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weirdochick56 · 4 years

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Dress- Dean Winchester One Shot

Jealous!Dean Winchester x Plus-Size!Reader

Warnings: Self-hatred,self-doubt talks badly about self, weight, etc. PLS PLS if you’re sensitive to this please don’t read!

Word Count: 5,155 words

Disclaimer: I don’t own any SPN characters/plots mentioned.

Summary: “I don’t want you like a best friend Only bought this dress so you could take it off” (Loosely based on the song “Dress” by Taylor Swift.)

It shouldn’t hurt this much right?

To watch something that was never yours to begin with get taken away from you, that was.

It shouldn’t feel like someone was stabbing a dozen daggers into your chest all at once then twisting it around once it was well and sunk inside your skin. It shouldn’t.

You have to know by now; Dean Winchester would only ever belong to you in your dreams.

A man like him- tall, gorgeous, charming- would never go for someone like you.

If he hadn’t done so during the many years he’d known you why would he start now?

That slender, big-chested, perky blonde on the other hand- she was exactly the kind of woman he’d go for.

And the way he looked at her, gripped onto her protruding hips and gazed at her glossy lips- it was more than obvious how much he wanted to get her into his bed.

You had spent years wishing that was you. Wishing those rough hands would hold you like that, that those sparkling emerald eyes would ravage you hungrily.

Unfortunately, not only did Dean only see you as a little sister, but you were the farthest thing from his type.

With a sharp inhale, you force yourself to look away from the heinous scene unfolding before you, even when it took nearly all your strength to do so.

Because you couldn’t tear your eyes away from how easily her body curved in that skin tight red dress, the way her long legs seemed to go on for miles in those heels...and then comparing her utter perfection to your own body- only to come up short.

You were always too fat. Your curves were always too aggressive, too vuloptuous and out of control.

Not to mention, you could never pull off a dress like that. You knew this which is why you stuck to baggy jeans, and big t-shirts and flannels.

It was what you felt comfortable in, after all.

Never pretty- you don’t remember the last time you’ve felt pretty, but that was why comfort was what really mattered to you.

Without noticing it, your eyes fill to the brim with tears when you peek back at them and realized the way Dean’s hand fit so neatly in her tiny wasp-like waist, plump pink lips tilted upwards into a tiny smirk as he stares her down with hunger.

You never even stood a chance, did you?

When the sinking feeling settles in you at the thought, like an anchor sinking to the bottom of an ocean, you suddenly get off your stool, slamming a twenty on the bar.

“I’m leaving Sammy,” you inform your best friend, trying to keep your voice from breaking.

“Y/n-“ He opens his mouth to retort something to you but one look at your face and his mouth instantly snaps shut.

You probably looked like a kicked puppy.

He offers a sympathetic little frown, looking like he wants so badly to say something but instead only nods at you without further protest.

You sniffle, shoulders sagging with the weight of your heartbreak as you trudged your way back to the dank motel you’d gotten for the night.

After a long shower and changing into a baggy shirt and shorts, you tucked yourself into your bed and began watching some TV, trying your damn hardest not to burst into tears in case the brothers came back.

This was the way it would always be.

Another town, another night, another hunt.

“Friggin witches man,” Dean hisses with disdain, shaking his head. “I hate them.”

You can’t help but laugh at him. “I, for one, like witches.”

Both Sam and him stare at you like you’ve grown two heads.

“...dead,” you quip with a tiny smirk, pausing right outside the motel door.

Sam chuckles, pressing the key into the slot and pushing the door open for you. “Yeah,” he agrees.

“Second that, sweetheart,” Dean sighs out with a soft smile, ruffling your hair as he walked past you and made a beeline to the bathroom.

Your chest tightens at the tiny gesture as you pause by the door.

And once more it was made clear to you just who you were to Dean; a kid. A sister.

That’s all you’d ever be, you keep reminding your crushed hopes everytime they resurrected.

You wanted to stomp them out and keep them that way, but you just couldn’t help but let a tiny part of you hope for something more.

Despite how impossible it was for that to happen.

Sam presses a gentle kiss to your forehead when he gently pushes past you and sees your conflicted expression, rubbing your back comfortingly.

“We’re going out tonight- somewhere special to celebrate. You’re coming right?”

You shoot him a look as if to say ‘really?’.

Ever since the last time you’d seen Dean with that blonde woman, you refused to go with them to any more bars, opting to stay home in your pjs, eating ice cream and binging TV.

“No,” you instantly reject the offer.

Of course Sam knew exactly why you were refusing, but whenever Dean asked, you had to make up excuses so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

Most of the time you just acted like you were too sick or too tired from the hunt and although you could tell he was concerned for you, he fortunately never pushed for more than you were willing to give him.

“But why not?” He whines. “It’s gonna be fun I promise. Plus we get to dress up for once.”

You laugh. “You say it like I wanna dress up this whale body of mine.”

“Y/n,” he enunciates sternly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re gorgeous.”

You instantly scoff, rolling your eyes. “Okay.”

“He ain’t lying,” Deans gruff voice chides in.

A towel hangs low on his slim hips as he steps out fresh from the shower.

His tan skin glistening with fresh water, sparkling green eyes, damp dirty blond hair clinging to his forehead and that manly scent are all entirely too much for you.

“I never got why you feel the need to bring yourself down, sweetheart. You’re pretty.”

You have to force yourself to snap your gaze onto your duffel bag, aimlessly ruffling through your clothes to make yourself look busy.

“I-I’m too tired,” you manage to stammer out, trying to control your pounding heartbeat.

Dean clicks his tongue with slight irritation. “You always say that.”

“Well I am,” you insist. “Plus guys, it’s not like some fancy night club is really my scene anyways.”

Sam huffs. “Yeah, it isn’t ours either. But we deserve a night out, don’t you think?”

“You guys can go. I’ll just stay here and-“

Dean cuts you off. “And what, Y/n? Wallow in self-pity?”

“Dean,” Sam warns.

“No, Sam. I’m right and she’s knows it. Look at me, sweetheart,” he commands and acting on pure instinct, you obey.

His breathtaking gaze bores straight into you, unwavering. “You think I haven’t noticed how strange you’ve been acting lately? How you refuse to share so much as a beer with us? You’re sad and I’m worried about you,” he breathes softly.

You swallow the lump in your throat, but your brain is still unable to form anymore words. You just stare at him, watery eyed, praying to whatever will listen that the truth doesn’t burst out of you.

That you don’t blurt something like “it’s because of you dummy. Because you break my heart everytime you leave with a new set of tits. Because you could never love me the way I love you.”

Sensing your discomfort, Sam tries to diffuse the situation. “You can stay if you want to, Y/n. We understand. Right, Dean?”

Even without even looking at him, you know Sam is giving Dean a death stare.

Dean looks at you then back up at Sam, sighing. “Fine. Yeah okay.” And walks towards the bathroom to get dressed.

You instantly relax once the weight of his gaze is off you, shoulders drooping.

“Y/n. C’mon, you need to unwind. At least think about it? Look if you change your mind I texte you the address. ”

You purse your lips, staring at his puppy dog eyes. “Okay,” You whisper softly.

A little while later, the boys are all dressed up and ready to go- meanwhile you’re still in your pjs.

Dean looks absolutely scrumptious and all you want to do is rip that button off right off those broad freckled shoulders and mess up that perfectly styled spiky blonde hair.

The green-eyed five course meal pauses before you, frowning. “Not saying you don’t look good in them, but maybe a change of clothes once in a while wouldn’t hurt, sweets.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, petting your head as he walks out.

You know he didn’t mean it like that with his remark.

Dean would never bring you down like that, but for some reason it still stung like a bitch.

To further confirm that you would never be the kind of woman he’d please endlessly or hell- even look twice at was something Dean probably hadn’t realized he’d done but that stuck with you for the rest of your uneventful night.

At the peak of your boredom, you start looking through old pictures of you and the brothers. The nostalgia that flooded through you at the memories nearly made you cry as you came to stop on a certain one- your favorite picture.

It was one with only you and Dean, leaning on the impala. He was staring down at you with a soft smile and made you laughed gleefully at some dumb shit he’d said.

Your chest clenches tightly at the look in his eyes. It almost looked...wistful. Like he was happy and sweet and tender but also...sad.

It was the same look you’d give him.

You gasp without noticing. What if-

No.

You stop yourself before letting your thoughts get much farther and shove the picture away.

Stop getting your hopes up Y/n.

Maybe Dean was right and it was time for a change.

Because if you were going to forget the Dean Winchester, you were gonna need a hell of a replacement and the only way to get that was to at least try to look good.

You started with your hair, curling it loosely so it fell softly over your shoulders. Then you shaved your legs and went about doing your make up.

You weren’t very good at make up, but you had watched a few you tube videos so you settled for a deep wine lipstick, a bit of a Smokey eye and some mascara. Good enough.

Next was your clothes. You didn’t have very many nice clothes, but at some point Sam had convinced you to buy a few dresses and heels along with your formal FBI suits in case you needed it in the future.

You never did which had made you extremely grateful because you didn’t feel comfortable in anything other than your baggy clothes.

“Today isn’t about comfort though,” you mutter to yourself with disdain, tugging uncomfortably on the tight black dress as it clings to your thick thighs.

You clasp on some heels, walking around a bit for practice. Your ankles bend and your knees wobble at first, but the longer you walk in them, the easier it gets.

When you feel comfortable enough, you head over to the mirror, staring at yourself.

Instantly, a wave of insecurity slams down on you. The dress left basically nothing to the imagination and you were less than pleased.

Your tummy was protruding and your thighs were basically glued together. Your stretch marks were in full view too.

Before you let the thoughts get to you too much, you stop staring at yourself and spin on your heel to walk away from it.

Not today Y/n. Not when you’re this desperate to stop caring for someone who would never care for you in the way you did.

You’re forgetting Dean remeber?

Needless to say, your resolve doesn’t last long once you step foot into the night club bar situation the brothers had opted for.

It immediately feels like everyone is looking at you as you nervously play with your fingers, writhing uncomfortably beneath the itchy fabric of the dress.

You already regret doing this.

It isn’t long before Sam spots you by the entrance of the semi-packed club and comes running over, eyes wide.

“Y/n,” he breathes, eyes trailing over you. “Oh.”

You scrunch you’re nose up. “It looks bad doesn’t it. I knew it did! I shouldn’t have-“

“What?!” Sam shook his head furiously. “What? No. Not at all Y/n. You just look different is all.”

You look down at yourself, pouting. “Is that bad or good?”

He throws an arm over your shoulder, tugging you to his side. “Good. Definitely good.”

You’re skeptical of his words, but follow him anyway to the bar where Dean is currently at- flirting with a perky brunette.

Your heart instantly drops, but you hide it behind a polite smile as Sam taps his brother’s shoulder.

“Dean. Look who’s here!”

Dean, looking downright annoyed, turns around, clearly ready to tear Sam a new one for interrupting his current rendezvous.

“Sam what- sweetheart,” the nickname falls from his lips like a curse. Like a “fuck!” Or “holy shit!”, except it’s quiet, breathless.

His mouth snaps shut when those eyes land on you, timidly standing beside Sam.

His eyes widen and his lips part as he inhales sharply. And then his eyes are flying everywhere at once, taking in your full figure with a slack jaw.

You shyly smile. “Hey, D.”

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you and you instantly grow insecure thinking maybe it’s because of how ugly you look.

Was he so shocked to see you being “brave” by showing off your huge body like that?

“...Dean?” You hesitate.

He finally snaps out of it, shaking his head. “Y/n.” He swallows thickly, smiling warily.

Geez. That bad?

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, desperate to leave their judging faces.

In your halphazard attempt to run away, you accidentally bump into someone, nearly knocking both of you on the floor. You topple to the side in your tall heels, letting out a tiny yelp.

Without hesitation, two big hands watch you by your arms, steadying you.

“Be careful there sweetness,” his southern accent is thick as sweet molasses and it instantly attracts your eyes to his dark brown ones.

You flush with embarassment when you realize how cute he is. “Oh my God! I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He lets out a bemused chuckle. “It’s quite alright, hun.”

You smile up at him bashfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thanks.”

And with that, you start to walk away from him. He stops you before you can get too far, gripping onto your forearm firmly.

“Wait.”

You look cautiously at where his hand was and he quickly takes it away, laughing nervously. “Sorry. I just- I hope I’m not being too forward. You’re beautiful.”

You raise your brows in disbelief almost instinctively, blushing madly. “Me?” you blurt incredulously.

He laughs fully this time. “Yeah. You. Come sit with me?”

You glance over your shoulder at where the brothers were, immersed in flirty conversations with pretty women and decide why the hell not.

So you nod at him affirmitively with a tiny smile. “Sure.”

It wasn’t long before you were laughing full-heartedly at the man, James. He was genuinely funny and cute and for whatever reason, seemed taken by you. I mean, you couldn’t possibly fathom why.

But the more time passed with the easy banter, the more you drank and the less you worried about well, anything.

“You wouldn’t like me in real life. I’m not like this usually,” you confess, taking sip of your matini when he compliments you once again.

He raises a brow. “Oh? I highly doubt that. But tell me, miss Y/n, what do you usually wear?”

You lean forward, smirking confidently. (Yeah the alcohol was getting to you.)

“Well for starters, the baggiest shirts. The biggest jeans. The oldest flannels,” you lean back, laughing loudly.

“You still look gorgeous probably.”

You can’t help but giggle at his remark, touching his arms for a second. “Oh, James!”

Who even are you right now? Giggling...flirting..

You weren’t used to any of this. So when he places a gentle hand on your thigh you freeze, unable to react any other way because you’d never gotten this kind of attention.

He smirks. “Wanna head back to my place? Keep the party goin’?”

You open your mouth to answer but are cut off by another voice- gruff and angry.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” the deep voice bites.

Your head snaps up and you see Dean, flaring deep green eyes glaring holes into the hand which was still nestled neatly on your thigh.

“Take your hand off her before I make sure you don’t have one at all,” he husks without even looking at either of you.

James instantly retracts his hand, looking between you two with his brows furrowed.

Dean doesn’t let either of you say anything before he’s yanking you off your chair by your arm.

“We’re leaving,” he informs grumpily, leaving no room for protesting of any kind.

Then he’s yanking you along behind him, rough fingers wrapped tightly around your forearm as he carelessly pushes people out of his way.

“Dean-” you whine, struggling to keep up with his long and angry strides in your heels and intoxicated state.

He doesn’t stop until you’re standing before baby and you physically have to rip your arm from his hold.

You’re absolutely fuming at this point.

Who the fuck did he think he was, pulling you out of there like that?

“What the hell, Dean?!?” You wrap your arms around yourself to protect your exposed skin from the cool night breeze.

He doesn’t turn around to look at you, but his voice says it all when he speaks. “Get in the car, Y/n.”

He’s one-hundred percent serious. And done. So so serious and done, in fact, that his voice wavers with the weight of his stern.

And if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately wanted answers or the fact that you were buzzed enough to be able to ignore his fury, you might’ve let it go.

Unfortunately, neither was currently the case.

“No. You had no right! James was-”

“Oh, James!” He exclaims, throwing his hands up sarcastically. “Is that his name!?”

You reeled back from his harsh tone, frowning. “What the fuck is wrong with you Dean? You’re acting completely irrational.”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Y/n. Absolutely nothing,” he grits out with a wry smile.

“I’m going back inside.” You shake your head at him.

He laughs bitterly. “And I’m the one acting irrational! That- that ass just had his hand on your thigh and you just let him. Oh. And now you’re going back inside to do what? Continue letting him feel you up?”

“And what’s so fucking wrong with that?!” You yell back, frustrated by his hurtful words.

What was he insinutating? That you were easy? And anyway, what did he care?

He pauses for a split-second before answering in a venomous snap. “Everything! You’re...” he trails off abruptly.

“I’m what, Dean?” you growl, stepping closer to him.

You licks his lips, inhaling sharply. “You’re-” he falters, softening for only a split second. “Just get in the car, sweetheart” he demands once more this time more quietly, apple green eyes shimmering under the dim street lights.

But you refuse to back down. “No. Tell me what the hell your problem is or I go back inside.”

He let’s out a yell, slamming a hand on the hood of the car and leaning his forehead against it. “Dammit!”

You jolt, startled. He stays there for a few more seconds, back heaving with his audibly labored breaths,

You’re afraid to touch him right now, so you just speak in a soft comforting tone. “Dean. Just talk to me. Why are you acting like this?”

He sighs, slowly turning around to face you. He looks pissed.

“You really wanna know why I’m acting like this?” You go to say yes but before you can, he’s cutting you off. “It because of you,” he growls.

“Me?”

“Yes, you, Y/n. W-with your fucking tight little dress and your heels.” He motions loosely to you, jaw clenched and tight fists by his side. “Flaunting that ass around like-like you wanted James and every damn douchebag in there to fucking come up to you!” He spits the name out like it’s vile in his mouth and you flinch at his accusatory, disgusted tone.

Why the hell was he blaming you for something like that? It made no sense.

You raise your brows, shocked and hurt. “Oh, so because for one night I’ve decided to do what you suggested and actually got some male attention you’re acting like a little bitch?! What the hell is so wrong with that, exactly, Dean? You do this shit all the time, and you don’t see me giving you shit about it!”

He huffs, rolling his eyes and muttering, “It’s different with me.”

You bark out a laugh. “Different how?”

His jaw flexes. “I’m not a kid, for starters!”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking at him like he was out of his damn mind. “I’m not a kid Dean! When are you going to get that? There’s no need to act like a protective ass. I can damn well take care of myself.”

“I’ll get it when you stop acting like some sleazy hooker,” he snaps, green eyes flaring a darker, sinister shade.

You instantly stop, freezing at his words. As if realizing what he’s just said, Dean’s face drops.

He tries to grip your shoulder. “Y/n-“ but you aggressively shove him off of you, holding back tears.

“You’re a dick, Dean.”

He frowns apologetically. “Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m going home Dean. Alone.”

And with that, you spin on your heel and start making your way back to the motel.

Five minutes don’t pass of you first getting inside the motel before you hear the sound of the impala’s engine pulling up.

And suddenly the door is being thrown open, startling even your bones.

Then, before you can even react, Dean is standing in the doorway, chest heaving.

“Dean-“

“It’s because I was jealous,” he blurts as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He doesn’t say anything as he runs a hand through his hair, stepping into the dark room and closing the door behind him.

The tiny ‘click’ of the door closing is defeaning against the tense silence now settled in the four of five feet between you two.

He licks his lips the way he always does when he’s nervous, cautiously look up at you. “I was jealous of James,” he repeats, the confession quiet but more powerful than if he would’ve screamed it because the raw emotion and sincerity were in clear display.

You don’t know what to say for the first few seconds after he speaks and so many thoughts are spinning around in your head.

“Dean I know I’m like your little sister and you’re protective of me but I’m fully capable of-“

“I know you are,” he mumbles, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes- something new and unfamiliar. “That’s not...” he inhales deeply, searching around in his head for the right words. “I wasn’t jealous of you as a....sister.”

Still bewildered, you step a bit closer to him. “Dean, what are you trying to say?”

He groans, chuckling softly. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

Silently, he strides up to you, closing the remaining distance between you two. His hands creep up, gripping your face between them like he’d done so many times before, except this time it felt...different.

The air around you cackled with an unspoken electrifying emotion, his fingers felt like pure fire against your skin and you did it understand what exactly was about to happen but it felt like Ike you were on the verge of something big.

You gaze up at him through your lashes, questioningly.

He smiles, swiping his thumb over your cheek. “You look absolutely beautiful tonight sweetheart. Did I tell you that?”

Your breath hitches and you can’t help but blush madly. “I-I thought you didn’t like it,” you stammer out the admission, scared of his reaction.

He chuckles and his warm breath warms your skin. “Of course I do. You’re stunning. I just don’t want...other guys to see it.” He winces at his confession.

You laugh- not because it’s funny but because you’re nervous and all you can do is laugh.

He turns serious. “I’m sorry for the way I talked to you, sweetheart. I just-“ he purses his lips, pausing. “I hated seeing his hands on you. I hated the fact that he made you laugh in that way the makes your head go back and your eyes glimmer. I hated his stupid accent and his dumb hair because I knew you’d find it adorable. And fuck, I hated that he could give you everything I never could or will be able to,” he lets out all in a few breaths.

You just stare up at him, tears building up in your eyes, starstruck.

“I hate you,” you mutter finally.

He frowns. “Wh-“

You pound on his chest harshly, sobbing. “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you! How could you!”

You try to get your hands on him ever after he’s easily grabbed your wrists, wriggling aggressively.

“Sweetheart! Calm down. What the hell are you on about?!”

You settle for a second, warm tears rolling down your face and easily answer him because he was being a complete and utter jackass right now.

“The fact that you’d lie to me because you pity me makes you a cruel, vile human being Dean Winchester.”

He instantly shakes his head at you, eyes sad. “I’m not saying it because I pity you, sweets. Why would you even think that?”

You laugh bitterly, pointing to yourself. “Well, isn’t it obvious? I’m fat!”

At your words, something clicks in him and he’s suddenly titling your head up to meet his perfect green eyes.

“Y/n, I need you to listen to me very carefully right now okay? You are and will forever be the goddamn most beautiful thing that asshole God has put on this earth. If there is anything I have to thank him for it’s you. Don’t you understand?” He pleads quietly.

You don’t know how you manage to work around your erratically beating heart or the fact that Dean is so close and he smells so much like him, but through the huge lump in your throat you manage to stutter something along the lines of “understand what?”

“That I have to hold myself back from moving my lips from just a few inches away your cheek or your forehead to your lips and kissing the living hell out of you every damn time I touch you. That I love everything about you, even the bad things. Especially the bad things because really, they’re all good.” He laughs breathlessly. “That I wake up and go to sleep with that sweet smile on my mind. That I would do anything to keep it on that pretty face of yours. That I fuck anything with legs imagining that it’s you I’m sinking into. That all I want- no. All I need and fucking ache for every damn day I spend with and without you is the feel of your skin and the softness of your voice.” He swallows thickly, whispering. “That I am so hopelessly in love with someone I can never have.”

You close your mouth after a few long stretched out seconds of having it open. You don’t know what to say at first, still trying to process the emotion in his voice and the sincerity in his eyes and the sudden jolt of electricity shocking your entire body to your very core.

All the same, Dean is looking at you with a terrified expression, holding his breath.

Then, you speak.

“You can have me.”

He looks relieved at first, but then he turn wistful, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and behind your ear, lingering with his fingertips on your cheek for a few seconds.

“I couldn’t do that. You’re so young and we’ve been practically raised together. I couldn’t.”

“But you could!” You protest, chest clenching. “For as long as I can remember, Dean, you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” You bite your lip, placing a tender hand over his chest. “You’re all I need,” you finish in a breathless whisper, leaning against his touch.

You hear him breathe in shakily before he abruptly takes his hand off you and answers in a quiet, regretful tone. “I can’t.”

His words are like another stab to your chest and before you know what you’re doing-

“Fine. But don’t try to stop me from finding someone who can.”

You angrily walk towards the door, but before you can so much as lay a finger on the door knob, Dean’s own hand is shooting out, grabbing your elboe tightly. And then he;s yanking you back.

“The hell you are,” he growls, crushing his mouth onto yours roughly.

The kiss is enough to freeze you in your tracks and everything stops moving for a split second as you take in the feeling of his lips on yours, hard enough to bruise.

Your eyes flutter shut and you suck in a sharp breath, melting in to his touch as his fingertips glide into your hair, tugging at it gently. You moan lightly into his mouth as it slants over yours, deepening the kiss.

His tongue is warm and wet and silky and he tastes like liquor and apple pie and it leaves you breathless for a minute. You drown in his scent of leather and cologne, kissing back with just as much passion, holding onto his neck and shoulders in order to remain upright because your knees are about to give out beneath you.

The kiss happens in a flurry of heat and passion and anger and ends with unimaginable sweetness.

You peer up at him, chest heaving.

“Dean?” your voice trembles.

He smiles softly. “I love you and I’ll be damned if I let you go running to some other man.”

You laugh unbelievingly. “Really? Y-you love me?”

He nods instantly. “Of course.” Suddenly, he smirks.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just glad you wore that dress.”

***

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329 notes · View notes

scarofthewind · 5 years

Note

PLEASE, Billy whose SO gained quite a bit of weight from school stress + a few nasty people bullying her. She loves Billy but thinks that he finds her repulsive so she wears baggy clothes and stops being as affectionate with him. Then one night he climbs into her room and she flinches when he puts his hands on her waist. He asks what's going on and she cries telling him everything. By the end, he goes: "You think I don't find you hot? Let me prove you wrong." Smuttiness and fluff ensue

A/N: There is nothing wrong with the way anyone looks. They are their own person and are beautiful in every way, shape and form. Hope you guys enjoy this! This is B in my masterlist under GhostfaceWarnings: Sexual Content (NSFW), Bondage. Female Pronouns

“Would you stop?” Billy’s hands left your sides as you scooted farther away from him on the couch. The movie on the TV being long forgotten about and a heavy emotion hanging in the air.

“What’s your deal, Y/N? First you won’t look at me, then you won’t let me touch you in any way.” Billy frowned, his eyes watching you closely.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t feel good.” You lied, eyes glued straight ahead. There was a moment of silence before he spoke up again.

“You know I trust you. I fucking admitted to you who I was and what kind of person I was. I haven’t hurt you and I sure as hell haven’t let anyone else.” He moved to stand up and you looked at him then, pulling at the long sleeves of your baggy sweater. “But what’s the point if you keep shutting me out?”

His eyes held something dark and for a moment you thought he might actually harm you. “Don’t talk to me until you’re ready too. If you don’t reach out to me in a week then I’ll come for you.” Suddenly, he moved closer and you flinched. “Don’t think that just because I care about you, means that I won’t rough you up a little.”

Your eyes peered into his for a moment before he turned and walked out the front door. You cried yourself to sleep that night. Not out of fear, but out of shame that you couldn’t tell him.

You couldn’t tell anyone.

Once again, your locker was filled with trash, ruining everything inside.

Once again, the group of assholes beat you up in the back parking lot.

Once again, you cried in the school bathroom and tried to hide the bruises and cuts with makeup.

Once again, you didn’t go to classes for the rest of the day and walked home in the rain.

However, as soon as you walked through the front door, you realized Billy wasn’t lying. He was always there at your house, but he wasn’t now. You didn’t see him at school either. A horrific scene ran through your mind and you cursed before dropping your bag and running out the door.

He wouldn’t be that stupid would he? Billy wasn’t a dumb man, he knew. You knew he knew. You just didn’t know if he knew what they were bullying you about. That’s what you didn’t want him to know.

Your feet ran across the sidewalk, leading you to the woods that surrounded a lake. That’s where the popular kids would go to skip class and do adult things. Your lungs burned and so did your eyes as you let a few branches scratch you as you ran. You didn’t stop until you saw the dock.

Your legs shook and you let your tears fall. Standing a few feet away, Billy faced out towards the lake, cigarette between his fingers and a head in his other hand. You watched as he tossed the man’s head into the lake, and you realized just how much he had done. The police would have to play a matching game to figure out which body part went to what person. Blood covered the dock and you watched as Billy turned his head a bit to look back at you.

Almost as if he commanded your legs to give out, they did. You fell on your hands and knees, heart beating so fast you thought you were going to faint. It had been only a few days since your last talk with him, but you felt that he was ready to rip you in half.

You cried then. Billy watched with interest as he finished his cigarette and walked over towards you, hands stuffed in his pockets. He squatted in front of you and reached out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “I don’t like being lied to, Y/N.”

“It took me having to watch them hurt you and tease you for four days straight before I snapped. Look at what you made me do.” He looked back at the lake and the water that was tinted red. His eyes met yours again and he wiped a few tears away with his thumb. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

“I’m sorry.” You sniffled, watching as he nodded, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back.

“I know you are. You know I’m not an idiot, Y/N. I was going to find out, no matter what it took.” Billy could feel you shaking and he hoped that it was for both being cold and fear.

He loved fear on you, it turned him on.

“I couldn’t tell you. I was too embarrassed.” You sobbed as Billy rubbed your back.

“Gaining weight only makes you look better and feel better. I’ve got more to touch now. Plus, I think you look healthier. If I cut you deeply, it wont kill you like how it killed the skinnier bitches. You barely touch them with a knife and you’ve stabbed right through them.” Billy heard you laugh a bit and he pulled back from the hug, resting his forehead against yours.

“Does this mean we’re okay?” Your eyes stared into his. “Come home Billy.” The man nearly came in his pants at the whine of your voice when you spoke. He needed you and you needed him.

Who was he to hold back from showing you how much he cared about you?

“You have three minutes to get to the house and lay on the bed. Naked or you’ll learn just how deep my love for you goes.” His voice changed in that second and you’ve never run so fast in your life. Busting through the front door, you ran to your room and faltered. The mirror across your room showed how much of a mess you looked. How ugly you looked. Fat.

Your fingers gripped at the bottom of the hoodie you wore and you couldn’t take it off. You didn’t even realize Billy was behind you until he roughly pushed you to the bed.

“Stop.” He growled, staring down at you angrily. “You’re not fat, and you sure as fuck aren’t ugly.”

You looked away from him and didn’t say anything, which only made him blow a fuse. Why were you acting like this? It was annoying him greatly and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“You remember the safe word?” He asked, taking off his belt and tying your wrists to the headboard of the bed. You nodded and he smirked. “It doesn’t apply to what I am about to do to you.” Billy said, siting on your hips and flicking out his pocket knife, cutting the hoodie off your body.

Goosebumps rose all over your skin and your mind raced a mile a minute. What did he mean? The last time he said that, he nearly killed you with how much he kept going. “Billy.” You said, watching as he tossed the shredded clothing aside, not paying attention to you. “Billy!” You shouted and he looked up from cutting at the waistband of your sweatpants.

“You don’t get to speak.” He sighed, rummaging through your bedside table and finding tape, cutting a piece off his this teeth and slapping it over your mouth.

Your breathing quickened and he noticed. Your bra clad chest moved faster the more he got close to finishing. As soon as he took the sweats off and threw them to the floor, he stopped and looked you dead in the eye. You stopped breathing.

“You’ve made me very angry, Y/N. It’s time to take responsibility.” He tossed the knife off the bed and kissed up your stomach, reaching behind you and unclasping your bra. “Look at that.” He groaned, cupping your bare breasts in his hands and running his thumbs over your nipples. “You went up a size here. Gaining weight has its perks.”

You barely had time to register what he had said before you felt his mouth attach itself to one of your nipples, sucking and biting at it hungrily. His hands kneaded them gently and he switched between them, kissing up the middle and reaching your neck. You could feel his breath on your neck, hovering over your jugular vein. “You know you’re mine, right?” His eyes glared at you and you nodded slowly.

“Do you trust me?” His question caught you off guard, causing you to move your head and look him directly in the eyes. “I think you’re the most beautiful and sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not fat. You’re perfect and believe me when I say that.”

You could only stare at him. Never had you heard him say these things to you in the time you’ve been together. You tried to open your mouth to speak but remembered that he’d taped your mouth shut. “I’m not taking it off.” He smiled bitterly at you. His hand moved down to your hips and then your underwear, slowly tugging them down. “I am taking these off though.” He laughed, sliding them down your legs and tossing them behind himself.

“Spread them.” You let out a small laugh and refused, turning your head to the side. A rough hand gripped your chin, squeezing harshly and making you look at him. “What part of this makes you think you have a choice? Spread them or I will break them.” You blinked a few times before slowly opening your legs, watching him sit back and let your chin go.

“Good girl.” His voice dropped as well as his eyes as his hands traced your legs, moving towards your soaking core. You ached for the touch he was going to give, your heart was on edge as you awaited his fingers. Billy smirked, removing himself from you and unzipping his pants. You watched him unclothe himself and cursed mentally, knowing where this was going.

“Sorry babe but I can’t wait to be inside you.” He moaned, rubbing his tip against your opening, watching your juices mix together. He gently pushed himself inside you, his lips parting when he bottomed out. “Fuck you’re tight.”

With a whimper from you, he started to move rocking his hips against you and setting a pace that would have you moaning louder with each thrust. His hands held your hips tightly as he thrusted into you roughly. Your eyes never left his body, watching his muscles flex under the skin as he pounded into you from above. He moved one hand from your hip to push some hair from his face and you felt yourself clench around his cock. Immediately he locked eyes with you and smirked.

Reaching down, he pressed his fingers to your clit, rubbing in tight, harsh circles. Billy watched your face and groaned, feeling you tighten around his shaft. He didn’t have to ask, he knew you were close. His eyes met yours and he grit his teeth, holding himself back from coming undone. “Come for me.” He hissed, watching as your back arched off the bed and your legs clenched around his waist.

“Fuck.” Billy growled, coming with a few more thrusts, pumping his seed into you and gripping your hips, bruising them.

You panted, your eyes seeing stars as he continued his powerful thrusts. Your arms hurt from hanging above your head for so long and you were sure that you were going to die if he kept going. Soft whimpers left your throat and you looked at Billy with pleading eyes.

“I’m not even close to being done with you, Y/N. I’m going to fuck the negative thoughts about yourself right out of you.” Billy stared down at you and slowly removed the tape from your mouth.

You couldn’t say anything, your thighs trembled against his skin and you felt your face heat up under his gaze. “I love you.” You mumbled, your breathing calming down. Billy came to a full stop and bent over to kiss you.

“I know.” He hummed against your lips, reaching up and untying your wrists, pulling you to sit in his lap. No matter how long he wanted to keep going for, you were okay with it in the end as long as it meant he could hold you like this forever.

#Billy Loomis #billy loomis x reader #scream #horror x reader #slasher imagines #[✉️].request #😈.smut

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colorisbyshe · 5 years

Note

did u see that dumb ass shit that happened with jamila jameel? 🙄

the one where she was criticized as a straight non-black woman with zero ballroom experience and she dealt with the criticism by going “oh, i mean i’m still a non-black woman with no experience but actually i’m QUEER (no definition given to what she means by that) and I bring a FANBASE to this SUPER OBSCURE CONCEPT. I QUIT TWITTER!”

i was chill with her taking up the body positivity shit, even though she’s no longer fat and tbh… was never actually like Fat Fat, just like… mildly chubby.

but then she did a ~body positivity at all sizes shoot in a fashion magazine that didn’t offer anything plus size

and then she unleashed some… side eye worthy comments that have come off as anti-black and frankly were

and then she supported ellen being besties with george bush because “I was in england and didn’t know he was that bad” (bitch you were in your 20s??)

and now this

and it’s like……… you should’ve just stuck to being on the good place and calling out celebs for selling teenagers laxative tea

also i am SO fucking TIRED of celebrities entering lgbt spaces (whether it be about singing about ‘teehee when i get drunk i wanna kiss girls!’ or doing shit like this) and then being like “WELL I GUESS YOU CRAZY GAYS FORCED ME TO COME OUT!!! I have been given NO CHOICE but to SAY IM MAYBE INTO THE SAME GENDER BUT WILL NEVER EVER ACT ON IT, JUST SO YOU GET OFF MY FUCKING BACK”

like mAYBE don’t do things that you can only do if you are L G B or T if you are not L G B or T or ARE L G B or T but do not feel comfortable saying so

i’m against pressuring ANYONE to come out but if you are in a context where you HAVE to be lgbt to do what you’re doing, don’t be fucking surprised when people are upset when you seemingly aren’t lgbt and your two options left are either take the criticism or come out. like… FUCK.

but then to use the “being FORCED to come out” bit to get away from the criticism of also being in a space where you don’t belong (ie a historically black space) makes it even worse. like don’t fucking leverage the ‘uwu i’m gay too’ shit when that’s not even the primary issue.

i haven’t watched the last season of the good place yet but i SWEAR i’m gonan be thinking of this shit every time i see tahani because it’s so obnoxious

“i bring in a fresh perspective as a person who doesn’t know jackshit about this” shut UP

#Anonymous

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 5 years

Text

Don't mind me, just losing my mental sh*t

Has anyone else ever noticed it always seems to be the people who’ve never written/posted anything that leave the most unnecessary (and often meanest) comments?

Or the people who themselves write like they haven’t hit puberty yet but feel like they can comment like a professional editor by giving advice that is exactly the opposite of what they were just saying needs to be fixed?!

Not Winx Related, I just really needed to vent. I got a shit review on a non-Winx Story and as I bitch a little about that I'm finally taking the time to address a review I got on my GOT fic, which turned nasty that I want to pick apart, but not to his face because he is not the kind of reviewer who should be interacted with, so I'mma dump it here. (Rant un-beta'd.)

Like? You really want to leave a comment on chapter 2 of a part 30 chapter fic that you haven’t read saying shit like:

“I don’t see the point its basically a rewrite”

When, had you read even one chapter on, you would have begun to see the divergence that is about to slowly snowball out of control while the universe does its best to stay on track. (yes the 'its' typo is review accurate.)

Like buddy, I get it, you've never written anything in your life and you think this is okay to say to someone because, and this may surprise you: you're an asshole.

"The point" was that it was a fun idea, "the point" was that I was enjoying the crossover and figuring out how everything could go wrong by replacing a single major part, "the point" was many, many other people found it hilarious and so did I. Not "the point" but it was also a version of Harry Potter not written by a fcking TERF.

Or:

'This Character is just really out of character, you're doing a bad job of writing him.'

Okay *goes to check their fics to see how they wrote him to see if she can figure out where reviewer is coming from. they have no fics in the fandom.* 'hey reviewer, you say he's out of character, how would you go about fix him so he's more in character?'

'Oh well, he's just not very *season 1 characterisation despite the fact he's explicitly stated to be season 3 end of his character growth story arc*, you should have him do *a thing that is something he would never have done even in season 1*'

Or shit like (and this is a long one from 'Richard' who hid behind the Anon function):

"This is a great fic. It's surprisingly difficult for me to optimize the protagonist. So first,"

Like? excuse you? why would you need to optimize my character?

"I really hope Sansa chooses to mine the metric tonnes of valuable honey and wax from that beehive once she gets her inventory."

So I hate to admit that the honey and wax would be a good idea, and she will be getting a boon of that, but it will be because she'll be getting Bee Hives later, not because she'll think to strip mine a people in dire straights.

"Also, she has valyrian steel claws, which she now knows can dig into the rock very easily. Those crumbling ledges? She can dig new ones, she can dig a staircase. She can widen the entrance so that her soldiers come in to help mine the liquid gold. Especially since she appreciates the difference between currency and goods. Of course, maybe she'll establish diplomatic relations instead."

So I am going to look so fcking petty when I finally get the next chapter out, because I actually addressed this idea with reality. Trust me, I did some research, and while there's almost nothing easily found on how long it would take to do this sort of work by hand, what I found supported the idea that it's stupid. It takes (and I shit you not) literal days with a team of men using hand tools to carve through even a few metres of rock (the exact time depends on how hard the rock is and how large they make the opening/area).

Sansa would be literally clawing at the walls with her nails which, while yes they are Valyrian steel, are still attached to very human fingers and arms. and here's where my first hand knowledge kicks back in: I went on a mock archaeological dig when I was in high school, I spent several hours scrapping layers of compact sand to uncover artefacts, resistance levels aside, the repeated action is hell on your muscles, Sansa would spend as much time recovering as she would digging. to get all the way to the entrance would take her literal years with Richard's suggested method.

PLUS: the point of the adventures is for SANSA (and Arya) to have the spot light, to be forced to think and find ways to use the new Abilities they've been given, or to come up with new ones. It's part of my whole "Power is Earned, or it is Corrupted" mentality, if you don't work for it, you will sooner rather than later abuse it.

AND: of course she's going to use diplomatic solutions, she's Sansa, and that's what the clue of foreshadowing was saying! Literally everything you need to know to solve the Dungeons is in their individual clues!!!

"Secondly, medieval people already had long-lasting torches which burned for hours and hours instead of 5-10 minutes. Each torch looked like a pillar or stupidly elongated torch that was carried with the tip lit and burning down like a candle. They also didn't use candles as those were too expensive. They used rushes soaked in fat which could be made by the dozens to hundreds with a few hours' work. There's a youtube video on this subject entitled medieval misconceptions: torches and candles."

Oh. My. God. Such. Valuable. Information. If . Only. I had. Known. This. When. I wrote. about. reed candles. in this. very fic.

Literally of the four times I used the word candle, twice it was explicitly 'reed candles' (and guess what other name rushes go by?) and once it was a metaphor specifically about the smoke and not the candle.

As for the pillar candles, the ones that burn for hours are too heavy for someone of Sansa's size and arm strength and the hour candles, (if you've ever seen Avatar Last Airbender, the candles they used in the Secret Tunnel) are unwieldy and aren't so good for putting down in a way that doesn't risk them going out. (Putting them far enough into a wall sconce that it won't topple back out makes it very tricky to remove it.)

Which, why even bother with torches that are more effort to obtain when Sansa's powers make the 'advantage' obsolete anyway!? Not to mention: Displayed Content! If a show uses something even in the background, it exists in that world. Wax candles aren't that rare. (Also side note, because I do my fcking research: the majority of hives which supply the honey and wax to Westeros are owned by the Maesters of old town.)

"I don't really care about those things though. The latter is a mistake literally everyone makes and I didn't know was a mistake until a month ago. Which goes into my third point, how Sansa could optimize things."

Then why bring it up, especially since I didn't technically make said mistake??

"At this point she knows she needs people and she's already given her powers to someone trustworthy. She also knows that healing is a power she can give. And she knows they're going to need this at least as much as medics. And there are indeed people she trusts whom she hasn't approached with an offer of power. Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, Lyra Mormont of Bear Island, and Tyrion Lannister. Tyrion Lannister can wait but not forever. Lyra should be approached as soon as possible."

NO. Arya was the exception, not the rule, Sansa isn't going to just go off and give her god-blessed powers to anyone else. I was hesitant to give it to Arya as it was, and only let myself because I could use the 'Arya's God is Death, there's more stakes than you thought' to fully justify it.

Tyrion as he is can't be trusted, and future Tyrion chose Dany over Sansa, neither Sansa nor Arya know how his story ended, so as far as they are concerned he's a good ally, but not actually trust worthy enough for this.

For those of you confused, Lyra Mormont is one of the daughters of the Lady Maege Mormont, and one of Lyanna's sisters. Lyra got maybe two mentions in the books and nothing in the tv series so I can only assume Richard meant Lyanna, who is currently 2 years old! But we'll come back to this, because Richard sure did!!!

As for the medic thing, I really hope Richard meant he was fcking off for good in his final word, because if he comes back, I really don't want him to think he's responsible for the medic corps that I've been planning and attempting to foreshadow with Sansa approaching Luwin, and Beth and Jeyne following Sansa's lead with archery.

Like, oh hey, guess which unfortunate field medic bride of a Stark might find her way to Winterfell if she hears about young women being trained in some basic healing to help Maester Luwin deal with any cases of over flow of patients. That's right, I'm planning for triage nurses! No magical powers required.

"I assume she's going to get glass from Lys through the Tapestry of Doors. For that she's going to need tokens. She's going to need tokens for everything, and she already knows it. So collecting and hoarding tokens should be a big priority for her. And that means going places where there are tokens to be got. Places she hasn't gone to yet, like The Wall and Bear Island. Just to get tokens."

No. Again, just NO! Sansa already stated that Tokens and relying on them were a thing that would come back to bite her, she'll horde them as she finds them, but she's not going out of her way to find them because she has things to do! Also: the Tapestry of Doors was a piece of Flavour text for way late in the fic if it ever came back, and like a Stargate, requires one at each end, so someone would have to travel to Lys anyway, which is dumb when Sansa now has a Loom which can copy any 'raw' material, and the ability to convert that 'raw' material' into any object she has the blueprint for, which she can get by 'scanning' with her console.

She just has to put 2 and 2 together!!

"She also knows there are dungeons in each place, and that she needs to get to them. And that it's better if she gets in with people. Like people Lyra trusts to whatever dungeon is in Bear Island."

The thing about the Dungeons is that the whole thing is for Sansa, some of them will have special requirements, but very few of them are crucial, they're just there so Sansa has a place and a trial to obtain Unique Items of game breaking power or ability.

"The last way to optimise her powers is one I don't think she'll take even though it has a lot of benefits. Going with a squad of soldiers into the Dreadfort's dungeon in order to confront the walking dead, with hit and run tactics slowly draining the population there. The main benefit and reason to do this is to harden and blood the soldiers to prepare them for the Long Night, so she should have the soldiers on rotation in order to expose as many as possible to the horrors to come."

Problem is the undead in the Dreadfort Dungeon aren't the same as the Wights and White Walkers, they can just be killed in the same ways. The idea of these kinds of fics is that by the time the Long Night Comes, Sansa and Arya can do most if the heavy lifting. You are right that Sansa wouldn't risk her people for some EXP though.

Sansa will be going back though, there's a pair of Shears and Needle in there.

"Also, the loot should be great. Perhaps another loom. But I would do it even for more bobbins. Or nothing at all."

Literally the Loom is a one off item. It is super powerful with what it can do in the context, so having more than one would ruin the power balance I've been trying to keep between Power Fantasy and OP Bullshit.

Someone of course pointed out that (Richard said Lyra, but responder said Lynna) Lyanna was currently literally 2 or 3 years old, she can't do shit. (they also brought up that 2 (actually 3) characters had already declined the super powers, because it included bad timeline memory downloads.) Guess how Richard took that?!

If you guessed "not well" you get a cookie!

Seriously, I was kind of annoyed at his review because^^^ reasons he was wrong about stuff, but also the arrogance of 'telling me how to optimize my character' was just, icky, so I was just going to ignore him.

But then he went (in response to the other reviewer):

"(snort) I think you need to recall what Lyanna Mormont is like at 10 years of age. She is a force and she is in charge. And what exactly is your objection, that Sansa needs consent or is preserving innocence?"

No moron, the objection is that she's literally 2 or 3 years old, what the fck is she going to do in her tiny little body? But yes, now that you mention it, Sansa (was assaulted and lost her bodily autonomy, she) would place a huge amount of importance on consent, it's one of the reasons she was so upset by Arya taking advantage of her sleepy state to get her to agree.

"Lyanna Mormont wouldn't care. Jon and Robb care, that's why their sister cares. Lyanna would never thank Sansa for trying to preserve her innocence, keep her ignorant, or keep her weak. She would be insulted."

Lyanna is literally 2 or 3 years old, she doesn't know enough to care or be insulted by not being told that she's lost the chance to remember several years of horrific shit before being violently murdered.

Also I notice you didn't say anything about the name correction. Got it wrong the first time did you?

"Which leaves only respecting Lyanna's will. Or her mother's will maybe. Or at least informing them of what she's decided to do before she does it so they can prepare. But Sansa gains nothing by not asking."

And what would she gain by asking? also nothing. Lyanna is 2 or 3 years old. Also the fic isn't about her. Why would Sansa even trust her? The child who thought she could judge Sansa for being unable to stab her way out of some horrible places? who scorned Sansa because she was femme? Because Sansa's strength isn't the same as hers so Lynna decided Sansa didn't have any?

Lynna chose Jon to lead the North over Sansa who had a better claim to the throne, Jon, who spent the entire 8th season saying how much he doesn't want to be king, Jon who legit just tried to walk away from the Command of the Nights Watch.

"And this brings up another issue, the fact Sansa never decided FOR Jon and Robb cuts both ways. She informed them of their choice and she let them make it."

"Sansa didn't keep them in the dark without informing them of the decision she was making for them, as you seem to want to do, since that definitely isn't the right thing to do. Mushroom management is a shit heap."

The boys were already aware that something was up, Sansa had nothing to gain by lying, and she made the offer before she realised the memories were a thing.

"The question to ask a toddler is "do you want to grow up?" it's not a difficult question to ask and it does have a meaningful answer. And that's the problem you have, because you already know Lyanna Mormont would say yes and you want her to say no. That's why you want the question never asked."

"You want to pretend that Lyanna Mormont, DEFINITELY in charge of bear island at 10 years of age, is a gormless wimp like 25 year old Jon Snow who refused to be king and refused to even THINK whether or not Daenerys would be a good queen by constantly uttering the refrain "she is my queen"."

Laynna was in charge because she was the last of her family, everyone else was lost fighting someone else's war. More importantly: she's not even part of the equation? Why would Sansa travel to Bear Island to ask a 2 or 3 year old if she wants to become an angry and traumatised 10 year old in a 2 or 3 year old body which will feel like a prison because she's not as tall or fast as she used to be, because she can't lift or climb or jump or ride or fight like she used to.

And for what? a few super powers she has to ask Sansa for? For mental trauma her family and friends cannot comprehend?

But no, have a look at the part where Richard really started to cross the line:

"No, Lyanna Mormont wants power, wants to grow up, that is obvious. And you're an obstacle in her way. She would hurt you for standing in her way, probably smashing a mace in your knees. And you're so weak that yes you would in fact be hurt by a 2 or 3 year old toddler. She killed a giant and she would have no problem killing you for daring to think you're a giant."

"Stand aside little man and let Lyanna Mormont have her glory."

Now I don't know what this guy's obsession is with Lyanna, but that sounded like a threat to me. Like, who tells people that a fiction character would physically maim or murder a real person just for pointing out said fictional character is 2 or 3 years old?

Lyanna doesn't want power? She's not that kind of person, even if she is fictional? More importantly:

Neither I nor the reviewer were 'standing in her way' because she's a fictional character who's not even in this fic!!!

But his behaviour was pretty shit, so I told him to knock it off or I was going to turn the review filters on.

That went about as well as you might expect.

So I was All:

[I don't know what you think you mean by 'optimize the character' but half of your assumptions are wrong, the rest run counter to my pre-existing plans and I don't care for your overall demeanour. I was prepared to leave your post be, but your recent reply is inappropriate and uses language which runs VERY close to sounding like a death threat, which I DO NOT APPRECIATE. I don't want to be 'that bitch', but I am going to ask you to please be respectful, or I will be turning on the comment filters.]

Because I don't Know if you know this but AO3 has three filters in the privacy tab of every story posted:

1] “Only show your work to registered users”

this means that you MUST be logged in to an AO3 account to even find it let alone read it

2] Disable Anonymous Comments

you Must be logged in to leave a comment

3] Enable Comment Moderation

doesn't matter what you say, with out Author OK, your review will not be showing up in the comment section.

(… tumblr just did that thing again where it refreshes in the middle of my thousands of words of text and loses all my stuff, it is literally making me want to kill myself. Because I have to retype all the responses from the next fcking section. It's my own fault for not just using a word document, but also: fck tumblr? For being stupid?)

So, from here Richard had three options:

1- Apologise and move one

2- say nothing and pretend it hadn't happened and move on

3- He went with this:

“Your Sansa Stark is weaker than canon Sansa Stark. It's true your Sansa Stark has a strictly higher level of ambition than Sansa Stark. But what she uses in order to achieve her goals, her resources, is weaker.”

“She uses actions, capabilities and skills. She uses embroidery, archery, learning (archery), she uses the people she already knows but not strangers. She uses and manipulates the people she can interact with, learn from, act upon. The level of people that is directly equal to skills.”“

She doesn't use language, nor does she use strangers. Strangers are the level of people that don't require interaction but DO require language to deal with. And your Sansa Stark's language is too weak. When she manipulates the maid in the Dreadfort, it's entirely accidentally and unintentionally.”

Sansa has seen what power does to people, she's seen what lies ahead for the manipulators of the world, she's been taught at the side of Cersei and Petyr, and she does not want to become them. For all the horrific things she's gone through, Sansa came out the other side with her compassion intact, possibly even stronger than before.

“She talks to Domeric only because she's already interacted with him, she's been healing him for days by that point. She fakes Green Dreaming to her father because she knows her language is inadequate and will achieve nothing. The way her father and mother treat her, they know mere words would be inadequate. And they would dismiss any words she said. "Haven't we told our children dreams can't hurt you?"”

She doesn't want to interact with Domeric, he looks like the man who violated her repeatedly, killed her brother and sacked her home. She wants to be as far away from him as possible. When she does end up interacting with him, despite being so sleep deprived it's a wonder she hadn't started hallucinating, she manages to win him over pretty easily.

She fakes Green Dreaming because “a god made me time travel” is not only a ridiculous concept but a foreign one as well. Why would Sansa tell her parents that when it would mean admitting to going through some horrific shit, to letting her family down and being let down by her family when Green Dreams are a known thing which explains her knowledge. It's not inadequacy, it's efficiency and an attempt to hide horrible things.

I need to point out that “Haven't we told our children that dreams can't hurt you?” is said by Catelyn in self-recrimination afterwards, and is said specifically to reference the reason Sansa might not have felt she could go to them with her problem was because it was based on dreams. Because what parent would take dreams as a serious threat unless they were a Nightmare on Elm Street survivor, especially since Green Seers have become so rare they've been relegated back to myths and stories by the time Jojen and Bran show up.

“Language requires actions such as mouthing, shouting, tonguing, but actions will never add up to language. Actions are necessary but NOT SUFFICIENT for language. This is why you can't write a single damned sentence with only actions. Try it, you won't be able to.”

I can't take this paragraph seriously if only because of the use of the word 'tonguing'. FFS, he sounds like a small child trying to convince people he's got a PhD. 'If I throw out some big words and phrase them right they'll sound 'academic' and I'll look smarter!

'I know this probably isn't what Richard meant but: Sign Language? Is literally all actions?

(Obviously real language requires thoughts and concepts to be communicated to be a language, but even the most primitive of body movements can express something: I'm hot, I'm hungry, I'm angry, etc. It might not be true language, but it is communication, which is the basis of language, the reason we made language in the first place.)

“Canon Sansa Stark had dreams, plans, and designs on what others have. She wanted to wed a prince, she had designs on the princess position. She wanted out of King's Landing. She wanted Winterfell. She wanted the Knights of the Vale to fight ... FOR HER.”

“People who had never met canon Sansa Stark in their entire lives fought and died for canon Sansa Stark's benefit. For the designs of a (her words) stupid girl. And sure, her initial designs were stupid. And they only rose up to being pathetic. But they were designs, they were dreams, they were plans.”

I need to talk about my interpretation of Sansa for a minute, because that's what I've been writing: my interpretation of Sansa.

Sansa was raised with an idea of how the world should be, not how it was. She was raised loved and protected and surrounded by men of honour. Fed stories of heroes, brave knights and valiant princes, where good always triumphed, or was romantically defeated and beautifully tragic.

She wasn't raised to expect dishonourable men and hidden motives, she wasn't raised expecting a (metaphorical) dagger in her back.

She didn't want the crown, she didn't want the throne, she wanted “the prince” from her stories, who would cherish her and care for her and give her a family filled with love. And yes the pretty dresses and the shiny jewels and the adoration and praise. But she never wanted power, that came later.

Later after she'd seen the cracks in the world and the grime beneath the gilding, when she'd learned friend and foe were often the same, that people with power would hurt her, use her, that she was nothing but a trophy to them.

Sansa wanted power because “if I'm the one with the power, then they can't hurt me any more, if I have the power I'll be safe, if I have the power then I can protect people, if I have the power I can stop people like that.”

But Sansa has never had power, it was always borrowed, an illusion that could vanish at one misstep. She had no money of her own, her blood made her valuable to others as a trade commodity, but gave her no personal power.

When people fought for her, it was never really about her.

Petyr gave her armies so he could win favour so he could use her as a proxy for her dead mother. Brienne fought to fulfil an oath to Sansa's dead mother.

The Men of the North fought for Winterfell, to get revenge on the Boltons. The Wildings followed Jon Snow. And when it was over, it was Jon who was crowned king, not Sansa the one who had to talk him into getting back their home in the first place.

Her parents and Robb fought for her, but their armies fought for House Stark, for the insult Sansa and Arya's capture and Ned's death presented.

“Your Sansa Stark has no plans, has no dreams, and certainly has no designs. She doesn't use language, because her language is too weak and has no power. She doesn't use her emotions or feelings because they are brittle and far too weak to be used. Weaker even than the emotions and feelings of a stupid girl. She doesn't use her mind or intellect because she doesn't cogitate. She uses skills and ONLY skills. To try to fake everything else.”

It's odd that he says this when he started off this response by saying my Sansa was more ambitious than canon Sansa.

First of all: I thought I was making it fairly clear that her goals were: save her family, save the North, stop the White Walkers.

Her dreams are to never be beholden to another man ever again.

Sansa wants her family alive, she wants to be safe and she wants to be free of all the political manipulations she had to sit through in the first timeline.

Second of all: Richard has clearly never been assaulted in his life in any way and I am so fcking happy for him. Really.

Look, people who suffer long term trauma, (or short term, it doesn't matter how long really) are not magically okay afterwards. The idea that sexual assault makes femme women strong is disgusting and so toxically prevalent in movies and shows and books these days its... horrific. You'll notice butch women like Arya aren't typically assaulted to be strong, because they're already so 'manly'. It was a genuine surprise when they tried to have Brienne assaulted, but that was more about showing how much of a 'good guy' Jaime was than Brienne.

You can really tell in several places that the tv series had non-con fetishists on staff.

Sansa is so brittle now, because she feels safe enough to let herself feel the fear she wasn't able to earlier, to work through the panic and the anger and all the emotions she couldn't before.

“Your Sansa Stark plans to use skills in order to change the world. And since it's obvious the world isn't run by woodcutters or farmers or archers or anyone else defined by their SKILLS, she will fail. She will fail abysmally, totally and catastrophically. She hasn't got the slightest sliver of a chance.”

Quick tally: Sansa has managed to convince her parents she had knowledge of the future, put them on track to realising Petyr Baelish was stealing from the Crown, got Stannis curious in Dragonstone, came up with a plan to gain favour for the North by helping to pay of part of the Crown's debt and has begun working on a plan to ensure more food is available for the Northerners when Winter arrives.

Not to mention, (and you'd easily miss this): Sansa has begun influencing a shift in the young women of the North who had previously been influenced by the South.

The thing is, Richard seems convinced its about the looting and the grinding, 'kill enough stuff and you become a God!' but it's not.

“So you stacked the deck in her favor. You put a high tier deity on her side. Now Sansa has a slim chance to squeak out a win, using the power she's borrowing. But here's the thing, it will never be HER win because it isn't HER power, it isn't HER plans. Your Sansa Stark has no plans, but her deity does, even if they're stupid plans of puerile amusement-seeking. So IF there is a victory at the end, it will never be Sansa Stark's victory, it will be her deity's. Because she is only a pawn, a tool, a peon, a minion.”

Richard doesn't seem to understand what the introduction of Arya's God means for the lore. The amount of death from the wars is causing Bad Things in the back ground of the original timeline.

Sansa isn't the Being's pawn, she's their start player, the Being is a sponsor who's giving Sansa the chance and resources to be greater than she was. It's not about 'puerile amusement-seeking', but how do you tell a young woman who's gone through what Sansa's gone through that the fate of the entire human race is in her hands, that if she fails it won't just be her family that falls.

If Sansa thinks the Being just wants amusement, then Sansa will act as she pleases and hope it's good enough, which puts her closer in line with saving the world than if she's actually trying to save the world, because that is a much bigger task than 'stop the issues that got my family killed'.

The Being is only victorious if Sansa is, it's their shared victory.

Now up until this point Richard has been an arrogant tool, but it might almost seem like he's being reasonable. This is where he loses the plot and just starts back on his favourite fall back: threatening people with violence.

“Now generally, when an author writes a protagonist who is a pawn, a tool, a peon and a minion of a higher power, when they write a protagonist who is WEAK, it's because they themselves are weak. Generally doesn't mean universally however, so I had to know. And now I do. You are weak Jasper.”

“You want to convince me of something Jasper. You want to convince me that I'm wrong, that my opinion is wrong, that my position is wrong, you want me to change my mind, you want me to know my plans and judgment are wrong. Because they're in conflict with yours. But how do you achieve this? By threatening me with your borrowed power. Exactly like your Sansa Stark.”

Did he have to google the list of synonyms there?

I don't know what it is about being referred to by name, but it bugs me that he chose to use only a portion of my pen-name like we were somehow familiar, rather than not using my name or referring to me as OP or something along those lines.

Also I really have to disagree that only weak people write about people being weak, but I don't think his opinions of weak and strong match with mine either.

He is wrong, but more importantly: he threatened someone with violence for daring to correct him.

I wasn't threatening him, I was warning him to stop being an asshole or I would disable anonymous commenting.

“You do this because you're weak. And what do we call weak people who complain about strong people's actions when they are the bitches of higher powers? We call them exactly what you "don't want to be", we call them bitches. You are a bitch to higher powers and you bitch about higher powers like me. You bitch about people who can use their intellects. And for a good reason too.”

“You fear my attitude because I am the bitch slapper. I slap little bitches like you all fucking day long every single day. It doesn't matter to me who it is, whether it's my own friends who are bitching, I slap them for it. And you will never ever convince me that you're right. Because you're weak. And because I don't respect bitches.”

Look, I've seen enough therapists of different varieties to pull off some impressive psych 101 bullshit so I can tell you right now: Richard is a man who has never held any real authority in his life, he has mediocre skills at best and often feels talked down to because he feels more entitled than he is and no one treats him like a god for breathing. He refuses to back down when wrong even in the face of evidence and then he pouts because the world didn't shift to match his delusions.

The worst part is I know this, and I know I shouldn't let this bother me. But it does. But it shouldn't and I can tell him to his 'face' via review reply why he's wrong, or he'll know it bothers me, then he'll feel validated, even though he's wrong. And he'll probably threaten someone with more violence and then I really will have to disable anon comments and effectively punish some readers who did nothing wrong.

“So what are you going to do to me that I care about? Stop me from reading your fic? You don't have that power. Stop writing it so that I can no longer learn how your mind works, my ulterior motive? That would be cutting your nose to spite your face. You would suffer far out of proportion to me. I would just move on to some other author. Report me? Go ahead, I don't care. Really, we're done here, so have a nice life.”

Yes I do, literally the first of the privacy filters would stop you from reading, but that would hurt my other readers who don't have an account.

'Ulterior motive'? Buddy, you apparently don't understand how any mind works.

Again: if you don't care why bring it up?

Are you really leaving though? Do you promise?!

“The only thing you could ever do to me is surprise me by ceasing to be a weak little bitch. Or even resolving to not be one. This would invalidate all of my predictions by rising to my implied challenge. That's what I like, win-win. (lol) I'm not holding my breath though.”

I don't have anything to prove to this douche tool and it bothers me that this is bothering me so much!!!! The worst part is, this review came at a time when my attention for the fic was flagging, so I'll never know if it was really this review or not that made me stop writing for the past few months?

Those of you with an AO3 account who drop by my profile to see if I wrote anything interesting may have noticed my recent 'for archive users only' locked fic. I can confirm that yes: to mental detox this review I went and watched a Chinese Xianxia drama that has become my new hyper-focus. Almost 100 plot bunnies are being posted into the locked fic in an effort to purge it rom my brain so I can get back to what I was doing. It seems to be working. I wrote about 1000 words for Episode: Sisterhood this week, so the chapter is almost done. At last!

#just blog stuff #i’m just bitching now #absolute aggro #swearing #op would like to die #not winx or alt con related #i'm just really angry about it even though I know I should know better #eleven pages of op being an angry incoherent mess

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writerofmanyfandoms · 6 years

Text

Insecurities

Summary: Requested!Han SoloxPlusSized!Reader! Set a little after Solo. The newest addition to the Han-Chewie team, Han somehow manages to wrangle you in to accompany him on a mission. Will things actually run as smoothly as everyone hopes? Probably not, but you have grown accustomed to things not working out exactly the way you would like.

Pairing: Han Solo x Reader

Word Count: 1870

Warnings: being insecure, language, suggestive at times, extra fluffy at the end

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Hope all is well! I have come down with a bitch of a sinus infection, but I wanted to make sure I could put a story out! I may be getting a new laptop or even a desktop soon, so let’s cross our fingers! I have never written a Plus Sized Reader before, so I hope this is good! I am plus sized myself, and I always enjoy reading Plus Sized reader inserts. Hopefully, I can do more of these in the future! Everyone deserves to feel included.

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or the characters. Also, I do not own this GIF, found on GIPHY

You stared at your reflection for what seemed like hours. Somedays you felt so confident and loved every article of clothing you were. Other days it felt as if your clothes were too tight and you couldn’t stretch them enough. Unfortunately, today was one of those bad days. In the back of your mind, you knew you were gorgeous, as conceited as that sounded. You had curves and some extra body, sure, but it didn’t make you ugly.

Finally settling into a black flowy dress, you quickly pulled your hair up into a formal bun. As if on cue, you saw Han appear in the mirror behind you.

“About time, Y/N. I always end up waiting on you. You take forever.” He teased, looking at you. He couldn’t help but admire you, his eyes lingering far longer than they should have, which made you feel a bit self-conscious. Normally his glance would have been appreciative, as you normally had the ability to at least act confidence.

You were sure that Han still seemed unaware of your feelings, and if he had known he surely wasn’t bringing it up. Although, you were rather oblivious to his feelings. Ever since you first healed him and Chewie, he had been smitten. He acted as if he didn’t want you to travel along with him, and tried to act as if he was doing you a favor when he ‘finally’ caved.

“Well I am ready, so let’s go.” You said, although a bit too short which caused him to raise his eyebrows.

“Alrighty, someone woke up in a bad mood. Let me just remind you. As soon as we get off the ship, Chewie is going to park this somewhere hidden. We are going to find out as much information as we can on where the Imperial Captain keeps the fuel. I need to deliver that to a potential buyer. As soon as we get out, we will radio Chewie and meet back up with him.” Han told you, as the two of you began to exit.

You didn’t feel comfortable helping him smuggle, but when he asked for your help you practically melted. It hadn’t taken very long for the two of you to open up, which was surprising, especially after he told you about what he had recently been through. Deep in your mind, you wished you didn’t like Han the way you did. Guys like him didn’t want girls like you. You knew that almost better than anyone. You saw the way his eyes would look at those thin, tall, gorgeous women. If it wasn’t so expected. It probably would have hurt your feelings.

Being this deep in thought was never good for you. On your more insecure days, you tended to stay by yourself, but you couldn’t today. And it didn’t help that the top half of this dress was more fitted than you liked, but you were running out of time to change.

“You look really nice tonight,” Han said, his voice soft as the two of you approached the entrance, and he flashed the invites to the security guard.

“Oh shut up.” You mumbled, rolling your eyes as the guard waved you through. Despite wanting to believe him, you were scared that Han was only joking or even just saying that to trick you. You were no stranger to cruel jokes. When you were younger boys and girls would always pay you a compliment, only to run back to their group of friends and laugh it off.

Han could see it in your eyes that you didn’t really believe him. He wanted you to though because he truly meant it. He loved the way you looked, everything from the way your clothes fit your body, to the way your hair would fall down your back after taking it down. You were truly a magnificent sight, and he only wanted you to see it all of the time.

“Okay, so let’s split up. We will do some talking, try to find out whatever it is we can. We will meet up every twenty minutes or so to check on the progress. As soon as we find out what we need, we can get the hell out of here. Agree?” Han asked, you only nodding your head in approval.

The two of you drifted to other sides of the room, and you couldn’t think of how easy Han had it. All he had to do was flirt around with the pretty girls, and he could easily find out what he needed. Honestly, why would he even need you? You rolled your eyes at the thought. Of course, he could just flirt his way, who could blame him? He was definitely charming and good looking, and he could smooth talk any woman who wanted to hear his flattery.

Like clockwork, the two of you would meet up, but neither one of you had found out what you needed. It felt as if Han was so easy at this, you often would struggle at making small talk with large groups of strangers. Unlike Han, you were easy at blending in. You were used to people not noticing you, or forgetting you were around. It was exactly how you found out that he kept his fuel on Coruscant, in a little cantina that was owned by his brother. The ladies were gossiping about it, as you stood nearby.

All of a sudden music started playing, and everyone was pairing off. You couldn’t help but panic, dancing was definitely not your strong suit. You had thought you were in the clear until you felt a hand on your back and the familiar, yet very handsome face of Han Solo.

“Hey, hey Y/N. Not so fast, have this dance with me. Besides, we need to blend in and I am having no luck.” He said, pulling you in close and holding on to your hand.

As you wrapped an arm around him, you realized you didn’t want to tell him the information. Not yet. You knew it was stupid and silly, and probably not a good idea to hold on to it, but you wanted to enjoy this moment for a little while longer.

“Oh yeah? Me either. I figured you would, all of those girls look like they are ready to jump into bed with you.” You teased, faking a grin as he rolled his eyes.

“Just because I flirt with women does not mean I like them. I normally have an ulterior motive. I learned that sometimes it is the only way to get information or for them to lead me somewhere.” Han said, a bit too nonchalantly, and your eyes immediately stared down at your feet as the two of you danced. “But in all honesty, I do like someone. It’s you.” He admitted, surprised as you halted so suddenly.

“What the fuck Han? Is this some sort of sick joke? It isn’t funny.” You said, your voice low but definitely sounded angry.

“Wait, no? Why would I be joking?” Han asked, confusion plastered all over his face.

“Oh fuck off, don’t play dumb. You flirt with all of those women with smaller waists then me, who have the perfect body and can run around naked and no one would bat an eye. So don’t even try and play and act as if someone like me is your type.” You seethed, as you began to storm out. As soon as you got outside you took off running. It didn’t matter where you went, just as long as you were away from Han.

It didn’t take you very long to find a nice secluded park bench, and you quickly sat down. You definitely hated running, but all of the adrenaline you had made it seem a lot easier. It felt like forever until you felt a warm body near you, and you were too exhausted to argue.

“Y/N, why did you run off? And explode like that? Do you really think I am the type of guy to do something like that to you? Yeah, I can be a bit of an ass, but damn. I’m not cruel.” Han said, sitting down beside you.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head. You knew Han really wasn’t that way, it was just a part of your brain could not believe what he had been saying. You had been let down a lot in life, and you were just extremely guarded.

“Of course not. But you flirt with so many women, you never once have done that to me.” You said, kicking some gravel beneath your feet, thankful that you had opted for some comfortable flats.

Han couldn’t help but chuckle, rolling his eyes as he nudged you. “Of course I don’t do that to you. Why would I? I don’t flirt with those women because I like them. I do it because not only am I wonderful at it, but because I know some women respond well to my flattery. I knew you would never, and I liked you too much to want to flirt with you like that. I do flirt with you, Y/N, it just isn’t the way you are used to seeing. So you would have never expected it.”

“Okay then, well explain why you like me. Why me? Look at me. I have chub in all of the wrong spots, I can’t run a marathon, or flaunt around naked.” You said, but Han only shook his head.

“I mean, feel free to flaunt your naked body in front of me. I would definitely appreciate it.” He teased, smiling as you laughed and rolled your eyes. “See, that’s why. Because you don’t always see that you are beautiful. I know you can be confident, but I also know when you aren’t, and I want to help make you feel better. We all have insecurities. I don’t think you are fat, I think you are perfect. All sizes are beautiful, and I definitely do not discriminate. You also have the most wonderful smile, and every time you laugh it makes me happy. You are so many things, and I wish you could see those things all of the time.” Han said, leaning in close and cupping your face with his chin.

As soon as he finished talking, you couldn’t help but press your lips against his. Despite him wanting everyone to think he was some rough smuggler, he did have a soft heart. You wanted this moment to last forever, but unfortunately, the two of you pulled away.

“Come on, let’s get to the Falcon. I don’t want to hang around here too long. Plus it sucks that we couldn’t get that information.” Han said, hopping up, holding his hand out for you to take.

“About that, I actually did. It is at his brother’s night club. I just wanted to dance with you.” You said with a grin, laughing as he wrapped his arms around you.

“Y/N! You are the best.” Han said, giving you such a deep kiss that you could feel your insecurities melt away. Maybe some things do work out well after all.

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zankivich · 6 years

Text

Neighbors: Shawn x Plus-Size Reader Chapter 1

Prompt: It’s 2am and I’m drunk and I need some salt for my fries and I know your awake so OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR

I’m reminded of that story Shawn told about the girl who showed up on his porch in the middle of the winter with nothing but a crop top on saying she was lost. But like...normal. And not creepy. Also I wanted to write Shawn with a plus size woman and this was my first attempt, but I finished the other one first. Let me know if ya like!

Edit: Hi! No longer a one shot. This is now a series! Check masterlist for more chapters.

The only only thing that's keeping you whole at the moment was the bag of grease and destruction in your hands. You had gone to some dumb club and danced with some dumb guy only to find out he was a handsy dickhead and you’d had to pull out the switchblade from your bra to give him the message of back the fuck off. You’d specifically gone out to get laid and if dickhead would’ve just not been an uber creep, you definitely would’ve been down. As it was, the only thing going in your mouth was about to be these bomb ass french fries.

You got into your apartment already reaching inside to try a bite only to shutter with disappointment. There was no salt. What fuck is a french fry without salt? It didn’t occur to you to look for any salt yourself. You were drunk for christ’s sake, and if anything you DESERVED someone to fucking salt your fries for you. You’re a lady dammit!

Seeing as how you lived alone in an apartment building, and there was no one there to solve this issue for you, you turned to the next best thing. Neighbors.

You stumbled out into the hallway armed with your bag of fries barefoot and starving. It was well after two am, most of the hallway dead silent except for the neighbor at the end of the hallway. Music drifted from under the door in a soft, muted sort of way, just enough to tell you that someone was definitely in there. Your lord and savior if they had any fucking salt.

You knocked with reckless abandon wanting to make sure they heard you over the music, and it didn’t even occur to you that it might be annoying to slam your first into someone’s door at two fucking am.The fries! They needed to be saved!

“Hi! I know it’s very late, but I can also hear your music. Good choice by the way, I live for Troye Sivan, he’s a bop. But like I need you to open the door, it’s kind of an emergency!!! Life or death!”

The door opened and your whole body was shocked into silence. Because that was Shawn Mendes on the other side of the door, clearly in his sweatpants, and not at all interested in your french fry problem. Your drunken mind received flashbacks of a letter that every person in the building had gotten about generally perfect super star moving into the building. You weren’t supposed to ask for pictures, to release any information, and you certainly weren’t supposed to knock on the guy’s fucking door at two o’clock in the morning.

“Emergency eh? Life or death?” He asked looking you up and down.

You hiccuped--one that made your whole body kind of boop--and he grinned at you.Thank God for bomb ass dresses that showed off every curve in the book. He was almost hot enough to make you forget the fries. Almost.

“Yes, you see I have these fries. And they need salt. And I can’t eat them without the salt, but my apartment has betrayed me in that it is saltless, and so I would be really appreciative if you would salt my fries.” You mumbled.

“‘Salt your fries’” He repeated a smirk permanently etched into his lips. “Is that a euphemism for something?”

You shook your head which made you a little wobbly and he seemed to reach out at the perfect time grabbing your arm to still you. You thanked him sheepishly before holding up the bag of fries as your evidence

“Not a euphemism. Really just need your salt, bro.”

“Alright, alright. Let me see what I can do.”

He headed back into his apartment leaving the door open which your drunk ass took as a personal invitation and followed him into the kitchen, which was nearly identical to yours. By the time he was done fishing around in his cabinets you had already seated yourself at the island opening your bag and taking another experimental bite. Oh what a disappointment it was.

“Found it.” He said offering you the heavenly morsels.

You moaned snatching it out of his hand and proceeding to generously shake the contained into your bag to evenly coat your meal.

“This has been a glorious ending to a really shitty night. Thank you, so much.” You giggled extremely giddy with your french fries.

Shawn was oddly amused at your behavior taking a seat beside you at his own damn island and watching you eat.

“Not a great night?”

You shook your head shaking your body to the rhythm of your chewing before swallowing.

“Went to some club solo. Just wanted to get laid and get back into my bed. Dude was super handsy, which would’ve been fine if not for his insistent attempts to try and fuck me in the middle of the dance floor with his micro penis. Didn’t take no for an answer. Almost had to cut him cause he started with all that fat bitch nonsense. Men who are into plus size women, hate rejection from plus size women because we’re supposed to be like the ugliest and most undesirable. But like… I’m fine and I’m thick and I still don’t want you sir. And then I got the true love my life, these french fries here, and what happens? My fucking salt disappears.”

“I’m sorry.” He says sounding genuinely sympathetic. “That’s not cool. You’re a very beautiful woman”

“You’re right, not cool. I deserve at least average dick and salt on my fries. And I’m not settling for less.”

He chuckled, cheeks warming into this adorable bright pink. He was leaning his chin on his hand watching you with inquisitive eyes and the first thing your mind went to was what a shitty guest you were being. You pushed the bag in his direction as a peace offering.

“You want?”

He smiled eyeing the bag. “Not really supposed to eat those. Bad for my diet.”

You rolled your eyes. “You look like you’re a quarter of my size. Eat a damn french fry.”

His cheeks did this very interesting thing where they just sort of burst with color. It was as if he was destined to be pink and his body was just fighting the inevitable. It was maybe incredibly adorable. You decided to get farther away from his face less it cause you to spontaneously combust. You crawled out of your seat, still barefoot and tipsy and began to look through his cabinets.

“You got something to drink in here by chance?”

“There’s water in the fridge.” He explained around a mouth full of food.

“How the hell is water going to get you as drunk as I am?”

You quickly located the booze, a bottle of tequila and the shot glasses to boot, before crawling back into his too tall seats.

“Oh I can’t I’ve gotta sing in the studio tomorrow.” He mumbled finally addressing the elephant in the room that was popstar letting drunken woman into his apartment against literally anyone’s better judgement.

“Shawn, you don’t know me, which really shame on you cause I’m awesome. But if you’re not eating french fries and drinking tequila is being you even worth it at that point?” You asked.

He laughed. “Is that your way of convincing me?”

You ignored him in favor of pouring each of you a shot and pushing the glass in his direction.

“Me not taking no for an answer, is my way of convincing you.”

He takes the first shot with hesitation. The second, he barely puts up a fight with. The third, he cheer’s his glass against yours. And the fourth he takes with no hands. It’s a wild awakening, but Shawn may just be a lightweight. Or a normal person with four shots of tequila in him. Tomato, potato.

He leaned his head, which seemed to be too heavy for his neck, on his hand and swung his chair back and forth to the rhythm of the music that was still playing the background. Your eyes were trapped on his thighs, which looked glorious even in sweatpants. Yours were biggers, and you thought about how wonderful he might look between them. Thick thighs save lives and give incredible orgasms. It’s kind of a fact.

At the end of the day you were a big woman. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, the way that it used to when you were younger. It had taken years, but you were comfortable in your skin, and happy as hell with the way you looked. And it never occured to you to beg a man for jack shit. Either he was with it, or he wasn’t. And the men who were, were in for a wonderful fucking ride, if you were to say so yourself. That being said, as attractive as he was, it didn’t occur to you to hit on Shawn. You were just kind of vibing and eating french fries. It seemed harmless. He didn’t strike you as the type to be into thick women, with the whole hollywood size two fad that was in place. There’s a quote somewhere about books and covers and judging and whatever.

“What club did you go to tonight, anyways?” He asked still not holding his head up on his own.

You smiled for no reason at all. “That place nearby with the strobe lights, why?”

“Gotta know where not to go if I don’t wanna be a piece of shit, right?”

“So many double negatives and yet I still appreciate the sentiment.” You grinned.

He chuckled his head lolling from side to side.

“Do you always take the piss out of random men in their apartments?” He sighed hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

“Only the ones I like. You’re welcome.”

“It’s an honor, truly.” He murmured taking a moment to hiccup, which was also absolutely fucking adorable. “Can I ask you something?”

You nodded leaning your head on crossed arms because maybe he was on to something and gravity was taking its toll.

“Does that happen to you a lot?”

“What?”

“Guy’s being assholes, saying stuff about how you look?”

You shrugged. “I mean we live in a pretty fucked up culture for sure. You were afraid of a french fry twenty minutes ago because you might look less like you and more like me.”

“No I--”

“Hey, it’s cool. It’s less you and more like our history and our society. People kind of don’t realize they’re saying shitty things. But quite honestly I look good. Like I’m killin’ it over here. And once I figured that out, no one’s been able to stop me since. I’m living my best life.”

His eyes roamed over your body staring at your bare legs and moving over the olive green toned dressed that was hugging you wonderfully. You had a stomach and cellulite and boobs that required a bra and none of these things made you lesser than. In fact you were beautiful because of them, and that had taken far too long to understand.

“ I think that….I think you’re gorgeous.” He shrugged dopely. “You shouldn’t take shit from anyone who can’t see that. The world can be so fucked up sometimes.”

You smiled because in that moment he was nothing but cream and sugar. You wondered what it was like to be so innocent that it just sort of radiated from your pores. He looked untouched by the world, which was something you admired greatly. What a wonderful thing it must have been to exist outside of all the ugliness that surrounded you.

“Thank you. I’m not sweating it though.”

He nodded pushing off of the island and sliding out of his chair. His hair swooped down in his eyes and he pushed it back and it shouldn’t have been so fucking attractive, but here you were lusting over your neighbor at three in the morning with french fry-tequila breath.

“Do you wanna dance?” He asked

You raised an eyebrow. “Dance? Now?... We don’t really know each other like that do we?.”

“That didn’t stop you from taking my salt and forcing tequila down my throat.” He grinned.

“‘Forcing’? That’s a little harsh don’t you think, superstar?”

He licked his lip at the nickname and your brain completely stalled at the visual. Damn him.

“Maybe. I’m Shawn.” He state holding his hand out for you to shake.

“Y/n.”

You slid your hand into his and screeched as he yanked you without an ounce of grace from your chair. You tumbled into his chest and he caught you once again arms seeming to settle around your waist naturally. John Mayer was playing on his stereo system, and there seemed to be multiple speakers throughout the room because the sound pulsed through the floor and in the walls. He started to hum along to the music pulling your body in a sloppy circle as you both danced drunkenly across the hardwood floors. His chest was warm and he smelled of fresh laundry and soap and something that was just entirely him. He nuzzled his face into your hair, the humming turning into a soft singing and your body turned to goo inside his hold. Maybe that had been his plan all along.

Even in his drunken state he didn’t feel you up, though you wouldn’t have minded in the slightest at this point. Instead he leaned back to stare at you and lost his balance almost immediately, so he had to wrap his arms around your neck to save yourself. You laughed and he smiled and you were both just dumb, drunken idiots.

“You’re cute.” He murmured nodding his head as if he had decided it right in that moment, and thus it was fact.

You chuckled. “Thank you. You are cute as well.”

“K.”

His eyes traveled down to your lips and yours traveled to his. If either of you had one brain cell to offer you might have noticed at you’d stopped dancing, or that song had changed. He ran his fingers into your hair and stepped closer in the limited space between you. Before your lips could touch, before you lost every sense of who you were, you were pulling away from his arms, cheeks flaming red.

“I should...I should go home. It’s late.”

His face drooped and it took everything in you not to physically push at his skin until he was smiling. But you were drunk and he was a rock star, and it had all gotten to be a little much.

“Are you sure?” He asked giving you ample opportunity to change your mind.

You smiled slipping his arms from around your waist.

“Yea. Thanks for the salt, neighbor.”

He seemed to remember then that you leaving meant walking the fiver feet to your apartment across the hall, and his smile was suddenly back in full force.

“No problem. Let me walk you home.”

He presented his arm out to you like you were going to a ball and not your apartment door, but you were a sucker for cute boys with brown eyes, so here you were barefoot and drunk in the middle of the hallway with a popstar on your arm. You got all the way to your door and you reached for your pocket to get to your keys only to look down and see that there was no pocket…. Because you were in a tight ass dress designed by some man who hated women. Idiot.

“Something wrong?” Shawn asked as you groaned and slammed your fist against the door.

“My keys. They’re in there.” You explained pointing at the door.

Shawn, the intellectual that he was, shrugged. “Let’s go get them.”

“No, sweetheart. They’re in there. We are out here. I need them to get us in there.”

“Oh.”

Tequila. A hell of a drink.

“I guess you’ll have to stay at my place then huh?” He asked bringing you back from your haze of drunken stupidity yourself. “At least till the morning, when the front desk is open?”

He was wearing a grin that was so smug and dumb and attractive that you didn’t know whether to kiss him or hit him.

You sputtered. “I’m not sleeping in your bed.”

“Sweetheart what kind of guy do you think I am? I have two guest rooms.”

He grabbed your hand interlocking your fingers like you weren’t technically strangers and brought you back to his apartment. True to his word he takes you to a guest room that’s big enough to be the master bedroom in your apartment. So much for similar layouts. He brings you sweatpants that are tight in the thighs and long long long everywhere else and you don’t even bother trying to squeeze a tit into his t-shirt feeling just fine in your bra. But, when he comes to say goodnight you might as well have been one of those skinny girls in the movies with a white button up that was really purposely picked out three times bigger than the lead actor guy had ever worn to continue the narrative that women have to be dainty and smaller than men to be sexy. He looped his fingers through the waistband string and sent you a smile so goofy and dopey that you just wanted to invite him in to stay forever.

“You look good in my sweatpants.” He mumbled not allowing his eyes to meet your cleavage.

“Yea?” You murmured peering down at wear the material bunched awkwardly around you thighs.

He nodded allowing his thumb to skim up an across your belly, which even on your best days was hard to love.

“Absolutely.”

Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe you were still horny from the club. Or maybe it was just the way that he looked at you like you mattered. But, closing the door with him on the other side just didn’t seem logical.

“Do you wanna… I mean you could sleep in here if you wanted.” You murmured, cheeks burning. “Or not?”

“Do you want me to sleep in here?”

He ducked his head to catch your eye, fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip. It was a seemingly kind gesture and yet it felt incredibly intimiate at the same time. You found that you loved his hands on your body, which felt kind of astonishing and profound because no man had ever touched your body like him.

“Yea I--I...yes.”

He smiled and his whole face was just a little too cute for comfort.

“Cool.”

He leads you to bed and lets you peel back the covers. You face the wall and he crawls in pressing his chest along your back and slipping an arm over your waist. You feel like your sinking--into what you don’t know, but it feels good, feels right, and you’re hopless to stop it.

“Is this okay?” He whispers against your neck.

All you can do is settle yourself firmly into his body and sigh a sigh of contment.

“Yea.”

What a fuckin night.

***

When you woke up it was with your own personal human sleeping back. Shawn had his large leg draped over your much smaller one, his face hidden in your neck as he slept the sleep of the innocent. It was like something out of a fairytale...but you were nothing like a princess, and this was real life where you’d drank a quarter of your weight in alcohol the night before and had to learch away from the cute boy who’d cuddled you all night to barely make it to his bathroom and vomit horridly.

He found you there, on his pristine, beautiful floor looking like death, and you just knew this was the moment where he realized that you don’t let crazy women into your apartment and officially filed for a restraining order. You’d collapsed against the floor and he quickly made his way to his knees beside you. You thought for sure he would yell and tell you get the hell out of his place but instead he was kneeling to the porcilan god himself. What a fucking shit show.

“Holy fuck this sucks.” He muttered flushing the toilet and collapsing beside you. “I’m supposed to go to the studio today.”

“I feel like I may have had a small part in this and for that I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

He managed to peer over at you around the toilet with a look that said, “are you fucking kidding me?” and despite being on your death bed you still found it within you to bust out laughing. Shawn couldn’t help himself and quickly joined in only for both of you to realize that laughing hurt and you were kind of a couple of goddamn messes.

“This might be the wrong time to say this but...I had a really nice time last night.” He murmured.

You peered over to look at him, again around the toliet, and wondered if this man before you was actually real or if you’d died to alcohol posioning.

“I agree…. It’s the wrong time.”

He laughed at you again only to quickly start heaving and lurch forward for the toilet again. So, it wasn’t a fairytale by any stretch of the imagine. And the fries from the night before had probably all found their way into the toilet bowl. And you spent the rest of the morning on your neighbor’s bathroom floor praying for death to take you. But at one point, when your bones ached and your throat felt like sandpaper, his fingers touched yours on the linolium. And he smiled at you with this pathetic, tiny grin. And you decided that maybe living next door to a popstar might not be so bad afterall.

The End.

#Shawn mendes #Shawn mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes fanic #Shawn mendes fan fic #Shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x y/n #Shawn mendes x you #Shawn mendes x female reader #Shawn Mendes x plus size reader #Shawn #Shawn fic #Shawn fanfic #Shawn fan fiction #Shawn Mendes One shot #Shawn mendes au #Shawn mendes prompt

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mrs-hollandstan · 6 years

Text

I’m Sorry || Tom Holland

Warnings: there might be some language, plus size reader x Tommy man, tis cuteness

Word Count: 2,122

Author’s Note: So this is the fic I cried over the other day haha. I really really really loved writing this request because I myself am plus size so this was personal and like I said, I really loved it, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. :)

Masterlist || Add yourself to one of my taglists

Here's the thing. Dating Tom Holland is a dream. Being practically a nobody who just graduated high school and meeting Tom Holland in the middle of England while on vacation was the best thing ever. I'd seen him with other girls so nothing prepared me for the absolute tongue tied boy, drooling over me. Especially because the girls he could get were skinnier and way prettier. He loved the slight tummy and thighs I had though.

"Y-you're into me?" He nodded, taking my hands in his own over the table he had snuck me away to in a bar after he'd pursued me. I just smiled, his dark brown eyes staring into mine,

"You're so perfect." I just scoffed,

"You know I'm only eighteen right? And I'm not skinny or famous or anything?"

"That's not what I want anyways. I'm not much older than eighteen. Just a couple years. I don't want some skinny twig model girlfriend. Those are like the stereotypical girlfriends. I like you. H-how do you feel about me?" For him to be nervous when he was completely irresistible was the cutest thing ever. His chocolate brown eyes softened as if he was afraid of some sort of rejection. I just giggled.

"I like you too Tom." He let out a breath like that was the last thing he expected, giving my hand a gentle and reassuring squeeze. The first few months he was so deep in love, it was hard for him not to tell anyone but close friends and family. I was afraid of what the public would think of us. Despite all of the hyping up of heavy girls on social media, there were still those haters that would have ripped me apart and as much as Tom wanted to share his girlfriend with everyone, he wanted to protect me as much as he could.

"Why don't you wear my tees babe?" Tom asked one day, cocking his head and looking up from his phone. He stroked over my calves resting in his lap when laughed,

"Where's this comin from?"

"I just see all these girls wearing their boyfriend's t-shirts and you don't. I'm just curious why." He replied with a shrug. When I was quiet for a moment, Tom looked up again, his brow furrowing,

"What's the matter?" I shook my head, feeling the lump in my throat. Not because of him. Not because he did anything wrong. More because of the disappointment with myself,

"Nothing. I uhh... I don't wear your shirts because they don't... they don't fit." If he could've been more dramatic in his surprise he would have, dragging me down into his arms with the loudest gasp ever.

"Oh baby, I'm so so sorry. It's okay. Don't say anything. You're not fat, I'm just lean and... I'll buy bigger ones if you'd like. You're perfect darling. I love you so much." He rushed out, kissing all over my face and squishing me into his body. Truth be told, Tom did seriously love me and it was a bit of a surprise. He could have whoever he wanted. He could have a brave and confident girl who had a perfect body and a stunning face, practically Instagram model material. I was none of those things. He disagreed, but I had my flaws and just like most girls, I didn't enjoy much about me.

The day Tom accidentally let it slip that we were together was the best and the worst day of my life. I didn't even realize what had happened until my phone was blown up with notifications of people tagging me in the reveal and commenting on my photos some of the nicest things I'd ever seen. But for one would comment, was ten bad ones. Just as I'd suspected, most of Tom's fans weren't happy he was with me.

"Babe? Y/N? Honey?"

"Tom stop." I choked out, staring down at the same page in my math book as I had an hour ago, trying to study for my exam, but to no avail. I wanted so badly to slap his hands away when he started rubbing my shoulders. He sighed as tears flooded my eyes as if he knew,

"Maybe you should leave me. I'll never be good enough for you and now that I've done this..." I closed my eyes, trying not to break down in a fit of sobs,

"Did you see what they said? How can the same people that argue heavy girls are just as beautiful as skinny girls be so cruel?" When my voice cracked, he bent down, kissing the exposed skin of my neck,

"I don't know baby. I really don't know, but did you see some of the good comments? You got some really amazing supporters. I think they overpower the bad. You're beautiful and those people that think you're not, can't see past their noses. You are absolutely stunning and anyone that can't see that and can't see how in love with you I am has no right to call themselves a fan of mine." Turning my face he could see the toll it'd taken on me. He knew I'd seen every comment and that each one was a new slap in the face. People called me fat. People called me a whore because I was eighteen rather than twenty one or twenty two. People called me ugly. People had called me a money grubbing bitch, just with Tom for the fame. He knew how it had affected me and he knew I was hurt. But he had been called things too. I'd seen the comments made about him being a "pedophile." And yes, they didn't affect me because as much as people denied it, I was a consenting adult. I was fully capable of making my own decisions and as Tom had said to me, he isn't that much older.

"People are stupid. I mean seriously, they act like this is all statutory rape. You're an adult and so am I and I find you irresistible. You're gorgeous." A small smile spread across my lips. He smiled back, running his hands up my sides,

"I'm in love with all of you. You're my everything and I am not gonna stop because these people think I can be with someone 'better'. You're my better and they don't know me. They don't know how happy you make me and they don't know what we have." Sitting on the bed just beside me, he makes me look at him,

"I promise you that no matter what happens, you are my girl and I will marry you one day. I swear on my life okay?" Holding his hand out, he waits for me to take it before pulling me towards him. I squealed, practically falling into his lap,

"Tom!" He chuckled, laying back on the bed,

"I'm more in love with you than I've ever been with anyone. I've never seen a prettier girl than you. I don't care what anyone says, you are MY girl, not theirs." I can't help the smile that crosses my face,

"I love you." He reaches up to caress my cheek, holding his arm out as I lay just beside them,

"I love you more. We've been in this relationship for almost a year and you know what? I'm not letting you go because some stupid people that call themselves fans don't find you attractive. I find you attractive and that's less people I have to fight for you." I giggled again, leaning in to kiss his soft lips,

"Thank you. While I'm not glad you let it slip, I am glad that you were willing to stand up for me. I've never loved you more than I do now. I think this brought us impossibly closer." He nodded, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and bringing my thigh up over his waist, his hand resting on my knee,

"Me too. And as far as the age thing goes, I'm only four years older than you and neither of us have cared. Age is just a number. It's not like I'm dating a girl way older than me or like a fourteen year old."

"The age thing wasn't a worry Tom. I really could care less. I've just always struggled with my weight and seeing all those people curious about the same thing I was all those months ago, but in a much ruder way was kinda devastating. I've always wanted you to be happy and I was scared that you'd realize something and leave me. I just don't want you to be miserable when you could have something better."

"Nothing is better than this." He crawled over me, kissing my collarbone. Creeping down my body, he lifted my shirt to kiss my stomach,

"There's so much more of you to love baby girl." Creeping further down, he nipped at the skin of my thigh, a smile creeping to his lips when I squealed and then giggled. Running his large hands over my thighs, he sat up straight, resting back on his shins,

"You're soft. Do you know why I love you? I love you because you are the sweetest. My family fell in love with you the same as I did. You're the prettiest. You don't have to wear makeup to be absolutely stunning. And a messy bun... oh lord girl. AND you know what you're doing. You and I both know you're great in bed. And you're an amazing make out partner. I don't plan on giving that up any time soon." When he leaned in, I flicked a curl from his eyes,

"I love you Tommy. I know its dumb of me to doubt myself. I know how in love with me you are. I just don't want you to be missing out on something."

"There's nothing else sweet thing. I love you with everything in me. I love all of you and no matter what is said you will always be my girl. You're way more comfortable than any other girl I've been with and that's what I want. I don't want some girl that's gonna be so uncomfortable to eat, or be without a bra or makeup in front of me. I want a confident woman. Someone who gets along with my family and treats them like her own. And that's exactly what you are. You're my baby." I giggled and squirmed as he tickled me, his lips falling over mine. He held my hands in his own, kissing down my neck,

"Tom?"

"Hmm?" Waiting until his eyes were on me again, I searched the dark brown irises,

"Thank you... seriously. You've never treated me bad and I seriously don't think I could do any of this without you. You're my rock and you're the most down to earth and sweetest person ever. I don't think I could've picked a better man if I tried." He smiled, stroking his thumb over my cheek,

"Of course baby. You mean the world to me and I intend to show you as much as I can." Kissing me again, he let his lips linger for a moment before gasping into my mouth,

"Babe! Now you can go to GALA's and premieres with me. Oh babe, we're gonna have paparazzi picture and we can... oh my god there's so much we can do. We can hold hands in public now!" I giggled again as he bounced on his knees, standing and grabbing his phone,

"Now that we're freaking in the press I know what I wanna do."

"Yeah, what's that?" Turning with a wide smile, he flashed me the folder of our couple photos to me,

"Wanna let me introduce you to the fans? Hey, if it's any constellation, if there's a negative comment, the fans'll just rip-"

"Yes Tom," he found my eyes again, his lashes fluttering, "yes you can post a few photos. Maybe it'll be a nice, fresh change up from you and Harrison with the dumb shit you post." He tsked,

"Ahh, now that's just rude. Now I don't know if I wanna share anything about you you meanie." I giggled as he sat back on the edge of the bed. Throwing my legs around him, I laid my chin on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his middle and watching him type away and post his photos. With a skip of my heart, and a little blue loading bar, Tom straightened up and sighed through his nose, our photos appearing before us amongst his friends' and family's photos and instantly blowing up,

"Alright world... meet my girl."

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x plus size reader #tom holland x poc reader #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x plus size reader #peter parker x poc reader #marvel #my writing

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ofjcsie · 6 years

Text

werd. it meme, kayla, with yet another muse. this is my bad bitch josie, lets get to know her shall we

「 ISKRA LAWRENCE, CISFEMALE, TWENTY-FOUR, JESY NELSON. 」┈did you read that latest viral gossip issue on JOSIE PRYOR? she is the VOCALIST in ETHEREAL, one of my favorite POP groups. they’ve been releasing music for ONE YEAR now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last YEAR. get this, i think i heard SHE MARRIED A STRANGER IN LAS VEGAS. they’re known as the THE CATACLYSMIC of the music industry, since they have a rep for being BENEVOLENT but TENACIOUS, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1.

firstly im gonna apologize if this is all over the place. im gonna try to organize it but i cant make any promises.

BASICS

full name is josephine iridessa pryor, but goes by josie for the most part

named after her maternal grandfather, joseph.

originally from tallahassee, florida. ur basic suburban middle class white family. one older sister. her mom owned her own bakery and her dad was a paralegal.

ex high school cheerleader

one tough cookie

AESTHETIC

leather jackets, skin tight jeans, fishnets, roses with the thorns still on the stem, red nail polish, fangs, messy hair, scars covered by tattoos, the moon at midnight, high heeled boots, dancing like nobody’s watching, and structured handbags.

HEADCANONS (?)

literally ppl are always like “josie can’t sing. she’s inconsistent.” or “she’s the ugly one” or rlly mean Ugly comments about her body and just general ugly body shaming. like she Knows she’s not the same size as her bandmates but like ???? she loves herself??? it took her a long time to get to this self love level and she loves her girls so she’s always telling people to fuck off

literally gets in trouble with management for telling body shamers in her comments or ppl that are generally rude to her and/or ethereal to fuck off. probably has blocked some accounts (even stan ones sdscdcs) like jesy has

cute but will 1000000000000% fight u if u make her mad, say bad things about ppl she cares about, or start body shaming

body posi, self love, and self care activist and supporter of the #metoo movement as it relates to her past

since her mom had a bakery, she worked there in hs and knows her way with cupcakes

hates wine & has never done hard drugs

i rlly cant stress enough how she will fight anyone and everyone for being an asshole

Straight (shes like my only straight character it’s Wild)

never had a serious relationship because she’s always been guarded but she has been in love, or at least thought it was love

curvy > plus sized bc she is by no means “plus” and knows this. by measurement/fashion standards she is between straight size and plus, so just go with curve/curvy

DETAILS (?)

TRIGGER WARNING FOR BODY/FAT SHAMING & SEXUAL ASSAULT: josie’s curves developed faster than other girls her age, so even in like 6th grade ppl were calling her rlly ugly names because her hips had grown and saying things about her, even going as far as slut shaming and oversexualizing her developing body like gross. around this time someone she thought was a friend would repeatedly touch her without her permission (also she was like 13 and knew absolutely no better than ‘uh he’s my pal so i guess it’s alright if he touches between my legs when i dont want him to). it rlly tore her down and she felt like she was nothing. that low self esteem rlly followed her into high school. the bullying kinda morphed more into unwanted glares from boys, girls calling her a sl*t, and ppl just being generally mean because of her body shape. her sophomore year she tried out for the jv cheerleading squad bc she really just wanted to be involved and have school spirit, plus she had a friend who was doing it. things were rad, she made the team, all was good, she rlly liked it and even wanted to go out for varsity the next year. junior year came around and she was on jv again, but their coach ended up quitting so the trainer stepped in. he was nice to all the girls bc he’d known them and was working with them but rlly this was just grooming tbh, like he kinda made it seem like he was hte only one in their corner if they were having problems. she got a weird feeling from him but folks were just kinda like “eh you’re over-reacting, it was just a hug” but when they went away to cheer camp it was like damn what a change. he got a little bit violent and ut was just generally a Not Fun experience, like yelling at the girls and embarrassing them to the point where other coaches and such were like “uh he needs to chill tf out”. to make everything worse one of the nights he knocked on the door of the room josie was staying in, saying he wanted to talk to her, she let him in and long story short he got handsy. when she told school authorities what happened, it was her word against his, but after testimony from teammates about his behavior at camp and everything, the school gave him an ultimatum: resign or be fired and go to court.. lmao guess which he took. so basically he got away with molesting her and being an abusive bag of dicks. END OF TRIGGER

for a long time she blamed herself bc she thought she was too naive or maybe if she hadn’t opened the door, or it was all her fault and she let it happen. sometimes she still has self doubt moments where she thinks about “but what if....” or she says “at least it wasn’t as bad as...” she’s very passionate about the metoo movement tho, and abusers being held accountable for their actions (no matter their gender or sexuality)

she doesnt really talk about what happened in detail, but she has been vocal about the metoo movement and she stands with her #MeToo sisters because she’s been there

since cheer was like “aha nop never again” senior year she got involved in the drama club. she’d sang in church choir before, but nothing Super Serious. but the fall production of grease really caught her eye, so, she auditioned and voila, Sandy.

after graduation, she started community college in musical theater, still working at the bakery but she fuckin wanted to leave florida (dont... we all??) so she used the money she saved from the bakery, bought a one way bus ticket, and ended up in austin texas... not exactly where she wanted to be, but it was out of florida.

she started singing at bars and trying to get involved with local small theater productions/companies, but that really just was not cutting it. so she asked her dad for some moolah and she moved to los angeles. for a long time she lived in a very very shitty apartment complex (if u rememerbr YEARS ago there was a show on the cw called the complex... it was about struggling young actors/musicians living in one place.. lowkey it was good but it got cancelled before season 2 wow shocker amirite) her agent was kinda bad, like joey’s from friends, but the one thing he got right was booking her an audition for a new girl group that a label was putting together. and boom, ethereal.

AS for the vegas thing lmAO.... i’ve been feeling like it was kind of recent. like, ethereal had already formed or was right at the beginning of the four girls coming together. (i still gotta work out those kinks) but essentially she went to vegas and on a Wild night, married a stranger. all she remembers from the memory clips are they met at the casino, there’s a chapel, back in her hotel room, a charge on her credit card for the honeymoon room service package, and the next morning she woke up alone in bed with a huge fuckin headache and a cheap ring on her finger. she was 22 and dumb. but aint we all?? she’s still technically married, but does NOT wear a ring or talk at all about having a husband because she doesnt know the dude. like literally can’t find him lmao, can’t find him to get that shit annulled or file for divorce. therefore, technically married.

SOME WANTED CONNECTIONS

i dont have a Ton but some that i’d love to have established are a mentor (probably someone who is older or more accustomed to fame), a roommate or ex-roommate (could be multiple), a celebrity crush (again, probably more fmaous), someone she tells everything to (they’d probably know about the vegas thing and her history regarding sexual assualt)

other than that, hmu or like this if u wanna plot??? im down for anything????

#☆━justkaylathings #viral:intro #viral:plot

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russellthornton · 7 years

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Women with Curves: 20 Ways You Changed All Women for the Better

Skinny used to be in, but thanks to women with curves, women can again be beautiful in all shapes and sizes without anxiety or starving themselves.

I love that Meghan Trainor song when she says “I’m just teasing, I know you think you’re fat,” when talking about skinny bitches. I love the newer girl generation. I want to let y’all know that I admire the way that you don’t give a shit about your curves. You know why? Because women with curves rock!

I wasn’t born thin or fat, but what I certainly know was that I not endowed with any curves at all. I believe that growing up, the boys used to refer to me as “flat and easy to screw” *yes, they said it and I didn’t sue for bullying*. But, at the time, teasing was socially acceptable.

I grew up in the Kate Moss era. Kate Moss was the hottest model during my formative years. I was brought up with supermodels who made bulimia and anorexia not only acceptable, it was something to aspire to. The whole “you can never be too rich or too thin” – that was from my generation too. Yep, it was pretty miserable if you were one of the women with curves in my day.

20 reasons why women with curves rule

God bless your generation. You are who you are. You don’t apologize for anything. You don’t play the same games we did, or pretend that you don’t ever sleep around while sleeping around. You also, and this is the most critical component to you, don’t starve yourself to try to obtain something that isn’t only unobtainable, it isn’t healthy or real.

So, to all of you girls out there who eat dessert again, don’t stress about calorie counts, walk around like a zombie because your brain isn’t getting enough oxygen, kudos babe. You have freed us all, and my hat is off to you.

Here’s why women with curves rule.

#1 You aren’t bitchy all the time because you are starving. Have you ever starved yourself? If you watch the walking dead, you totally get it. Like wanting to ravage someone, your anger is quick and fast; you’re constantly ready to pounce and not much fun to be around! [Read: Why men love women and their oh so hot bodies]

#2 You care more about what is on the inside than the size of your jeans. It’s so great, because women with curves aren’t concerned with the size of their jeans… they are worried about better, less shallow things in life.

#3 You don’t look like you could pass out at any minute. Skinny girls have that look about them, like everything is a hassle and merely breathing can make them pass out at any second. But women with curves are full of energy and spirit and aren’t afraid to hop to it!

#4 You aren’t stupid because your brain isn’t getting enough energy to operate. Yes, it is true, depriving yourself of food to be skinny actually makes you stupid. Your brain doesn’t get enough oxygen or energy to run. That is why some skinny girls can seem so spaced out at times. [Read: Should a girl ever dumb it down to impress a guy?]

#5 You aren’t buying into what the media is selling. Another great thing is that women with curves aren’t slaves to anyone else’s ideal of beauty. You are happy with what nature gave you and aren’t about to let any media campaign change that. Wear it loud and wear it proud.

#6 Your selfies aren’t about being in a skinny bathing suit. I HATE girls in bikinis sporting their skinny asses. I’m sorry, if I had wanted to see you in a bikini, I would have invited you to the beach. Which BTW, if you are one of those girls doing it and you look really hot in a bikini, no one is going to be inviting your ass anyway… too much work!

#7 You aren’t a hater, skinny, fat, who cares where anyone else is at. What’s also awesome is that women with curves are accepting of everyone. Not envious that someone can fit into a smaller size than you, you find beauty in all women, big, tall, short, small… it’s all good. [Read: 14 insights into what men want and need in a woman]

#8 You have freed us all to wear skinny jeans, skinny or not. I wouldn’t have been caught dead in leggings in the 90s, so thanks to you for wearing your skinny jeans to show off your assets. You have freed us all.

#9 You are comfortable in your own skin. There is nothing better than being around someone who is happy, confident and feels good in their own skin. They don’t need to talk badly about other girls out of jealousy or put anyone else down to make themselves feel good. You are just okay with letting you be you and letting skinny be skinny.

#10 You aren’t ashamed of the way that God made you, or trying to continually fit a scale. If you haven’t stepped on a scale in years, you are my idol. No woman should define her beauty by what the scale measures. You are just beautiful you. [Read: Well endowed women – The ups and downs of jiggly jugs]

#11 You aren’t chained to a gym. You aren’t that girl who gets out of bed at 9 a.m. on girl’s weekend to take a run by the ocean, or wastes countless hours at the gym sporting your spandex.

It isn’t that women with curves don’t work out and take care of themselves, it is just that they don’t look like they’re training for the Olympics or missing out on so much of life because they are stuck on a treadmill.

#12 You can hit the beach and not worry about sucking it in. You can hit the beach and not suck it in like you haven’t eaten in weeks… it must be so freeing!

#13 You saved my girls from yo-yo dieting. Yo-yo dieting not only makes you dumb mentally, but it also makes it much harder to maintain and lose weight later on in life. Like setting yourself up for a lifetime of misery, thank you for changing things, so my girls aren’t beholden. [Read: How to look better naked – 15 real life tips for instant effect]

#14 You don’t pretend that you have an excellent metabolism in front of the guys and starve yourself around the rest of us. If you want dessert, you have it, and you damn straight aren’t going to just order a salad. God bless you!

#15 If a guy doesn’t like what you look like they can go “f” off. Women with curves have a f*ck-you attitude that just rocks. I wish I had that confidence all the way around.

#16 You brought child-bearing hips back into fashion. Women were supposed to have hips and curves, that is what nature invented us for. Men are attracted to hips and thank goodness you brought them back into fashion. [Read: What men like in women more than anything else]

#17 You don’t define yourself by looking around a room and gauging who’s skinniest *yes, we used to do that*. You don’t think you are superior because you have the major self-control to starve yourself, nor do you admire someone else who does.

#18 Designers can go f*ck themselves because you aren’t going to buy into the “catwalk,” – those girls look ridiculous. I think we can all agree, those models look ridiculous, don’t they?

#19 You are what the female species is supposed to look like – healthy. Having a full figure and curves is what the female body is made for. They signal the male species that you are just ripe for procreation. Your curves are your biggest assets; it is about time that women learned the truth. [Read: 13 physical attraction tips to look way hotter]

#20 An hourglass figure means you have no time to wait for someone. You aren’t into games or letting someone play games with your head. That’s because women with curves just own it, what more can I say?

I have four little girls at home, and I have to admit that I am so happy that they don’t have to grow up in a skinny-obsessed world. Girls today have so much more moxie, aren’t going to spend a lifetime trying to be someone they aren’t, and when they die, aren’t going to think… shit, I should have had that scoop of ice cream.

Most of all, women with curves don’t waste all their time and energy restricting themselves, missing out on meals, and vacations and all the other indulgent things that life has to offer. Most of all, they don’t judge people by their pants size or care about their own. If you own them, you own them; it is as simple as that.

[Read: How to flaunt your plus size curves and rock it with confidence!]

One more time, thanks for saving my girls from eating disorders, buying the media hype, and letting some fashion designer tell them their worth. Let’s face it – women with curves are not only in, they are awesome, and I am forever grateful for you taking your stand and being your own damn self with pride!

The post Women with Curves: 20 Ways You Changed All Women for the Better is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.

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