway so im not easily bothered lol

But i hope this answered your question!! Plz lmk if i missed or misinterpreted something!! It was nice to talk about BSD again anyway though, ive missed it.

[eyeofnewtblog]

Things that happen at home:

So my parents have a weird dynamic that (works best for them) involves living in two cities because their engineering careers took a sharp turn they weren’t expecting. Basically my mom has gotten a degree after each birth, and my dad got his PhD knocked out before I was 8 years old. (I attended their respective PhD graduate ceremonies at 7 and 28 respectively)

Now, back in the 1980s, they were both socially aware engineers, they knew my mom would have to job hop, to catch up to the steady progress that my dad was making, they knew that my mom was going to face discrimination for being female. They knew. They prepared. (Be aware that I’m only making conjectures about my parents lives based on context clues, not actual shit they’ve told me because “our money, our careers, our business, you’re lucky we tell you anything at all” which is completely fair) so, my mom has had about 20 different employers vs my dads 3, but she makes twice as much as him.

Now, to be fair to my dad, he’s flat out said he’s completely comfortable doing exactly what he’s doing until he’s 80 and actually hated the idea of retiring. My mom? Couldn’t care less as long as the bills are paid and she doesn’t have to deal “emotionally and socially stunted butt faces”

Basically the reason my dad isn’t more high up is because he refuses to put up with bigotry but is basically untouchable because of the work he already put in, and the reason my mom makes more money is because she just leaves whenever asshats get to hard to deal with.

Don’t get me wrong, engineers can be so good to work with as long as they’re willing to explain exactly what they want done and why it needs to be done that way; I personally love working with plumbers and electricians and mechanics that should have gotten better education opportunity, for this exact reason.

Anyway, I’m not actually sure where I was going with this, but to sum up from the first paragraph, my parents live in different cities, a ten hour drive and two hour flight apart, and they make it work. Yeah, they have tiffs, but it’s not impossible for anyone, you just have to find what works best for you as a couple.

My parents are my inspiration and if losing a child in the first two years of their relationship (relationship, not marriage) didn’t break them, nothing will.

[zepskies]

Aw welcome back, Wayne!! 😘 I'm so happy to hear that you've been thinking of this series. 🥰 And I'm so excited to see what you thought of Part 2...

I'm so in love with their little bonding sessions. Being stuck inside a cabin and playing games? I want that 😍

Aww it's the little moments with Dean that I would so love -- along with just being snowed in, in a cabin with him. 😏

And lol it's gotta be so awkward for true mates when they're still strangers. I absolutely adored her thought process throughout 😆

Lolll YEP exactly. 😆 Like, realistically how do you broach that conversation with someone? I'm glad you liked that attempt to inject some realism there. 🤣

Love how Dean doesn't realize he's oversharing and that his whole childhood might not have been normal 😂

ahaha Dean got so into his story he didn't realize he was giving himself away there! Bit of a rookie move, but she's his literal soulmate, so he's probably a little distracted. 🤪

And oh God, all those journal entries 😭😭😭 I know they're from the OG journal, but it just rips my heart right out again rereading it 😢 Those portray John's despair and heartbreak way better than the show did...

Girl I had never read the official journal, and it hit me in the feels in just the same way. 😭 I had that exact same thought -- that they served to humanize John and explain why he became the way he was with the boys way better than the show did.

Ooooh, let's think about it, shall we? 😏 Her dad might have totally been snatched by something supernatural. Considering their location and how it happened in her memories, it might have been a Wendigo?? 🤔

Ooh you're red-hot! ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Dude! Goosebumps! Wendigos scare the shit outta me 🙈 It's still why The Descent is the scariest movie for me. I die from a heart attack every time 😂 🫣

ooooh my God, I haven't seen The Descent, but if it's anything like the Wendigo episode, than I don't wanna know. 😭 Legit when I was first starting to watch SPN I had to take a break after that episode -- and it was only episode 2!! 😩

No! Alex!!!! YOU KNOW THIS IS WHY I HATE SNOOPING Girl, you're killing me here... 😆😆

LOLL I love that you referenced Smoke Eater -- it's those same vibes from Part 8, isn't it? I have a little less sympathy for the reader in this situation, but she is ultimately sorry for going through his private journal/invading his privacy to the nth degree. 😅

OMGG I LOVED that gif of the little polar bear. 🥹🥹 Took me right out with the cuteness lmao. I laughed so hard at all your commentary with the reader and her lack of bear knowledge. 😝

N'aw, I know it was necessary but poor bear – wrong place, wrong time for the fella 🥺💔

Aww I know, I felt bad for writing that part. Poor Ted. 😭😭

My heart is full 😭❤���❤️❤️ (Also, I doubt he can ever stand to let her go her own way after this lmao)

Ha! You're right about that one. I just love me some protective Alpha Dean. 😏

Huh. Never eaten bear before... Never even thought about it before lol Also seems like something the Shaws would've done 😂

Me either lmao, but I've read about people who actually hunt for a living who survive off bear, caribou, bison, etc. I imagine it's a hard way to live, but omg yeah I could see Ashton making his kids learn how to shoot, but them not wanting to shoot a bear or a deer. 😭

Omg I love that ending! Dean's finally coming around, and she's putting the puzzle pieces about her dad together. I wonder what Dean will do when he hears the full story? Would he go hunt the thing? Is it even still out there??? Questions upon questions... 🤔

Aw I'm glad! Yesss it's about time with him lol. Good thing all your questions there will be answered in Part 3...

So excited for the next part!! I'm loving this story and everything you've put in it, and the dynamic between them is amazing. So well done, friend 😍🩵🩵

Aw thank you so much, my friend!! I tried to balance the slower "getting to know you" parts with some of this actiony/dramatic stuff as they slowly grow closer. 🥰💜💜

Also, don't think I forgot about the last two chapters of Polaris. I'm so looking forward to diving into those chapters soon!! 😘

Against the Wind - Part 2

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Thank you guys so much for all the amazing feedback on Part 1! Now, most of your theories and questions will be answered...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, and peril, the other kind of "hunting."

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: Seems Like Yesterday

“I’ll raise you 25,” you say, tossing five chocolate covered pretzels into the middle pile. It’s a risky bet, considering how much you lost in the last hand. Dean regards you with an amused, if critical eye while he holds his cards.

“Ooh, you’re bluffing,” he says. You pop your brows at him, a subtle smile tugging at your lips.

“You want to test that theory? Put your money where your mouth is,” you challenge.

He tilts his head at you with a raise of his own brows.

“Cheeky omega,” he mutters. His attention returns to his cards as he deliberates on his next move.

You attempt to be nonchalant as you glance down at your cards again. It’s a shitty hand, but he doesn’t need to know that. The alpha’s won the last two hands of Texas Hold ‘Em, but you did win the first one. Though you suspect he let you win.

You want to at least even the score before he resumes his work out in the shed. He spends most of his time there during the day, or making sure the firewood is stocked. It seems like he takes any excuse not to spend too much time in your presence.

More than anything, you want to ask him if he feels what you feel—the same tug in the pit of your stomach every time he’s nearby. You just haven’t found a way to broach that with him.

Hey, I know we just met like two minutes ago, but I think we’re supposed to be together. Do you feel it too?

You nearly roll your eyes at yourself. Yeah, that’ll go over well.

So you have to be content with mornings like this and in the evenings, where he lets you put on one of his records, and you two share dinner together, maybe another round of cards. Or you’ll read a book while lounging on the chaise, and he lays out on the couch, listening to his music with his eyes closed. You like watching him like that, with a relaxed, damn near peaceful set to his face.

Too often he holds that harder, stoic expression, or that divot between his brows that makes you want to soothe two of your fingers there; or better yet, lean in and press your lips—

“It’s your move,” Dean reminds you. He’s finally played his hand, but you were too distracted to hear what he said.

“What’d you do?” you ask, surveying the piles of cards.

“Call,” he repeats, popping a few pretzels into his mouth. He washes it down with beer and more barbeque chips. Those are worth $10 in this little fantasy betting. He points a finger towards you with the same hand that holds his beer, teasing, “You got all the lights on in there? Or am I boring you?”

You glance up at him, fighting a smile. “All right, keep your pants on. Let me see…”

As the dealer, he’s already turned over the River: the last card in the hand. It’s a 10 of Clubs, which means your One Pair is actually a Two Pair. It’s still not a great hand, but it’s decent enough to maybe let you get the best of your opponent.

After you go “all in,” Dean’s lips twitch at a smile, and he humors you, going all in as well. You’re on tenterhooks when he finally reveals his hand.

“Ooh, it ain’t a cheesy ‘90s sitcom, but it’s still…a Full House,” he brags as he lays out each card in a smooth line of overlapping cards, the mix of glossy red diamonds and black spades showing the truth. He won again.

You huff in defeat, your shoulders sinking in your seat at the kitchen table. You turn over your measly hand. Sweeping the winnings toward himself (a mound of chocolate covered pretzels, a stack of barbecue chips, and a handful of Oreos), Dean chuckles and tosses you a wink.

“Ah, don’t beat yourself up, sweetheart. I’ve been hustlin’ poker for a long time. Hell, I’ve been playing this game before I even knew my times tables,” he says as he collects the cards.

“That young?” you reply. “Who taught you?”

“My dad,” he says. “Oh, believe me, I used to get my ass kicked many a’ time, but by the time I turned sixteen, I was hustlin’ grown ass men in skeevy bars out of their daily paycheck.”

“You were hanging out in bars at sixteen?” you ask incredulously. There, Dean seems to realize he’s said too much. He becomes more guarded as he puts away the deck and cleans the crumbs off the table.

“My dad was always working. You could say I didn’t really have a curfew,” he says.

“A latchkey kid, huh?” you reply, hiding the way you’re trying so hard to glean any more hints of truth between his words.

“Heh, yeah.” He gets up from the table and tosses the breakfast dishes in the sink, then travels to the front door to don his jacket and boots.

“All right, I’ll be out back,” he says.

Out back, code for out in the shed. You nod, and in a flash, he’s shutting the door behind him.

You’ve learned another small tidbit about him, one that feels more important than it seems on the surface. And yet, it only elicits more questions you doubt he’ll be willing to answer so easily. He’s more than tight-lipped about his past, only giving vague outlines and general pictures.

Even his stories—like being raised up in a family of traveling mechanics, putting Nair in Sam’s shampoo when he was a kid, or the guy’s serious fear of clowns—feel like they’re missing some key details.

You decide to take up your crutches and head for your room. There you unearth the journal from its hiding place under your pillow. This time, you turn to the very beginning. Before all the jargon about mythology (and an odd footnote about a “Turducken Slammer”), there are actual journal entries. The first one dates back to November 6, 1983. The first line already captures your attention.

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed… When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

He writes about their house burning with all their memories inside, along with Mary. Somehow, he saw her pinned bloody to the ceiling.

Along with these pages is a clipping from a news story:

House Fire Kills Mother of Two

Lawrence, Kansas.

You’re spellbound by it all. You keep reading.

November 13, 1983

…Most of our clothes and photos are ruined, even our safe—the safe with Mary’s old diaries, the boys’ savings bonds, what little jewelry we had…all gone. How could my house, my whole life, go up like that, so fast, so hot? How could my wife just burn up and disappear?

The police don’t believe his story, about how she died before the fire, about what he saw. So he tries to convince himself that what he saw wasn’t real. Still, he can’t find rest, and he worries about his sons’ safety.

December 4, 1983

I haven’t let them out of my sight since the fire. Dean still hardly talks. I try to make small talk, or ask him if he wants to throw the baseball around. Anything to make him feel like a normal kid again. He never budges from my side—or from his brother.

Every morning when I wake up, Dean is inside the crib, arms wrapped around baby Sam. Like he’s trying to protect him from whatever is out there in the night.

Sammy cries a lot, wanting his mom. I don’t know how to stop it, and part of me doesn’t want to. It breaks my heart to think that soon he won’t remember her at all.

You don’t realize you’re crying until a droplet lands on the page. You quickly wipe it away before it becomes a stain, and you dry it all the way with your breath before you move on to the next page, sniffling. Your heart hurts, even as your guilt grows. You know now that you’re really, truly invading Dean’s privacy by reading his father’s words. You just can’t stop yourself from turning the next page.

John becomes convinced that someone, or something, started the fire that destroyed his life and took his wife away from him and his sons. He leaves his job and the remnants of that world behind, to venture deeper into the darker one. But in that darkness, he finds truth.

He visits a psychic, Missouri, who leads him back to his house and senses the echoes of an evil presence—something that shakes her to the core, and John too: the creature that killed his wife.

December 20

…She told me that it was the most powerful, awful thing she’s ever come across.

On January 1, 1984, John makes a New Year’s resolution. He determines to find the answers himself.

A shiver runs down your spine. In John’s words, your heart breaks for Dean, but you also see yourself. You try not to think about why.

You keep flipping through the rest of the journal past January. There are translations of a Latin exorcism, and like you read before, strange drawing of evil looking creatures—as well as what they are, scraps of their history, and how to kill them.

Silver bullet to the heart, can’t withstand iron, salt and burn.

You pause on a certain page, more filled with lore than the rest, and a primitive drawing in the center.

WENDIGO

Cree: Evil that devours.

Wood spirit. Eats live flesh. Lives in forests.

Perfect hunter.

Your breath stills in your lungs as a cold sweat forms across your skin. The more you read, the faster your heart beats.

The crunch of dead leaves. Your father shouting at you to run, and keep running.

The coarse shout of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short. You turn around with your rifle in hand, poised to shoot blindly.

Your stomach churns as bile rises into your throat. You feel sick, and wrong, and you suddenly have the urge to throw the journal against the wall.

“Omega?” calls Dean’s sharp voice. “You okay?”

You jolt badly at the sudden noise. You didn’t hear him reenter the house. He likely caught the scent of your distress. He pushes the door of your room open to find you, but he stops short in the doorway. His surprise quickly morphs into a frown when he notices what you’re holding in your lap.

You gasp, freezing where you sit, but there’s no point in trying to cover up what you’ve done. With an angry purse of his lips, he reaches over and takes the journal from your hands.

“What the hell are you doing with this?” he demands.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I just—” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I was just curious. I wanted to know more about you. I thought it was…a normal journal.”

“So this is how you go about it, huh? Got everything you wanted, Columbo?” he says, his sarcasm cutting into you. He flips through the journal to make sure all the pages are intact before he tucks the journal under his arm. “Seriously, going into somebody’s stuff? Who the hell raised you?”

At that, you begin to bristle.

“My dad,” you snap back. Though remembering the passages you’ve lived with for the past few hours, you soften with a painful twinge of sympathy in your heart. 

“And it looks like yours raised you to be some kind of…well, what are you, a ghostbuster or something?” you ask.

His jaw locks. “Or something.” 

With an exasperated sigh at his hedging, you swing your legs around the edge of the bed and haul yourself up with your crutches so you can at least match his stance (more or less).

“Dean, please, just talk to me,” you implore, gesturing at the journal tucked under his arm. “The things I read—”

“Are none of your goddamn business!” he growls, making the omega inside you cringe. The alpha’s voice is deep and sharp, and even though he isn’t crowding you, his height and broadness are still intimidating.

“The sooner you heal up, the sooner I can ship you back to where you belong,” he says. “Back to your life, so you can stop sticking your nose into mine.” 

Your mouth actually falls open in shock. His vehement words feel almost as powerful as a physical blow, if to your soul. They make your arms tremble while holding yourself upright on your crutches. Hot tears well up in your eyes, though you try to blink them away. After a moment, you’re able to collect yourself enough to speak.

“I’m sorry for going through your stuff,” you say, in a quiet voice.

You hobble awkwardly past him out of the room. You don’t stop until you reach the front door, where your snow boots are. You manage to get them on by yourself so you can go outside and get some fresh air, not to mention some much needed distance from the alpha’s burning presence. You can still feel him trailing behind you. You hear his heavy boots.

“Where the hell are you going?” he grits out.

You hobble faster.

Dean watches you go out the door without a word in irritation, even though it triggers an alarm deep in his gut every time you leave the safety of the cabin. 

The snow depth has lightened somewhat since the storm, but it’s still not easy to navigate on your crutches. You get some distance from the cabin, mindful not to go too far. You know you’re limited, and you didn’t even take a gun with you.

Finding a solid tree to lean on, you rest there and try in vain to stifle your tears. You know you were wrong for snooping, and he had a right to be mad, but did he really have to be such a freakin’ bear? 

Fucking alphas. I swear.

You thought you were starting to connect with him, but clearly, Dean wants nothing to do with you. He wants you out of his life. 

Does he not feel the same pull you feel to him? Does he really not realize…that he’s meant to be your mate?

You take in a shaky breath through your nose. If he does, apparently he doesn’t care.

Just then, you hear the crunch of snow nearby. Twigs snapping.

Your body stiffens with a terrible memory—of that day in the woods. Your breath comes out in short puffs on the cold air, your eyes wide as you listen closely.

Hearing nothing, you allow yourself to breathe a little easier. You venture a few paces forward and to the right, but you stop shy of how it slopes downward. Some unnamed feeling tells you to look over the edge.

You lean over and cast your gaze down the slope, but all you see is snow and trees down below. With a shaky breath, you lean back and look out to the north again. Plodding along the trail, heading towards you, is a bear.

Oh shit…

You remember Dean mentioning something about a bear passing by his cabin a couple of days before the storm. Looks like he’s back to make his rounds.

His fur is dark; from this distance, you can’t tell if it’s a black bear or a grizzly. It doesn’t make much difference when all you have on your person is a can of bear spray. His gait is massive, unhurried, but he lets out a braying sound when your gaze meets his, as if acknowledging you. He stops there for a moment, assessing. Your body locks up with fear.

The bear groans again, this time sharper. You finally snap out of your reverie and force your body to move slowly backward with your crutches spearing into the snow. The cabin isn’t that far, maybe thirty or forty yards at most. Still, the bear can probably beat you.

Instead of trying to run, you stand your ground and shout at the bear, hoping he’ll back off. Your voice dies in your throat when he rears up on his hind legs, with a loud roar. Trembling, you miss a step and get knocked back into the snow on your ass, your crunches falling out at your sides. You scramble inside your jacket for anything that might help you. 

Bear spray!

You hurry to get the cap off with shaking hands, but before you can even aim, the creature’s heave paws thudding into the ground in front of you—a gunshot rings out and hits the animal in the chest. 

The bear falters, then roars in pain and anger.

Two more shots finally bring it down to an even heavier thud, not far from your feet.

In this moment, these are the things you don’t know about Dean Winchester:

For one, the scent of an omega in distress always calls to an alpha’s protective instincts. But the scent of your abject fear feels like someone tried to rip his lungs out through his stomach.

Second, when he sees you there, your wide, shiny eyes filled with the remnants of panic, yet relief at the sight of him, it takes everything within him not to drop to his knees, grab you by the hair, sink his teeth into your neck and claim you, right there in the snow. Maybe then you’d start listening to him and stop taking your life into your hands.

Instead, his lips purse as he wracks his rifle and slings the strap of it over his shoulder. He stalks toward you and scoops you up, crutches and all. He brings you back to the cabin without a word.

His jaw is once again locked with silence and strain; he doesn’t trust himself to speak until he’s brought you inside and carried you over to the chaise. He sits beside you there and takes an inventory of you with his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks at last.

You manage to meet his gaze and give a little nod.

“Okay. Don’t move,” he says shortly. He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where he grabs a foldable set of knives and a cooler from under the sink.

You watch him in silence, and you realize he’s going back to gut the bear. You didn’t know that he actually hunted out here…well, hunted to eat. He continues to gather items in silence. It gets to a point where you can’t stand it, or his curtness, any longer.

“Thank you,” you say, halting his steps. Dean glances at you over his shoulder, then continues strapping up his supplies. He huffs in response.

“We’re gonna be eatin’ good for a while,” he says without looking at you. 

His attitude both hurts you and aggravates you, so much that you refuse to take it anymore. 

“Look, Dean. I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have butted into your life,” you say. Frustrated tears well up in your eyes. Expelling a sharp sigh, you amend yourself. “I’m sorry for invading your privacy. I’m sorry about what you went through, and I’m…I’m sorry about your mom. I’m sorry for today. I’ll just…stay out of your way, and I’ll leave as soon as I can.”

Dean finally turns your way, but your lips tremble as you turn your face away from him and shut your eyes tightly against the salty burn of tears. Deep inside, his heart withers in his chest. He sighs and drops his supplies on the couch. He walks over with those heavy boots, and he sits on the edge of the chaise beside you. He hesitates for a moment, but eventually, he rests a warm, calloused hand on your arm and earns your tearful gaze. 

“I’m sorry. I, uh…shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he says. 

You sniff, quickly wiping away your embarrassing tears as they come. Your cheeks are hot with it.

“What is it you wanna know? About me,” he asks, surprising you that much more.

 Your mouth parts, but nothing comes out. It takes you some time to think, but the first thing that comes to your mind is…

“Everything in that journal,” you say, licking your dry lips. “Is it real?”

Dean holds your gaze steadily. You know the truth without him having to say it, but he does.

“I was a hunter,” he says. “Those things you read about, I found ‘em. Killed ‘em. It was my job.”

“And now?” you ask, once that large bit of information has time to set into your brain.

His lips tug at a half smile. “Consider me…mostly retired.”

You exhale softly, and you nod. It earns a furrowed look from Dean.

“You don’t seem all that freaked out by this,” he says, with a more scrutinizing gaze on you.

“Should I be?” you say, with an unsteady laugh.

He raises his brows. “In my experience, yeah.”

You chew on the inside of your lip. You don’t know if you should even put into words what you’ve been holding onto for months. Like John, no one believed you. Even your own mother had started to look at you like you needed a shrink.

“Omega?” Dean presses. His green eyes are perceptive as they take in the conflicted look on your face. “There something you wanna tell me?”

You deliberate for a moment longer. Then, you release a sigh and glance down at your hands clenching in your lap.

“A few months ago, I lost my dad,” you begin.

Dean nods. “Yeah, you said—”

“I lost him in these woods,” you say.

That quiets the alpha.

You shake your head, and you find your words as the memories that have been haunting your nights return to you.

“Like I said, we used to go hiking here every year…”

AN: Just so you know, all of the journal entries appear in the official "John's Journal" SPN merch. 😉

Next Time:

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name louder, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 3

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[twigs-sprigs]

oo when i think of ur art i definitely picture the cool poses and expressions!! u use very vibrant and neon colors and that kinda stands out for me. and the fact that u add a tail to some of ur designs gjdkgkd thats such a fun detail

WAU WG H HGG HG GG G THESE ARE SO NICE... also.. cool tumblr person acidsaladd asked me a thing .. .woah ,, , , such a big fan of ur art and stuff BJDWGJHJHDW AUGH

ANYWAY TYSM!!

(omori art spotted in the corner HJKDWHJKD dont mind it its fine its ok)

poses!! yeah i love dynamic poses a lot.. its hard for me to make characters sit still (is that the right word??) like-

a while ago (literally if you scroll down on my blog to older pieces ive made) i feel like everything looked a little odd and stiff? its hard to explain exactly, but for a long time ive had this FEAR of everything i make looking the same, like every character and every pose being basically the same with different colors.

and my first response to that fear was: "okay. ill draw more dynamic things then. so they wont look like the same thing over and over!" and now it just kind of evolved in me getting huge enjoyment in drawing all sorts of dynamic/fighting poses or whatever!! i like expressions and poses being exaggerated and very shape-based

explaining my art is so hard JDJWKHWD because i always completely SPACE OUT while i draw, so when the drawings done i literally dont know how i did that KDKJDWJKHDWKJ

and colors too!! yeah i do love using more vibrant colors. i like glowy things and i feel like they can give otherwise bland color schemes i tend to do some life! i dunno the exact reason WHY i use the colors that i do, but hey if yall like it i must be doing good!!!

(literally posting random shit from my doodles canavas and hoping it makes sense. yipee. also hey that nya design is from the pa au. in case anyones interested HJKDWKJWD)

and,,, as for tails on characters,,,

i really cant explain that. i just like tails BJKDWJKHKJDW

and i guess... i add them where they'd make sense in my head??? JKBWDKJD

literally rambling abt my own art. ill stop now JBDWJB SO SORRY AUGH H

[mypoisonedvine]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭-𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞 || helmut zemo, bucky barnes and sam wilson x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : your sugar daddy boyfriend is finally out of prison and he brought a few friends to show you off to.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : just over 4k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : smut (foursome/group sex, oral m receiving, spitroast; sliiiight dubcon???), established zemo x reader, sugar daddy relationship, ‘sir’ kink, ‘daddy’ kink, pussy spanking, one regular spank, orgasm control, overstimulation, creampie, a bit of cockwarming, exhibitionism, possessiveness (kinda? but also not at all lmao it’s hard to explain), a bit of degradation but plenty of praise as well, subtle cuckolding but without the usual power dynamics there, shitty reconstructed “sokovian” (I wrote it in the latin alphabet but the cyrillic and translations are at the end), unexpected and unnecessary fluff, very subtle angst (basically all in a flashback anyways)

                  You were needlessly anxious as you waited for him to arrive.  It had been your own idea to wait in the jet, and yet you spent every other second glancing out the tiny window, desperate for a glance of the man you missed so dearly.

If someone had told you all those years ago, when this arrangement first began, how easily he would have you wrapped around his finger… you couldn’t have believed them.  It’s just about the money, you would’ve told them, but you would’ve been impossibly wrong.

For a lot of women in this sort of situation, it really was just about the money; likewise, for a lot of men in his situation, it was just about the sex.  But the two of you had something entirely unique, nearly indescribable in fact, that very few could ever understand.  In the beginning it became clear to you that he was more in need of a companion than a lover or girlfriend, specifically.  He was still grieving his wife, still devoted to her completely, but lonely right to his core… angry, even, at the prospect of a life without his family.  You were a shoulder to cry on, first and foremost.

You thought maybe he enjoyed spending money on you because it was his way to protect you, in a way he felt he had failed to protect his family before.

And it was you that fell for him first, for his passion and his kindness before his riches or looks.  Just when you feared that he’d only ever see you as a status symbol or dress-up doll, he returned your affections in spite of his guilt at first and the two of you were inseparable ever since.

Except, of course, when you were separated, and he was imprisoned, and you were left on your own again.  Not that spending his money wasn’t fun or anything, but his loneliness was more sympathetic with each night you spent in that massive bed by yourself, wanting just to feel the warmth of him beside you again.

So, it should be understandable why you were so on edge in anticipation of his arrival.  Your painted fingernails toyed with the hem of the dress you remembered he liked on you most— the silk one that barely covered your legs and was only held up by absurdly thin straps crossing at your back.

The night he bought it for you was clear in your mind like it was only yesterday; his voice in your ear telling you how he couldn’t resist taking such a thoughtful, intelligent woman like yourself and dressing you up like a mindless drolja… or ‘slut’ as it might be said in English.  Just remembering the way he said things like that sent a shiver down your spine as strong as really hearing it, your thighs clenching together on top of the plush leather seat.

Just as you thought you might go crazy waiting for him, you saw the car pull up— your Helmut at the wheel and his two associates in tow— and your heart soared.

Longer than all the years apart combined was the minute you spent waiting to descend the jet’s staircase, hoping to meet him on the taxiway at the exact right moment.  You made sure the jewelry around your wrists and neck was laying just right before finally making your appearance.

The way he looked up at you as you started to walk down towards him… it wasn’t so different from the way he’d looked at you through the glass for the past few years, really, but it felt different.  He certainly looked different to you, without the prisoner’s uniform and looking rather imposing with that massive coat instead.

You were careful to still walk slowly, since you were wearing stilettos and all, even when you wanted more than anything to run to him and jump into his arms.  Instead, you came face to face with him, loving that confident smirk which never seemed to leave his expression, and slipped your arms around his fur-adorned neck.

“Dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi,” you hummed, pressing your lips to his and almost letting out a squeal of surprise when he immediately slipped his tongue into your mouth, kissing you aggressively as his gloved hands gripped you at the waist.

He was rarely so bold, but then again he had been alone in prison for so long with only your words to try to satisfy him.  As much as you cherished being in his arms again, you also got the impression that this wasn’t just about making up for lost time— if that were true, he would’ve skipped the kiss entirely and taken you in the back of his car the moment he saw you.  No, this was a show of dominance, and not only for your benefit; that was clear when one of the men with him cleared his throat loudly and Helmut still didn’t stop.  

But that was very much like him: he was never finished with you until he was satisfied, and not a moment sooner.  His power over you was so effortless because you didn’t mind at all being his plaything… so much so that it was you leaning in for more when he pulled back, making him laugh softly.

“Did you miss me, lutka?” he purred, and you nodded as you bit your lip slightly.

“Always, Helmut,” you nodded, finally taking a moment to look away from him and at the visibly uncomfortable men at his side.  “I heard you freed him,” you said to the man you knew to be James Barnes, “thank you.”

“I’m still not over that,” the other— Sam, as you’d heard— added with a scoff.

“Come on, darling, let’s board the jet and we can talk there,” Helmut suggested, and you nodded as you turned to let them follow.

Of course, you couldn’t be totally sure, but you were pretty confident you could feel three pairs of eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs.  Honestly, with how short the dress was, there was a risk of your thong being exposed as well, exactly the sort of almost-subtle teasing your Baron loved the most.

Once inside, Helmut showed James and Sam to their seats, and took his own as he instantly pulled you into his lap.  You caught the other two men glancing to the empty fourth seat, knowing there was plenty of room for you two to stay apart, but could they really blame you after how long you’d been alone?

Throughout the takeoff, one of his strong hands rested comfortably on your crossed legs as the other held his glass of champagne, and Sam’s gaze was attached to the way his thumb gently stroked your thigh while James seemed to be doing his best to look literally anywhere else.

“I noticed you haven’t introduced us to your… friend…” Sam trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh, yes,” Helmut chuckled as if he actually forgot, “this is the woman who has been managing my estate in my unfortunate absence.”

“You’re trying to tell us this is your accountant?” James grumbled.

“She’s also my lover,” Helmut relented.

“Obviously,” Sam replied, unamused.

“She’s beautiful, no?” Helmut prompted as he ran his fingertips higher up your thigh, only glancing at the other men as he focused mainly on nuzzling against your neck. 

“Yeah, the finest money can buy,” Sam quipped, earning a cold glare from you and your man.  

“Are you with me for my money, draga?” Helmut asked you quietly as he planted a gentle kiss to the spot right where your neck met your shoulder.  You smiled and shook your head, staring right at Sam’s nervous expression.

“No, sir,” you answered aloud, and the title clearly made both of the other men uncomfortable… if, perhaps, in different ways.

“Uncross your legs,” he demanded, though his tone was still soft, and you obeyed right away as he started to lightly move his touch between your thighs.

James began adjusting in his seat and never really stopped, tugging at his jeans in an obvious attempt to conceal the growing bulge between his legs, but you only laughed at his clear embarrassment.

“See how respectful she is?” he cooed his praise, addressing the other men but keeping his eyes on you.  “I know exactly the words to make her obey to my every whim… James, you and her share that quality.”

The man sneered as you suppressed a giggle, squirming in Helmut’s lap impatiently.

“She’s loyal, too, unendingly dedicated,” he continued.  “You know she visited me weekly in Munich, at the very least?  Always by my side… like any good pet.”

A whimper escaped your throat at that term, your gut burning with need as he balanced praise and degradation effortlessly.  You didn’t find it truly demeaning only because you loved being his plaything so much, and because you knew mutual respect was at the core of your relationship with him.  But, still, it was nice to feel small when he was there to keep you safe.

James watched with a small snarl and Helmut slipped his hand into your panties, and Sam licked his lips but shifted his stare to your face instead, just as your eyes started to roll back and your head fell weakly on Helmut’s shoulder.

“And such a precious little pussy as well,” he added darkly, giving you a spank between your legs to make you choke on a squeal.  “Sweet, delicate… much like a Turkish delight, but even more addictive.”

“Please, sir,” you whispered under your breath.

“You want more, don’t you?  Tako očajno…” he chuckled.  You nodded, already starting to soak through the lace and rock your hips.  “You want to be fucked, yes?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Be polite and take care of our guests first, draga,” he encouraged, kissing your neck one more time before releasing you from his embrace.

Although you were most interested in being with the man you loved, you were happy to obey whatever he wished— and, frankly, sinking to your knees on the jet’s carpeted floor to crawl towards James wasn’t exactly lacking in its own appeal.

James’ eyes narrowed as Sam’s widened, and you sat up between the spread, denim-clad thighs as you blinked up at him and licked your lips.

He tensed up slightly as your hands delicately slid up his legs, his Adam's apple bobbing with a dry swallow when you grabbed his belt buckle and began to open it.

“You… you don’t have to…” he mumbled, apparently too distracted to finish his sentence.

“Yes I do,” you denied.  “Because he told me to.”

Sam winced and looked away as you unzipped James’ fly and pulled his jeans and boxers down to expose his cock, already hard and leaking a bit from the tip.  You smiled proudly, but chose not to tease him for his eagerness and instead just get right to work; you gripped him at the base and gave a few kitten licks over his shaft, savoring the taste of his precum and looking up at his expression that was equal parts shocked and sultry.

You only spent a moment suckling on the head before skipping right ahead and deepthroating him all the way to base.

“Oh, fuck,” James choked, reaching up grab the seat behind his head as his back arched, making you want to smile though you thankfully kept it down.

“Well-trained, isn’t she?” Helmut interjected proudly.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, his other hand grabbing your shoulder tightly as you began to bob your head.

Occasionally, in your peripheral, you caught Sam looking, and it made you wiggle your hips with the desire to rub your throbbing clit against the floor.  

You got a chance to breathe whenever you pulled back to suck the head and stroke the rest with your hand, and in a few minutes you had already found all the little spots that made him moan the loudest, or made his legs quiver a bit by your sides.

“Stop,” Helmut instructed, and you were already starting to pull off when James hissed and grabbed your head to hold you down.

“N-no, please,” he blurted out.

“She’ll come back to you but Sam is looking rather lonely in the corner over there,” Helmut explained, and James hesitated but let you go.  You wiped your lips and started to move towards Sam, but he shook his head.

“I don’t roll like that, man,” Sam explained, “I don’t want her doing it just because you said so.”

“Darling, won’t you tell us how badly you want to service your new friends?” Helmut challenged, and you swallowed nervously because you were a bit embarrassed to say too much and potentially anger him.  But the sparkle in his eyes didn’t seem like he was leading you into a trap… even if the other two men were confident that was what it meant.  “You find them attractive, don’t you?”

“Um, yes, sir,” you answered hesitantly, “I… saw them, and I wanted to know what their cocks looked like.  And tasted like.”

Helmut smiled and leaned forward, giving you a spank of approval through your dress (which was riding up to show most of your butt anyways).

You looked at Sam expectantly.  “May I please suck your cock, Mr. Wilson?”

His eyes darkened and you knew you were on the right track.  “What happened to ‘sir’?” he asked coyly.

“I only call Helmut ‘sir,’” you explained, “but I could call you something else.”

His finger curled to encourage you to come closer and you crawled up to sit between his legs.

“Call me ‘daddy,’” he finally instructed, opening his belt and pants for you.

“Yes, daddy,” you nodded, keeping your mouth slack for him to push his cock into.  You hummed as the head slid over your tongue, looking up at him as he bit his lip and thrust back into your throat.

“Shit, that’s good,” he whispered, guiding your head at the speed he wanted.  “Who taught you how to suck cock so good, baby?”

Helmut raised his hand and James snorted.

Sam was a bit longer but he was still no challenge to swallow all the way down, and you heard him breathing through his teeth but let your eyes fall shut to focus on your work.

“Is this… how you treat all your guests?” Sam asked tensely between heavy breaths.

“Only those who are at the right place at the right time,” Helmut answered cryptically, but you happened to know this sort of occasion was incredibly rare.  Although it might seem counterintuitive to some, this was his way to re-stake his claim over you, and after so much time apart apparently he felt he had a lot to prove.  “Keep going, but don’t let him come,” another instruction echoed from behind you.  

You pulled back to stroke Sam’s length while you croaked: “yes, sir.”

Helmut had you go back and forth for a while, keeping both men on edge and occasionally allowing you to stroke one while you sucked the other, your own need growing so quickly as you dreamed to have something inside you, anything really.

Obviously, he knew exactly how much having a cock down your throat made you wet and desperate.  And he knew that such a taboo act of, in a certain sense, breaking fidelity with a man as he not only watched but commanded you to do it would get you right on the edge in no time.

He had gotten in your head so quickly after meeting you, memorized everything that made you tick, and not once had he forgotten.  

“I-I’m close,” James warned as you sucked his head, making you slide the tip of your tongue over his slit before you took a break to suck his swollen balls into your mouth.  “Fuck, can I come?”

“Not yet,” Helmut instructed sternly.

You felt him tug you back and into his lap suddenly, and he quickly yanked your dress down to expose your breasts to the men in front of you.

“Her tits are hard, no?” Helmut prompted them, and you watched them both nod as a warm hand reached around from behind you to tweak your hardened nipples.  “Yes, she really loves to get on her knees and choke on cock.  I’d let her do the same to me but I have greater plans for her…”

As if it weren’t obvious what those plans were, he pulled your skirt up to your waist as well, spreading your legs and pulling your flimsy panties aside.  

“Is she wet?” he asked the men and they nodded again.

“Drenched,” Sam chimed in.

Helmut gave another spank to your clit as you shuddered, then rubbing slowly as if to soothe the sting.  “I’ll teach you what happens when you get wet for another man, little girl,” Helmut growled against your ear, “not to mention two.  And they’re Americans, do you have no shame?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whispered.

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he corrected.  “I love seeing you act like a whore all for me.”

You hadn’t even realized he’d taken his cock out of his trousers until you felt the thick tip of him prodding at your entrance.  It was already a lot just by itself, but then you had these strangers staring at you and for some reason it only turned you on more.

That ‘some’ reason of course being that you loved your Baron taking ownership over you for anyone to see.  Clearly, prison had given him much more creative ideas than just fucking on a balcony or against the glass of a window.  

“Are you ready for me?” he asked in a hushed voice against your skin which seemed to be burning hot all of a sudden.  

“Yes, sir,” you whispered.

It took a lot not to cry out as he pulled you down and filled you in one deep stroke, your nails digging into the leather of the chair’s armrests at either side.  But more than the sting of pain it felt so perfect, so fundamentally right, and just after your gasp of shock was a sigh of relief.

He sighed along with you and let his forehead fall between your shoulder blades, clearly a bit overwhelmed at being inside you again for the first time in so long.  “Draga...” he breathed, “not that I ever doubted… but you must have been faithful to me; you’re so tight, I know no one has touched you since I left.”

“Only you, sir, nobody but you,” you agreed breathlessly, eyes falling shut.  

He kissed your back as he started to move your body on top of his, the hands at your waist tightening and tugging on the remaining fabric of your dress.  “Tako dobro,” he hissed, “you feel so good, darling, you can’t imagine how long I spent dreaming of being inside you again.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, and it would be impossible to say for sure what caused it— a little bit of everything, really.  

Opening your eyes and noticing the way they were staring at you, you leaned forward and took each of the other men’s hard cocks in your hands, stroking in time with the way you bounced your hips on top of Helmut’s.

The both of them had been on the edge for a bit too long, Sam already biting his lip as James thrust himself up into your palm.

“Fuck, please,” James moaned, “I need to come in your mouth.”

“Come closer then,” you breathed, watching him stand up and bring his cock right to your lips which you eagerly gagged on, any pretense long gone as you sloppily sucked and stroked while Helmut thrust up to slam into you.

“Ohh, fuck, that’s it— gonna come,” he grunted as he reached up to press his hand against the ceiling of the jet, and it all must have hit him rather unexpectedly since the moment his musky taste began to coat your tongue, you heard a clanging sound and realized he had pushed up so hard that he bent the steel interior, his other hand tightening into a fist in your hair.

You moaned happily as you swallowed every drop, still sucking even as James’ moans became loud and higher in pitch.

“Fuck, don’t stop, oh god,” he whined, cock throbbing even after he stopped filling your throat with come.  You reached between his legs and squeezed his balls a bit and you could tell his knees nearly buckled, causing him to finally pull back and tilt your chin up to stare down at you.  “You’re somethin’ else,” he panted, taking a moment to catch his breath before falling back and slumping into his chair.

You looked over at Sam and saw his hand was still lazily guiding yours to stroke over his cock although come already painted his abs and dripped down from his swollen head over your fingers.  “Can I clean up your mess, please, daddy?” you asked, voice a bit hoarse though you couldn’t be sure if that was from the deepthroating or just how hard Helmut was fucking you now.

Pulling your hand back, Sam’s eyes followed as you lapped the thick, hot come from your hand, moaning openly at the taste.  You sucked your fingers down into your throat, not leaving a drop behind.

He leaned back in his chair and began to catch his breath, both of them now staring at you with that exhausted, glazed-over expression.  They looked satisfied, and you considered it your reward for a job well done.

"A belly full of come and a pussy full of my cock, you must be feeling ecstatic," Helmut presumed.

"Yes, sir," you agreed quickly.

All at once he began to fuck you faster, harder, deeper which you hadn't even realized was an option.  He growled a string of the filthiest curses in your ear, in Sokovian so the other men wouldn’t understand, with one hand wrapped around your neck as the other pinched your clit almost too roughly.  Even in your native language you could barely understand it: how could you when he was so deep inside you?

“Will you come, draga?” he finally asked, voice rough with his own desperation.

“Not until you let me, sir,” you moaned, and he chuckled a bit.

“Good girl.”

But wow, the way he rubbed your clit was impossible to ignore, like he was trying to make your promise impossible to keep.  You tightened your jaw, moaning through your teeth now as you fought to keep your orgasm at bay.  

“Please sir, I need to come, please— so close, I’m so close,” you mewled.

“I won’t be much longer, either,” he warned.  "Too long without you has taken its toll, I need to finish."

“Inside me, sir, please,” you begged, “come inside me.”

You felt him nod against the back of your neck.  “Come for me,” he instructed simply, and as obedient as ever, you felt your walls pulsing as pleasure overtook you.  Not even meaning to, you threw your head back, and he had to hold you tightly to keep you from shaking too violently as the waves of sensation washed over you.

The heat of him spilling inside you warmed you from the inside out, making you smile happily through the fog of your high and intentionally tighten your walls around him.  He hissed and throbbed within you, his fingers digging into your hips now as he held you down against him.

He gave a few more lazy thrusts until finally slowing to a stop, both of you catching your breath eventually.

"My... accountant will be keeping my cock warm for the remainder of the flight," Helmut informed the other men, "I hope you don't mind?

"No, no, go ahead," James approved as his head fell back against his chair.

It was still quite a ways to your final destination so it wasn't much of a surprise that you ended up falling asleep in the Baron's arms, something you used to do every night that had been only a dream for years.  Perhaps this afternoon wasn't the reunion you expected, but it was somehow even more perfect than you could've ever wished for.

///

dobrodošla nazad, ljubavi = добродошла назад, љубави = “welcome home, love”

lutka = лутка = “doll”

draga = драга = “dear/beloved”

tako očajno = тако очајно = "so desperate"

tako dobro = тако добро = "so good"