#god I'm somehow so unhappy with this and I have no idea why - I hope it's okay!

[bemyawakening]

Hi again! I wanted to go ahead and try to send a request in, but I want to apologize in advance; I'm not really familiar with your writing before sending this, so if it's, like, outside of your wheelhouse or comfort zone or anything at all, that's totally okay! If you don't like this one, I can always try to think of another one for you! So I was wondering if you could do an angsty Soap x reader? I was thinking about maybe the reader was a part of their squad and was somehow captured and interrogated for information, like, how exactly Soap and even the rest of the group might react, how they might go about trying to rescue the reader and all of that.

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH X GN!READER

hello, dearest! Thank you so much for your request! I'm actually shaken by the number of Soap fics on this platform - there are from zero to none! I hope you'll like my writing style. I hope I didn't disappoint! pls, forgive me

word count: 2233

warnings: blood, violence, curse words, guns, descriptive violence and gore

They called you Blaze. You were the easiest link in Task Force 141. At least that’s what your capturers thought about you. You were new in the Task Force and you didn’t have a huge frame or a skull mask that’d make others sleep uneasily. All you had to do now was to survive.

            With the bag over your face that had a stench of pure turd, you tried your best to control your breathing—it was fine. Best case scenario – they will put a bullet in your head and it will make things easier. Worst case scenario – they will torture you and you will speak up. You were trained to keep your mouth shut, but now with a gun wound to your shoulder and tied hands, going into the middle of nowhere – you couldn’t help but panic.

            But you could imagine the faces of your comrades. Of course, it was you who didn’t listen to the command your supervisor gave you and now you ended up here. Half sure, you thought that maybe they won’t even bother to save you – you disobeyed them and got yourself in trouble. This was on your consciousness, not on theirs.

            However, back at the base, there was pure chaos unleashed and you had no idea about it. The others tried to calm down the Sergeant who was pacing from corner to corner, grabbing his assault rifle, and getting ready to go.

            “Let’s think this through, Johnny. You’ll do far more damage than good getting out in this state,” the Lieutenant’s voice forced Soap to stop in his tracks and let himself breathe.

            Of course, you disobeyed his command. Of course, you always did exactly the opposite of what he said because you were so unhappy about him being your supervisor. He loathed that quality about you—always getting into a fight with him, constantly disagreeing, those side-glances, and he hasn’t done anything to you. Many times he told you that it wasn’t his choice to be your supervisor—why on Earth would he want this weight on his shoulders?

            You ended up in Task Force 141 under Laswell’s commands. You were an experienced soldier, but your expertise was the disposal of the explosives. Even he had to admit that you were a genius when it came to gadgets and anything that was making him feel nervous, but you didn’t listen to him. And where did it get you?

            “I can’t just stay here while—what are they going to do Blaze?” Soap was stressed and everyone in the room could feel it.

            “They won’t kill Blaze,” Captain stepped into the conversation. “They’ll want information. Ghost’s right – we need to think this through.”

            Soap didn’t want to think this through. He wanted to get out there and find you, blaze out his guns, get you back to safety. He wanted you to understand why it was important to listen to him, to trust him. He swears to God—he will have such a blast showing his point about why you had to listen to his orders.

            Placing the rifle on the table, he gripped the table rougher than before, feeling how the tension and the adrenaline were making him feel dizzy. “Fine,” he mumbled. “But we are leaving tonight. I won’t wait any longer.”

            “The kid has balls,” Price admitted, referring to you. “Been through worse.”

            In less than two hours, they were all gathered to leave. They knew the last place where you have been spotted and it didn’t take them long to catch on their trail. This mission was important—all of you were trying to prevent a massive terrorist attack. Getting the lead about an organisation, that displayed a huge hatred for one of the richest people in the world, Task Force 141 was instructed to destroy the organisation's base and take their leader into captivity.

            It was a shabby building where the tracks of the car ended and the guys were forced to get out a bit before that. There will be two entering streams: Soap will take the back, and Price and Gaz will take care of the front, at the same time searching for the leader. Ghost will find high ground and keep them all informed about incoming danger until they all will get inside. He was the best sniper of them all.

            They didn’t even have to exchange any words and they got into action. Soap quickly made his way through the forest, keeping a decent distance from the building, not wanting anyone to notice him. Stopping further away, he took binoculars out, noticing two men at the entrance, having a smoke. Won’t be hard to take care of them.

            Sneaking from behind all of the unused containers around this shattered place, he waited for his opportunity when one of the men turned around, coming behind one of them and covering his mouth and stabbing him through the jaw in an upwards motion. Dropping the dead body away from prying eyes, he moved to the corner of the building.

            The other man was holding a pistol in his hand but was too focused on taking the last drag from his cigarette to notice the way Soap moved behind him and pushed his body into the wall, the man falling down unconscious.

            “The entrance is clear, I’m moving inside,” he pressed on his radio, putting his both hands on his rifle.

            “Copy that. We’re entering through the front,” Captain’s voice made him nod to himself and without hesitation, he moved into that building.

            The Sergeant was careful with where he was stepping, aware of his surroundings—moving slowly on the shards of glass, junk and other unknown shit, he was making his way forwards until he heard you—

            Your scream alerted every single body cell inside of him—it was as if he just stepped into a pit of fire, the deepest circles of hell and all of the blood rushed away from him. All he could think about was you.

            The slow, but reassuring walking was over and he was rushing his way towards your scream. In the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow and he didn’t hesitate before shooting twice, the shadow falling dead. Moving up the stairs, he almost slipped, but he grasped the concrete beside him, moving further.

            Another scream.

            Moving to the end of the hallway, he embraced himself before he kicked the door open. In the middle of the room, there was you, sitting on a chair in a pool of blood and as the two men beside you turned to him, their bloody knives glistering in a dimmed light, Soap didn’t hesitate. Precisely and skilfully, he killed those two men in about five seconds, not giving them a chance to notice his presence completely.

            Pushing the rifle over his shoulder, he rushed to you. Quickly, he moved around the chair, tying the ropes off your hands as you moved forward—barely conscious.

            “Blaze, are you with me?” His voice was stuck in his throat—too breathy, too rushed as he squatted, pushing your body in place so that you wouldn’t fall.

            His eyes were inspecting you—your fluttering eyelids announced that you were about to pass out and he noted the blood patch on your shoulder and your bloody thighs. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

            “I got Blaze. Barely conscious,” he spoke into his radio, before sneaking his arms beneath you, raising you.

            The sudden movement made you wince in pain, your head spinning. It was too cold, it felt like you were trapped somewhere small and the pulsating of your wounds was making you sick to the stomach. “Soap?” You managed to whisper, not strong enough to open your eyelids and make sure.

            Soap imagined that he will be able to yell at you, to demand for an explanation for your foolishness. He imagined that you will apologise and promise to comply from now on, but seeing your limp body on his hands made him break down.

            What if he would’ve been too late?

            “Copy that. Get to the car. We got the golden crown,” Captain’s voice announced and Soap rushed out of the building, praying that you would stay with him.

 —

            “He’s been there all night,” Ghost mumbled, watching Soap’s figure in the distance as he was crouched over the bed you were placed onto after the medic took care of you.

            “He feels responsible,” Price pointed out.

            “He’s in love,” Gaz spoke the truth.

            Ghost shifted in his seat, “Love doesn’t work on the battlefield. Things worse than that can happen.”

            “It’s up to them, Lieutenant. He knows all of it,” Price dropped his eyes to the Sergeant’s figure in the distance and averted his stare else.

            In the medic room, Soap was as if bound to that chair. Leaning back, hands crossed over his chest, he didn’t have a blink of sleep. Even if the medic reassured you that you’ll be fine, you just lost a lot of blood, and he couldn’t leave you alone.

            He wondered, what will you say when you will wake up? Will you be sorry for making him worry? What will he say? What could he say apart from knowing that if he will lose you—

            Your body shifted and a deep breath alerted him, but he didn’t move an inch. From afar he noticed the way you scrunched your nose in pain before opening your eyes, trying to sit up, but you were quickly frozen by the pain and you rested back down.

            Your eyes fell on him and he wanted to scream in despair.

            “Soap?” You croaked out, your throat dry. It felt as if you were on fire, bounded to this bed, afraid to move. And the look on your Sergeant’s face didn’t make you feel any better—you knew you messed up.

            He didn’t say a thing.

            “I’m—I’m sorry,” you whispered, closing your eyes. “I thought that I’ll be able to get him and I didn’t listen to you and I just—thank you for coming to get me.”

            He didn’t say anything. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

            You panicked, turning to him, “I completely understand your anger. I know you’ll want me off the team and I’ll be fine with the decision you make.”

            His eyes were making you feel like screaming, but he offered you only silence.

            “Soap—Jesus Christ! I know I messed up!” Your voice painfully raised as your body slightly moved up—it hurt, but you felt threatened by his presence. “Write me off the team, strip me of my rank, but please—just talk to me,” you were begging, eyes filling up with tears as you never realised how much you wanted for him to like you.

            And yet, you disappointed him.

            Soap didn’t find the words to tell you. He let all of your begging sink into him, thinking he will feel better, but in reality, he wasn’t as mad as you as he thought he will be. Yes, you went against him, but as he carried your limp body, he understood that he couldn’t lose you. He fell for you. Like an idiot.

            “I thought I lost you,” he whispered and you sucked in a breath.

            “You saved me.”

            There were tears in your eyes and the sight of them made him shift forwards, closer to you. “You’re the biggest nuisance I’ve had in my entire life, Blaze,” he admitted, voice breathy. Pushing his hand beside you, he softly crept his fingers on your exposed forearm, his breath hitching as he felt your skin—so soft. “You’ve never listened to my orders, never talked normally to me once and I…”

            You expected him to yell at you, but this close proximity and his words left you breathless: “And you?” You breathed out, in anticipation.

            Your eyes met. The worried glint in his eyes told you the whole story—he fell for you. Jesus, you fell for him from the first day you met him. His accent was the sweetest thing you have ever heard, the annoyed arch between his eyebrows when you were disobeying made you feel warm inside. You were trying to get his attention in the worst ways possible, like a fool, not realising how much pain you put him through.

            “And I couldn’t help, but think that I’d—get fuckin’ crazy if you would’ve died there,” he finished his sentence and your heart skipped a beat.

            “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, watching the way his fingers slowly moved up your forearm, leaving you a trail of shivers.

            “You’re an idiot.”

            “I’ll make it up to you,” you promised.

            His fingers wrapped around your wrist as you moved closer to him. Putting your hand on his cheek, you brushed your thumb on his prominent cheekbone, memorising every scar on his face. You didn’t have to tell him anything as if he read your mind as he leaned forward, your lips touching.

            He ruined you with that kiss. It was desperate, the worry of his was felt in the slight tremble of his lips and the messy rhythm you both created. There wasn’t an ounce of softness in that kiss—he almost lost you and he was going to savour your proximity to the fullest.

            You were everything to him and he knew the consequences of falling in love on a battlefield. Now, he had another reason to survive for. For you.

#sunnywrites! #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap x you #soap call of duty #call of duty #modern warfare #call of duty imagine #john soap mactavish imagine #soap imagine #john mactavish imagine #cod mwii

[gunnerkriggcritical]

Feel free to not answer this if you don’t want to or are uncomfortable but what would be a way for Tony to become sympathetic in your eyes? If you wrote Gunnerkrigg court what would you do with Tony?

I'm gonna try and put this into words as best I can, but it's difficult. I hope this makes sense.

Honestly, nobody crucify me for this, but... I think Tony is inherently sympathetic the way he is now? Like, all the basic ingredients to Tony's story make up someone I could very easily feel sorry for. I would not have an inherent problem with being asked to see him in shades of grey. I freely admit that he's been through a lot of pain in his life. It's just the execution that leaves me unhappy.

What I have a problem with is chapters like "Annie and the Fire," and especially "The Mind Cage." They're about as subtle as a brick in asking Annie, and especially the reader, to forgive Tony because he's been through a lot. No matter how many times we're told Tony's actions aren't excused by his pain, it doesn't disguise the transparent fact that the comic is asking us to excuse his actions and feel really, really bad for him. It reads like the author getting mad at us for interpreting his story "incorrectly," which really raises the reader's hackles, and for good reason.

I find it difficult to think of how I'd fix this - I'm sure people smarter than me have articulated it way better in the past. Let's begin with "Annie and the Fire." I don't have a problem with the reader being shown why Tony did everything that he did - and that he deeply regrets it - but I would probably remove the framing device where Donnie is purposefully showing Annie the conversation. I would rather have Annie somehow slipping her blinker stone into her dad's clothes or something and eavesdropping on him that way. Having Donnie specifically choose to show Annie "the other side" of Tony feels too much like apologism, no matter how much Donnie (and the author) try to convince us otherwise. And the idea of Donnie specifically trying to show this abused child that her dad isn't so bad after all leaves a really bad taste in my mouth, too, especially since Donnie was previously like, one of the sole reasonable adults in the entire comic, lol.

I would just erase "The Mind Cage." Like, entirely. No more "Mind Cage" period. That chapter is such a cringeworthy blunder in the comic's history. It is so obviously calculated to address reader backlash against Tony and the comic simply doesn't need it. On top of that, I would remove like, almost every reference to Tony's mind cage situation, I think. The concept that he can't talk to more than one person at once is so goddamn silly and poorly thought-out, and I say this as an autistic person with severe social anxiety myself. I will say that I do understand where Tom was coming from and what he was trying to do, I just think it was very poorly executed and comes across as so weird and borderline offensive to neurodivergent experiences. It's a no from me. Take it out.

At most, imply Tony's social difficulties through his actions. Rewrite the arc where Kat forgives him - don't just have it happening instantly and offscreen, which is so jarring and almost sickening after years of her being Annie's staunchest defender. And for god's sake don't have Annie expressing that she doesn't care what her dad does and will love him no matter what, frame this as an unambiguously good and cool thing, and have Jones, the impartial observer character, judge that this situation is fine actually.

Related note: "Get Lost" needs rewrites, too. Tony is simply not charming enough in that chapter to make us believe that Surma, and Kat, and everyone else, would be bamboozled by how cool and funny he is. He's just some dude. He's so bland, and so is his and Surma's romance. It's simply not believable. That chapter needs to be a slam dunk - it's pulling a lot of weight to convince the readers of a lot of things at once, and it's simply not working.

I think there is a fundamental problem that needs to be addressed before we deal with any of this: the comic is being written by an author that dislikes its main character and sees her as a spoiled child who deserves harsh punishment for her actions. This is in direct conflict with his readers, who have interpreted the story thus far as being about an abused and neglected kid who doesn't deserve any of the stuff that's happened to her, even if she's been cheating on her schoolwork and acting out a little. I believe Tom sees Tony's actions as at least a little justified because of this. If this wasn't the case, I think he would be more capable of writing the story in a way that readers would be more able to connect with and understand, rather than reacting with revulsion and confusion because, to us, he's depicting an abused child getting constantly knocked back down by her cruel father. Tom's biases are showing very clearly through his work, and he is not treating his story with the nuance it deserves, not anymore. I don't think there's any way to "fix" this, other than Tom having a come-to-Jesus moment, which is just not likely at this point, sad to say.

This obviously doesn't cover it all, not even close. It's just some rambling thoughts from me, and I hope they made at least a little sense. Thanks for this ask.

#gunnerkrigg #gunnerkrigg court #gunnerkrigg court critical #answers

[scramble-crossing]

sho for the character thingy!!

Anon thank you for giving me the opportunity to talk about my favourite cat bastard <3

Favourite thing about them

I love how his entire existence is treated like a shitpost (especially in og twewy) and yet he still manages to have an extremely interesting narrative if you're willing to look past 50+ text bubbles full of incomprehensible math jargon. When he's not reciting pi and blowing himself up I can't help, but wonder why he so desperately craves power, what his relationship with Hanekoma was like, or how he really feels about the Wicked Twisters, whether or not he, in his heart of hearts, regretted betraying him. He's a weird and utterly unique character and just so fun to make headcanons about.

Least favorite thing about them

His um...speech patterns are very funny and endearing to read, but absolute HELL to write. Nagi has the same problem. They’re almost too unique to the point where it’s hard to replicate how they talk in canon. 

Favourite line

Three-way tie between “This is subtracting from my arts and crafts time”, “HA HA HA. 3.14159265358979323846″ etc etc, and that time in another day when his Dad told him that his Totally Cool and Epic Homemade Beyblade wasn’t that great and he said “I’m better than you” and ran away crying like a five year old. 

brOTP

God everyone, but him and the Wicked Twisters especially. I thought it was really cute how much Rindo and Fret relied on and looked up to him. Nagi needs to cool it a little but I think Mina could really benefit from having a positive relationship with someone in his own age group. I also really hope that he and Neku get an enemies-to-friends arc. Neku choosing to see the good in him and believing he’d changed for the better despite everything he’d done to him is very important to me. 

OTP

I’m a staunch non-partnering aroace Mina believer so I’m really not interested in shipping him. However I think the sheer chaotic energy of uzukarimoto would be absolutely hilarious. I want Uzuki and Kariya to be in a romantic relationship and then post-redemption Mina starts hanging around with them so often that he becomes an honorary queerplatonic partner. Guy in a polycule that’s not dating anyone he’s just there.  

nOTP

Basically all Mina ships sorry :/ but I'm particularly not fond of ShoBeat or ShoNagi. ShoBeat just isn't my thing. I don't really see anything super interesting in their dynamic, personally I think his relationship with Neku is leagues more interesting (not in a romantic way tho). Also Nagi just very obviously makes Sho uncomfortable and it's kinda painful to watch. Rating: NOT CUTE!! THIS CATBOY IS IN DISTRESS.

Random headcanon

I love the idea that he was somehow able to see the UG even while he was alive, and that growing up surrounded by so much violence and death desensitized him and allowed him to become abnormally vicious and cruel as a Reaper.  Also, I like to think that he was a small, sickly kid, and died of a very slow, very gradual illness. In a way his erratic behavior as a Reaper is him compensating for his sheltered and unhappy childhood. 

Unpopular opinion

I think that a lot of his egotism and bravados is a cover, or even a survival mechanism, and that deep down Mina is actually rife with dissatisfaction and insecurity. Josh calls him an “attention seeker” and I think subconsciously that’s exactly what he’s looking for when he’s siccing taboo noise onto other Reapers or building those massive trash heaps. Heck, in ntwewy a lot of that old cockiness has been literally beaten out of him by the Composer. Granted I’m not sure if Mina’s meant to be a very deep character, so this is more of a “I think this would be narratively interesting” opinion rather than a “I think this is where the writers are going with him” opinion. 

Song I associate with them

I have an ever-growing Mina playlist that I think kind of rocks ngl. My favourites are God’s Whisper by Raury, Crying Lightning by Arctic Monkeys, and Sailor in a Life Boat by EURINGER. And PLEASE listen to Mathematical by Canadian Softball it’s so funny. 

Favourite picture of them

There’s something so catboy about this that I can’t explain. The anime did a great job with his look.

#ty again for the ask anon!! youre an mvp for enabling me #minamimoto #ask

[starsmuserainbow]

“Don’t be scared, it’s all okay.”

Gentle Pain Starters 

[[Thank you for sending! :D]]

There just hadn’t been time. With more time, the team could have gathered. Raven could have maybe stopped the missile without having it detonate, or teleported it somewhere safe for it to explode. But with the battle that they had been busy with, it was only Starfire in the air at the moment of it being fired, and there was no time to inform her friends (who were likely too busy with the fight to notice) of the sight. No, she had rushed after it without telling anyone, and when she caught up with the missile and it exploded upon her grabbing it, her communicator probably had been destroyed too. Not to mention that she of course ended up wounded, and rather badly so, and crashed to the ground without any of her friends even knowing where she had taken off to.

Her worry and fear did not help at all, of course, and she kept lying in the dent that her crash had created, trying to not give in too much to despair. If her friends hadn’t seen where she went or what happened, at least someone had to have been nearby and notice the explosion and the crash, right?

It was hard to say how much (or little) time had passed by the time that she heard a voice calling her. It was surprising, since it was a very familiar voice and she truly hadn’t expected her friends to be able to find her so quickly. She did her best to shout for him in return, and soon enough, found herself gently lifted up into his arms.

“... Robin?” Having him here, so unexpectedly, helped, but it felt so impossible and through that unreal, that her fear must still have been very visible. “M-mhm...”, she hummed in response, leaning her head against him and closing her eyes as she managed to calm down some more. “I... I am sorry... there was not the time, I had to stop it...”

#✫ Tamaran to Earth ✫ | Answered #formerwonder #anime tw #okay so there's like I feel a 90% chance or so that I misunderstood this line #I first thought it to be in a way of he's the wounded and she's scared for him #but then I read through the lines of the meme again and almost all of them are pretty certainly about my muse (so her; then) being hurt #so I went with this instead; but my mind is still telling me I should've understood the line differently #sorry if you expected something cmpletely different! xD #let me know though and I can write up something else too if you want! #also - I went with her calling him robin bc it's what I default to (since it was/is like that in the cartoon) #we can totally do it different though; let me know and I can change it (or just assume she called him whatever you'd like) #also yeah we can absolutely have this in some verse we mesh up together or something since you haven't seen the cartoon yet (and even then i #god I'm somehow so unhappy with this and I have no idea why - I hope it's okay!

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Coach (1)

Fandom: Dylan O'Brien

Pairing: AU Dylan x Fem!Reader

Mini series summary: Being a newly single mom of two kids wasn't exactly easy. And love wasn't exactly part of your agenda. So, should you avoid lusting over your son's baseball coach? Absolutely. But with a man like Dylan, could you really resist? Probably not.

Warnings: nothing major yet, small sexual innuendo, mentions of cheating and divorce

WC: 1.9k

A/N: a yes, to those who have been following me for a while may recognize this title, it's my old Dylan AU fic. Yes I decided to continue it. Updates will come periodically, because I write spontaneously and I cant guarantee quick updates. But I do promise I wont wait a whole year to update. And since I did some slight updates in the first 2 parts I decided to archive the old ones and repost them again. So yeah, if you've read them before great, give it another read, my writing is much better now I promise and if you're new welcome, I hope you like this mini series.

(You are here, part 2, part 3)

Dylan stood by the side of the large field, near the home plate, occasionally yelling out suggestions and pointing out mistakes to the young boys. 

"Ezra! You have to watch the ball! C'mon! I know you can do better!" He called out to the blonde boy standing on the home plate with a bat in hand. Dylan then turned his attention to the dark haired boy with the baseball mitt and ball in hand.

"Roman! What's going on, buddy? You gotta focus, alright? You gotta work on that throw!" Dylan called out to the young boy, who half nodded and sighed heavily in response.

Not long after, Dylan signaled the young boys scattered throughout the large field to gather around. He spoke some encouraging words to the boys before allowing them to disperse and gather their equipment which meant practice was over.

Your son, however, stayed behind for a minute. There was an inaudible conversation happening between Dylan and your ten year-old, Roman. You watched from the bleachers as your son made some tired gestures at his coach followed by a small pat on the back from Dylan. You couldn't help but follow them with your eyes as they made their way to the bleachers, your eyes lingering a bit too long on the brown haired coach. An action that wasn't taken lightly by the female sitting beside you.

"You're staring at him again." Your best friend, Ezra's mother, Eliza -or just Liz, commented.

"I'm not." You muttered out quickly, tearing your eyes away from the handsome coach, your mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds. "I wasn't staring." You stated matter of factly and shrugged as you looked down at the small six year-old sitting on your lap, making sure she wasn't paying attention to the conversation.

"Really? The drool coming from your mouth says otherwise." Liz playfully ran her finger across your chin, pretending to wipe away at it. You slightly glared at her, an eye roll going her way.

"I'm not drooling. I wasn't even staring." You tried to defend yourself, making a small sassy gesture to her.

"Hey, I don't blame you. If I wasn't married," she took a pause as she eyed Dylan as he removed his baseball hat to run a hand through his messy chocolate locks, you couldn't help but stare as well. "I'd jump on his bones any day."

"Hey, there's young ears present." You said quietly to Liz as not to disturb the young girl in your arms.

Despite your attempt not to, you couldn't help but allow your eyes to fall once again on the field, following the handsome male that was the topic of your conversation. You had to hide the infatuated sigh that left your lips at the sight of your son's coach running around the field, talking to the kids and picking up equipment.

"Well he is handsome, I'll give him that.." You admitted quietly, "and he's really good with the kids."

Your friend smirked slightly at your words and wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"I bet that's not the only thing he's really good at." She eyed you suggestively and slightly nudged at you with her shoulder, "You should find out what other things he's good at."

Your mouth instantly fell open and your eyes widened at the insinuation.

"Eliza! Oh, my god. Don't say that." You slightly shook your head to brush off the embarrassment and hid your face on your hands to cover the crimson on your skin.

"Mommy you're warm!" Athena, your six year-old giggled as she grabbed your warm, sweaty hands. Even your daughter noticed the nervousness that crept up on you when it came to Dylan, even if it was just the topic of him. Truth was, you had been shamelessly crushing on your son's baseball coach ever since he joined the team a couple of months ago. 

Get it together, you should not be crushing on your son's baseball coach.

"I know baby, it's just hot out here." You tried to brush it off, but the knowing smirk on Liz's face wasn't exactly helping. "Thena, why don't you go get Roman and Ezra? They're over there." You pointed to the field where Roman and Ezra were talking —or more like just Ezra was, to the other kids on the team. She quickly nodded and bolted off the bleachers, somehow not tripping over the steps as she went down. You sighed heavily the moment the young girl was far enough and slightly turned your head in Liz's direction.

"You should totally ask him out." She said out of nowhere with a shrug and a smirk on her face. Your eyes widened for the hundredth time, and you instantly shook your head frantically, the idea alone giving you a headache.

"Ask Dylan out? No way. I.. No.. That's just.. No." Your cheeks slightly heat up at the preposition. But you quickly turned it down with a vigorous shake of your head, not even giving the idea a minute to sink into your brain. "No, he's Roman's coach. It's just wrong."

"Why? I mean, you're single, and as far as I know, he's very single. Soo," she dragged the 'o' as she wiggled her eyebrows and she nudged your shoulder, pushing you over a little in a high school girl manner, "Why not get ready to mingle with the hot coach?"

"First of all, I'm technically not single, not yet." You groaned with an eyeroll. As much as you and your husband —or ex-husband or whatever were no longer living together, the divorce process had been unnecessarily long and dreadful. So as much as you wanted to be legally single, you were still married to that piece of shit. 

"And second of all, if I were to date someone, which is a big if, I can't date Roman's coach out of all people. He already has enough as it is. It'll just confuse him and probably upset him more." You sighed heavily as you looked over to the side of the field, where all the boys were having a conversation about elementary boys' things. And there you saw your son, trying, and ultimately failing at joining said conversations. And with little Athena tugging at his side, all he got from the other kids was laughing and rejection.

Seeing your son's sad and hurt expression when the other boys laughed at him or even told him to go away broke your heart. You wanted him to be happy again. You wanted him to be the energetic and loving kid he was before your waste of a husband left. Ever since Ryan —your waste of a husband left, Roman hasn't been the same. 

For the past six or so months, he has been distant and seemingly unhappy. All he ever did was lock himself up in his room and play video games. He barely ever interacted with you and Athena anymore. He barely interacted with anyone, period. Once Ryan left, it was up to you to support your kids financially. Of course, their father still paid child support, but he sure as hell didn't pay your bills or everything you needed to spend on your children. Which meant you had to take him out of the fancy school he went to in order to still pay the monthly expenses of your home. And he just didn't quite fit in at school, especially now. 

So, you hoped that him joining the baseball team would change that, that it would help him open up again and that it would help him make new friends. But so far, it's worked just the opposite.

"So, I'm making dinner tonight. Do you want to come over with the kids and get drunk? Luke will watch over the kids." Liz spoke, interrupting your train of thought.

"That sounds a-mazing," you spoke in a song-like tune, a sigh of contentment leaving your lips. "But I can't. I told Roman I'd take him to that Italian place he likes."

"Tomorrow then. I'll have that Chardonnay you love so much waiting for you." She winked at you as you both stood up, ready to greet your children.

"Thank God for your alcohol stash." You joked, flinging your arms up in praise. 

You both laughed and smiled in your children's direction, but your smile dropped as your kids and Ezra approached you. Ezra was holding Athena's hand, while Roman walked behind them, with a certain heaviness on his step and an annoyed look on his face. And Athena had a small pout on her face.

"Hey, what's wrong?"

"Rome doesn't want to hold my hand!" Athena whined with a pout of her lower lip. She released Ezra's hand and exchanged it for your own. Ezra going to his own mom. While Roman simply stood there, with a hand stuffed into his pockets and the other messing with the strap of his bag, his gaze stuck on the ground.

"Roman, baby," you sighed softly, not wanting to give the poor kid a hard time. You understood he didn't exactly fit in, no matter how much he wanted to, and that upset him. You didn't want to add up to that. "Your sister just wanted you to hold her hand."

"She was embarrassing me.. I'm already the kid without a dad, I don't need to be the kid with an annoying  baby sister." He muttered, his gaze not once leaving the ground.

 His words were harsh, but lacked emotion. And it broke your heart. But as much as you wanted to tell him that it wasn't true, that he did have a dad, you'd be lying if you did. Ryan was already absent in your children's lives before the split, but at the same time he was there, and Roman felt as if he was. But now, his father really wasn't there, at all. And there was nothing you could do about it.

You sighed softly, gesturing your free hand out for him, "Roman, come here," a heavy sigh left the young boy's lips as he took a few steps closer, standing in front of you with his head hanging low and his eyes stuck to the ground. You used your hand to hold the side of his face, his eyes meeting with your own. "Baby, Thena just wanted to show you that she loves you. She didn't mean to embarrass you, right Thena?" You turned your attention to the small girl that hid behind your arm, her eyes glistening with tears.

The small girl sniffled and shook her head, "No.. I'm sorry Rome.. I won't do it ever again, I-I promise."

You exchanged looks between your children, your eyes finally landing on Roman as you waited for a response. You raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes speaking a silent 'and' to the boy. He eventually signed, almost too heavily, and nodded. 

"It's okay, I guess.. I don't really mind all that much." He half smiled, shrugging slightly.

Athena's expression quickly lightened, the small girl detached herself from your hand and hugged her older brother. And as much as he hated to admit it, he didn't mind the affection. He returned the hug and smiled, for a moment at least.

After a second or two, Roman slightly pushed Athena off him, signaling that that had been enough affection for a day. You breathed out softly, turning to look at Liz, who gave you a sympathetic smile in response. 

"Well my loves, off we go. Say goodbye to Auntie Liz and Ezra." Both your children did as you said. Athena hugging both of them, and Roman simply waving at them. Good enough.

And at last, you gave Liz a quick but tight hug, "I'll call you tomorrow." You said shortly before you grabbed a hold of your daughter's hand and your son's bag, and eventually parted ways.

Today was gonna be a long day.

《Here's an edited version of part 1. As always I hope y'all enjoyed it. I'm trying to get back into writing after a long year, hopefully this will help me get back on track. Let me know your thoughts. And let me know if you'd like to be added to my dylan/coach taglist which I do have》

#dylanobrien #dylan o brien #dylan obrien imagine #dylan obrien smut #dylan obrien fanfic #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien series #coach #coach series

[impala1967dwinchester]

Dean Winchester- Truth

*Credit to jensenandtheboys*

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader, Sam x Fem!Wife!Reader

Pov: Readers

Warnings: Angst, crying, falling in love, falling out of love, marriage

Summary: Weddings are happy places to be, but what happens when your best friend the man you fell for years ago gets married. You start to realize a few more things.

Word Count: 1.4k

@firefly-graphics for the awesome dividers

Main Master List

Dean Master List

Weddings are supposed to be happy days, but why can't I seem to be happy? You might be asking yourselves a few questions. Like, of course, you'd be happy at a wedding, so why aren't you? Or maybe you're asking a more obvious question.

Might this wedding be so unhappy for you, because you're watching your best friend the same man that you fell in love with so many years ago? Get married to a woman he barely knows. Maybe you feel you know what's best for him, but do you truly even know what's best for yourself?

Bingo now you are catching on, Sam watches me as we walk down the aisle together. Sam is Dean's best man, and somehow I've become his future wife's maid of honor.

Dean's eyes scan the both of us, and he sends a smile in my direction. I return the smile and kiss him on the cheek. Before going to my spot. That's the last forever second of a moment he'll be mine in.

My spot in my perfect reality should be standing in front of Deans' big arms. Kissing him and saying my finally 'I do.' But instead, I stand just out of reach of him. Just out of reach of my hopes, my dreams, my everything is standing just out of me and there's not a single thing I can do.

I watch as Sam gives the rings to Dean. I watch as Sam's eyes connect with mine, a woeful expression cascades all of his soft yet manly features. And in one moment my world comes crashing down around me.

Dean says the horrible words, his bright smile and eyes tell me that I'll always just be his friend.

And I remember a quote. A rather deep and meaningful quote about love. It's sad yes, but true in every fashion. So true that I dare say it, but for you and just this once I will.

"Well now really when we go back into falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of falling." The quote is by Alan Watts

Like I said sad but true. I haven't lost anything I still have my best friend. I just fell and he didn't catch me, but that's alright.

I was caught in another way. After hours of the after-party, drinking, and filling my once open heart with sadness. I'm caught, not by Dean, but by someone who I hadn't realized was always there for me. He just hid in the shadows.

Sam lifts me and throws my wabbling arms around his shoulder picking me up easily. "Honey are you okay?" He asks I shrug my shoulders, and bow my head into the crease of his neck.

God he smells so good, like lavender, and love, like hope and everything that I wished I deserved. I start to weep, the emotions of the day overtaking every boundary set. I sob into Sam's neck, he soothes me the best way he can. Rubbing small circles into my back.

"Can I be honest? Really truly honest?" Sam asks, my sobs have turned into hiccups, and the body is overcome with the fact that I'm no longer at the var for the wedding, I'm in Sam's hotel room in his lap.

"He didn't deserve you. Not the way he thinks he does at least. He knows that no matter what you'll be at his feet in seconds to help, but think Y/n would he ever return the favored past, present, or future?" Sam says.

I take a moment letting my mind seep into the question. Thinking back to the many times where when I did need him he wasn't anywhere to be found, but Sam was. He always was there. I hope I understand where Sam is bringing this.

"I also know that you're fragile right now. I have no intentions of breaking you, but I want you to know that I'll always be there, you can count on me. I guess what I'm sayin' here is." Sam starts to say, but I interrupt him.

"Sammy, I know what you're saying. And yes. I'm more than fragile, so just be careful." There's no kiss at least not now. The two of us just lay together. I think I always knew it was going to be Sam, I just so desperately wanted Dean to rise into love with me, but I wouldn't not now or ever change the course of these events.

Hopeful, Sam will rise into love with me. Rise into passion, Rise into me, and maybe just maybe we can blend together.

The next time I see Dean. Sam and I are going over to his house. we have a surpise, we are about to tell him and his wife that we are getting married.

He opens the doors, smiles brightly as he welcomes us in. He doesn't take notice of the ring on my finger, or to the way Sam touches lingers on my back.

We eat dinner, talk about the many things we've forgotten we loved together as the three of us, and then Sam shares a look with me and I know now we are telling him. There's no backing out of this, there.s no crumbling at his feet begging him to have a feeling a ping of jealousy.

So I take Sam's hand under the table and grasp it hard before letting go, Sam's talking, and Dean is listening. And just like that before I know it I have no control over my body.

"Sam and I are getting married!." I'm louder than I meant to be, and there's a minute of the pass, of complete and utter silence. He stares at me, before moving his gaze to his brother.

It's quiet and almost inaudible. "That's awesome." He says. There's a sadness behind his eyes. Later that night Dean takes me by my hands, ushers me outside, and questions me. "Is this really what you want?"

I stare in amazement. Blinking. "Yes I do Dean, and what do you mean by that question. It's not you gave me much option."

He goes to turn, but something keeps him there. "Give you an option? Really Y/n?" He says. "I fell for you, and yet you weren't there to catch me," I said.

He just shakes his head and walks away. A year and a half later, I'm getting married, and it may not be to who I thought I loved at first, but it's to the man that puts me first, above himself even.

Since that night Dean and I have talked. I asked him for a few favors when I came to getting his brother gifts, his ring size normal brother and sister-in-law things.

Hearing a hard knock on my door jolts me from my head. Who is it I ask? Wanting to make sure my sneaky-to-be husband isn't trying to ruin the moment we are about to have, "It's Dean." I breathe in and out before checking myself in the mirror and letting him in.

It's playing in slow motion. The doorknob slowly turns, my heart starts to beat faster. The door opens slowly, and I see a neatly dressed Dean, head hanging low on his shoulders.

"Hey, Dean," I say

"Hey, Y/n." He says back, shuts the door behind him, the plan was for their mother Mary to walk me down the aisle, but according to Dean, well he was more asking me.

"Y/n, can... would you mind if I walked you down the aisle?" He asked stuttering his way through his question. I think, maybe, just maybe a part of me hopes he felt what I felt two years ago.

The pain, and the understanding that I'm slipping through his fingers at an ever so fast speed. That he isn't losing his best friend, he just didn't catch me. It's the ever knowing fact that I am ever so close, but just out of grasp.

His wife is the main of honor this time around. he stands behind Sam giving him the rings, and he watches as I have beaming smiles, bright eyes. As I say my last and forever "I do." This is how life is now, just barely in the grasp of each other at every constant move.

Completed on: 06/12/2021

Posted on: 06/12/2021

Tag List: @akshi8278 @deanswaywardgirl @sweetdetectivequeen @hit-meup69 @fofisstilinski @doctorlilo @wonderfulworldofwinchester

#supernatualfluff #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader #supernatural #dean x oc #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester fanfic #deangirl #dean fanfiction #dean fanfic #dean winchester fanfiction #sam x female!reader #sam x fem #sam winchester x you #sam x reader #sam winchester #sam fanfiction #sam winchester x reader

[askteacupfollie]

Hello! Sooo i just read a coment about one thing and i dunno if you would like to answer but, what’s that about the religious trauma?? Did something happend in the past with it?? And also how’s everything?? You doing good??

(Btw; your art is amazing and so does the story, keep going like this!!❤️❤️)

Mod- Oh yeah! Sure I'll talk about it! But is a LONG one so I'll put it under the cut. (TLDR religion is the reason I hate myself) I'm happy you like my art and story! I hope I can keep it to everyone's standers!

It's really a mix of how I was raised and body dysphoria. I was raised as a Baptist Christian as well as a girl for all of my childhood. Growing up I was always told that God had a plan for me and that he loves me unconditionally. I did not have the best childhood btw, at a very young age I was constantly introduced to being poor, racism, capitalism, generational depression, mental illness, learning disabilities going untreated, horrific gender roles from the 80's and 90's, and death. I knew about death and its toll on people before I even knew my own birthday. But my father always made sure that I knew that this was God's plan for me, all of these bad things we're going help me somehow in the future. It never made sense to me but my dad was there and that's all I really needed to be comforted.

Then in 2012 I lost my father. We were so close and so much alike. My dad was on disability check and couldn't work due to his health so when I was born he practically raised me. He was the only one to notice that I wasn't a "normal" little girl and embraced my boyish nature. He bought me boy clothes, let me play in the mud, be roughty, and he was the only person who knew on how I thought. He encouraged my artistic wants of learning to draw and paint as well as my need to understand how the world worked scientifically. He was my best friend. When he died I was so taken aback. The only person who knew the actual me was gone.

As he was being buried I burst into tears, not for the lost but at the not understanding why. Why was he gone? Why had God taken him from me? I was only 15, two months from going into high school, this was THE time I would need someone who new how I worked to teach me how to express emotions right, how to keep on task for homework, someone to help with projects, ideas, and just plain someone to talk to. It never made sense. If god loved me, then why do all these bad horrible things keep happening to me and my family? Not even a few months later I lost all of my grandparents, several great uncles that I was close to, and several cats and kittens.

If god loved me, truly loved me, then why would he keep me in a continuous bought of pain and suffering? For the betterment of me? If its for the betterment of me then that means there must have been something wrong with me. That must mean god thinks who I am and who I was meant to be was wrong. And this is the punishment for it! But that didn't make sense either, because god was suppose to love me unconditionally. Even if I was "wrong". This thinking brought up the conclusions that either there is no god, or I deserved all of this punishment, I was the reason my family was suffering, I was the reason god took away my father.

And so I lived with this thought all throughout my teen years and my early 20's. I lived though the punishment because it was what I deserved. I deserved to live unhappy, to be stalked, to be treated as an object, to be ignored, to be sick, to be failing my classes... to be raped... I lived with this trauma my whole life until almost 4 years now, when I realized I was a man. My therapist told me bad things just happen sometimes. Even to good people. My therapist helped me realize that I was not a bad person, I did not deserve these horrible things happening to me nor was it my fault. I am a good person that unfortunate thing happen to.

I'm doing much better now, I got my depression under control, I'm taking hormone treatments, and I'm gaining friends who see and notice me. As for my religious view on things I have 3 views on it now.

1- There is no god and we are just here to be here. 2- Deism. 3- He's a sick bastard and to quote the innocent jewish people locked away in WW2 "If there is a god, he will have to beg for my forgiveness."

#tw religion #tw religious mention #sad backstory #long story #mod answers #mod vents

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-valves]

Heuj valves, you know what I'm here for, go on. Make us a story dolly >:)

-cursed

Okay, in case you guys haven’t been around for like, the past day or two, let me explain. This is involving Bill Sykes, the villain of the movie ‘Oliver and Company’. Cursed came out of nowhere, showed me this man, and he has LITERALLY kept me up all night last night. I’m tired, majorly horny, and I hate this big, BIG man so much. Let’s go. (Also side note first attempt writing him, I'm trying)

Money. Money was a thing that made the world go round. It was something everyone wanted, something everyone would fight tooth and nail to get. Some people had nothing, and some had far too much. Like Sykes. Sykes had so much money, through brute force, through cunning, through anything and everything unsavory. And with so much money, came with the ability to have SO much power, of which he abused. If he wasn’t taunting people with how much money he had, he was luring more people in with his classic charm. As evil as he was, no one really seemed to see it at the beginning. They saw an older, rather likeable man. It was why no one blinked twice when he walked into the clothes store. If anything, he was welcomed, especially by the man behind the counter.

“Mr.Sykes! Just on time! Ever the punctual man! I got your new suit in!”

“Good, good. You’re one of the few in this city that DOESN’T disappoint me.”

“I should hope not, you’re my best customer! Speaking of, can I be daring enough to offer you a new set of shoes?”

“Wasn’t looking for a new pair, but what the hell.”

Sykes let him be walked to the counter. He JUST so happened to be on the counter next to some lady. Pretty thing, honestly. She somehow didn’t notice him, and pushed a handbag across the counter.

“Hey, I didn’t see a tag on this. Can you check it for me?”

This lady didn’t belong here. This was a real ‘if you had to ask, you can’t afford it’ kinda place. The guy behind the counter gave her a look, before glancing at the bag.

“Twenty nine fifty, miss.”

“Only thirty bucks? Okay-”

She went to dig into her current purse, before he cleared his throat.

“Ma’am, no. I’m saying it's two thousand, nine hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Ah. So when do I get the bull?”

“Pardon?”

“The bull. The one who's giving me this fresh batch of shit."

Sykes had to give her one thing, she had a mouth on her. Sykes sensed a fight, and decided to turn that into his favor.

“Hey, let me pay for the lady here.”

She looked at him, seeming to just now notice his presence. She was reasonably suspicious, and seemed to almost snarl at him.

“I don’t do freebies.”

“Not a freebie. Just thought a pretty lady should have pretty things. If you don’t want it, fine, won’t push it. Really, it’s on me.”

She hesitated, before seeming to put her guard down, pushing the purse back across the counter. He chuckled, swiping his card. This is how you brought the pretty ones in. Buy them something nice and shiny, show them you were a sweet guy. He grabbed his things, and stepped outside with her. She was staring at her purse in fascination, before turning to look at him.

“Thanks a bunch, by the way. Didn’t catch your name.”

“Sykes. Bill Sykes.”

He held his hand out to her, and she accepted the handshake. He took the chance to give her another look over, and realized; yeah. She was worth trapping. He threw his stuff into the car, before turning to look in her direction.

“You have plans for lunch?”

“No, why?”

“Feelin’ generous today. Assuming you can spare me some company.”

She looked hesitant, studying him and his ride. If he wasn’t rich, it would’ve been ‘hell no’. But she was, like many, allured by his obvious, flagrant weath.

“I mean...yeah, sure. Why not?”

Little did she know, she was digging the hole deeper and deeper.

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

It had gotten WAY later into the night than he planned. He had meant to only spare an hour or so, but he found himself taking well into sunset. By the time they left the place, she was hooked, lined, and sinker, laughing and holding onto his arm as they walked back to his car. He opened the passenger side door for her, motioning for her to hop in.

“You want a ride back to your place? You DID have a bit to drink.”

She nodded, getting inside, practically giddy.

“Yeah, I can tell you how to get there, I think.”

“Good, good.”

He shut the door after her, and hopped in himself. He put on his seatbelt, and lit up a cigar. He hadn’t had a good smoke all day, and it felt good to finally get one in. He let her guide him to her house, and made a mental note of just where she lived. The drive was but a simple action, but it was a clever, discreet way of knowing just where to find her. He stopped right in front of her place, put the car in park, and exhaled the smoke into the car’s interior.

“You know, you put me in a real, real good mood. How about I do the same for you?”

She looked at him, confused, before he pulled out his wallet, and brought out a good chunk of cash. THAT sobered her up. Her first instinct was to clearly reach for it, but she stopped herself.

"What...is this for?"

"Spending money. Something for you to play around with, invest in stuff, whatever ya want."

"That’s...lots of money. A...LOT of money. You just carry that with you? You don’t think you’ll get mugged or something?”

“That doesn’t happen. Trust me on that.”

He chuckled. There were attempts, MANY attempts in fact, but...well. Didn’t end well, let’s keep it at that. She looked down at the stack, and he knew she was so close to being in his web. Just one movement of the hand. One moment of indulgence. And she fell for it. She took it from his hand, and counted it in her hand. The more she counted, the more lost she seemed to get, clearly in disbelief.

“Twenty five...t-thousand. That’s seriously how much this is?”

“Right on the dot. Now go on, get outta here. Sure I’ll bump into ya again, Doll.”

When she helped herself out of the car, he chuckled, and pulled out of the driveway. Soon enough made it home, where Roscoe and Desoto looked up at him, clearly wondering where he had been. It WAS a bit past their usual treat time. Fishing some out of his pockets, he tossed them towards his eagerly awaiting pups. He sighed as he sat down at his chair, leaning back a bit, and blowing rolls of smoke into the air.

“You boys ain’t gonna believe today’s catch. A real cute thing, you have no idea. Imma give her the usual week. Desoto.”

He snapped his fingers, and the mutt obeyed promptly, getting out of bed and sitting at his side. He allowed Sykes to run his big, firm hands through his fur, and thumbs rubbing at the tips of his ears. His master seemed VERY pleased by his new catch today, he almost never got special pets like this.

“You guys are gonna love her. Because If I don’t get a bite out of her, you two will.”

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

He waited in his car, headlights off as he awaited her to return from work. He decided to take all this time to get back to some calls, rather than just sit here with his thumbs up his ass. 

“No. No. Swear to god ya bunch of morons- no. Take the teeth out BEFORE ya dump him. So what if he screams? Well ya in the warehouse right? Aight, ya gonna be fine then.”

His associate kept talking on the other line, but Sykes didn’t listen. He was too distracted by his hounds in the back, who were now fully sitting up and looking out the window. His dogs were a pain, but at least they were smart.

“Yeah listen, imma call ya back. Figure it out.”

He then saw her. She was even carrying the same purse he bought her. He waited till she went to her front door, before turning on the headlights, nearly blinding the poor thing. He stepped out of the car, hands out as if he was being welcoming.

“Aye, there ya are doll! Been a while!”

She seemed confused for a minute, but as he stepped closer, it clicked.

“Sykes, right?”

“Yeah, knew ya wouldn’t forget me. I didn’t forget ya in the slightest.”

He walked up to her, and leaned against the door, pinning her between a rock and a hard place. She shrunk a bit, before looking down at the floor. She had dropped her keys. Just before she could make the motion to reach for them, he covered it with the bottom of his shoe. He leaned down, blowing plumes of smoke into her face, making tears swell in her eyes.

“So, where’s my payment?”

“Payment?”

Of course she was confused. They always were. As if money was free in this world. He let the cigar roll in his mouth, before nodding.

“Yeah, my payment. You took a loan from me, doll. I need it back.”

“I didn’t know that was a loan! You didn’t say-”

“Little girl, nothing in this world is free, money included. Now, where is it? If you got it upstairs, I’ll go with ya to get it.”

Her little eyes looked so frantic under his gaze. He just needed to hear those words. Words that from any other mouth, would make him a very unhappy man.

“I...don’t have that kinda money.”

That was all he needed. He grabbed her by her arm, and yanked her to follow. She would’ve made a dash for her keys, had Roscoe not nipped at her heel, forcing her to back away. Turns out two barking dogs made for quite the deterrent. Sure, she struggled, screaming as his hand slapped over her mouth, but that didn’t matter. He managed to pull her away, and nearly threw her into the car. Desoto was a good boy, using those big, pearly whites to keep her there in pure fear.

“Roscoe, fetch.”

Roscoe went for the door, grabbed the keys, and placed them into his master’s hand.

“Good boy. Now get in.”

He waited till his other pup jumped into the back, before he went to the driver’s seat, and locked the doors. He adjusted his rearview mirror, and caught a glimpse of her scared little eyes. Yep. She was already worth every penny.

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

“Don’t look at me like I’m a bad guy, sweetheart. You understand, ain’t nothing free. I fancy myself a good guy, but not good enough to just hand out money like that.”

Roscoe and Desoto circled her like vultures. She didn't even NEED to be tied up like this, he just liked the assurance, and the view. Like a little doe, she was still, powerless, and scared.

"I didn't know-"

"What you don't know, CAN kill you. I'm sorry, I know it ain't fair. But life is like that. Fortunately for you, I'm a very compassionate man. We can discuss methods of payment. Any family money?"

She shook her head, seeming to be a BIT distracted by Roscoe's sharp teeth. He gave a sharp inhale, shaking his head.

"Clearly YOU don't have the money, right? No 'under the sofa' cash?"

Another shake of her head. His fingers tapped against his table, shaking his head in clear disappointment. 

"Oh. I REALLY don't like your options now, Doll. Ya got two choices."

She squirmed a bit, stiffening as Desoto's teeth bared against her. He lifted his hands up a bit, and snapped his fingers. Roscoe followed the command, and dashed right for her, barking and frothing at the mouth. The weight of his body sent her falling, with the chair slamming onto the floor. He pinned her down, barking and covering her face in drool, teeth BARELY missing her own skin. 

Oh how she screamed. How she begged for mercy. How her legs thrashed as she tried in vain to get away. He let her sit there until he was certain there were tears in her eyes. Then he stood up, and slowly walked over to her, heavy footsteps clanking against the hard floor below them. He snapped his fingers, and Roscoe heeled, taking a seat next to his fellow fido. He squatted down to her level, blowing smoke into her already irritated face. He liked crybabies.

"That's option one. I'm assuming you don't want that."

She shook her head, sniffing. He rolled the cigar in his lips, before he lifted her face up with his hand, and pushed her chin down, forcing her mouth to open.

"Option two. You could provide me with a few...services. Then we can forget ALL about the pesky little debt you have with me. You're a pretty little thing, I'd be willing to let you work it off. I mean, you'd survive If I bit you, rather than my boys here. Not to mention if you're sweet 'nuff, I'll un do those pesky ropes of yours."

She clearly thought about it, but her mind was foggy, her eyes hurt, even her lungs felt sore from the second hand smoke. But, just as he suspected, she nodded. A huge grin came over his face, and he held onto the chair, pulling her off the floor.

"Alright sweetheart, let's EARN your freedom here. Open that pretty mouth for me."

He held onto her face as he pulled in, pushing that thick, rich smoke right into her mouth. All while his tongue slid into her mouth, grazing against hers. He took his time, getting a good, firm kiss out of her. He only pulled away when he needed to breathe. She needed it too, starting to fall into a coughing fit. It was cute. He put out his cigar on the ashtray, letting it sit there.

"Mm. You taste good. Damn good."

He undid his belt buckle, and whipped himself out. He turned her face at him, but with a bit of a...heavy hand, he pressed his cock against her face.

It was precious, watching such an innocent face under his thick cock. She whined a bit as he pushed her face into him, nearly smothering her with not only his dick, but his hairy, hairy balls.

"Open up for me Doll, nice and sweet. And don't you bite me. You'll regret it, trust me."

This time she seemed fairly willing, opening her mouth with not much more than a wince. He grabbed onto that pretty, pretty hair of hers, and pulled, really shoving her onto him.

"Oh that's the ticket, honey. Right there. Can feel that little tongue of yours."

He pushed himself fully, and held himself there, till he felt her gag, just like a good girl. He pulled away, watching her pant, lips covered in her own drool, and chest heaving. She was about to speak, before he shoved his balls right into her mouth, head tossed back in content. When was the last time he had his balls sucked by a cute, willing (somewhat anyway) little thing like her? He kept his fat, firm fingers in between her hair, really making a mess of it. Beautiful, poised girls were all swell, but cute, messy girls were such fun playthings. He granted her a bit of mercy, pulling away, while still pumping his cock.

"Mmm. You're a good little girl, ain't ya? Pretty too. I was gonna really put you through the ringer, but you're too damn precious NOT to be opened."

Not needing any scissors, he yanked at the ropes, making them snap under the force of his grip. He lifted her off of the seat, putting her on his desk, and using his big, strong hands to part those nice looking legs of hers. She was clearly hesitant, being felt up by essentially a stranger, but he didn’t care. Long as she didn't fight him, he could give less of a damn. He tore off her skirt, and took a gander of her panties. It was hot, knowing those lacey undergarments were paid for by HIM.

"Cute set here, Doll. Real, real cute stuff."

He took a hold of her ass, and pulled her closer to him, pressing himself right against that nice, cute fabric. With his free hand, he tugged at her shirt. Just because he was hungry, didn't mean he couldn't be a bit refined.

"Shirt, bra, off. Case you wanna keep your outfit in one piece."

He saw her hands tremble, as if she was confused. He gave another tug, and she seemed to finally get the hint, pulling her clothes off. She was worth the wait, honestly. Hell, he was so excited, he took his own shirt off, laying it as carefully as he could off to the side of the desk (it was hard to keep your shit neat when you wanted to be messy). He dug his fingers into her hair again, and yanked her into another kiss, this time really pressing himself against her. It wasn’t just their bank accounts that differed, it seemed. Where she was soft, helpless, he was firm, foreboding against her. He loomed over her, nearly suffocating her with not only his greedy lips, but his large, hairy, heavy frame. He pulled her away for a moment, ignoring the way she winced. He was pretty heavy handed, especially when it came to such a darling looking thing. He started to roll his hips into her, pushing his tip right against her clit. He liked the way she jumped every time, liked the way her toes seemed to curl. 

“You’re gonna handle me REAL well, girlie. I can tell. You’re really just a kitten, ain’t ya?”

His hand cupped at one of her breasts, kneading and pulling at the flesh. He was heavy handed with her, using enough force to make her wince. Not his fault she had a cute pair, with a face to match. He would sit there and play with them till they were nice and raw, but he wasn’t sure his cock would handle this much stalling. He hooked his finger into her underwear, and pulled them off. They were pretty much soaked, and something about that was just so charming to him. He let go of her hair, and groped her pussy, palming at her wet, warm folds. She held onto his hand, writhing under his firm grip. He pulled his hand away, letting her whimper as he checked out just how much she left on his hand. Needy little thing, it seemed. He slapped that hand over her mouth, and pushed himself right inside. You’d think he’d give her just the tip, get her used to his size.

You’d be wrong.

He pushed himself fully inside of her, balls deep, and watched her shake. Not that he blamed her. He was a big guy, afterall. He kept his hand over her mouth, despite how much she clawed at his hand. He held her like that, not moving a single muscle until she decided to settle down. He pulled his hand away, watching as her own drool (along with her own fluids) smeared over her delicate little mouth. She looked at the cock stuff inside of her, before looking at his face. He was expecting some kind of retort, some kind of insult, maybe even a slap to the face, stuff he was used to.

“You’re a terrible, terrible man.”

He opened his mouth to give her a life lesson (one he gave everyone when they barked that at him), when she suddenly flung herself at him, nearly smashing her lips against his own. That...was a first. But he was NOT complaining. He grabbed the back of her head, and returned the kiss with fervor, letting her moan right into his greedy, greedy mouth. Laying her right onto her back, he started to slam himself right into her. He had no idea how his desk supported his weight, especially when he was acting damn near belligerent on his new toy, but god was he glad it did. Especially since his new toy seemed just as excited as he was now, running her hands through his absolute mess of chest hair, and even locking her legs around him, as if she didn’t want him to leave. He parted the kiss, panting huskily against her lips. She moved not an inch, in either obedience, or the fact that his strong, fat hands were still holding the back of her head, as if he was scruffing a mutt.

“You’re taking me real nice, doll. You feel nice and tight, and you’re feeling me up like you actually like me.”

She didn’t seem to be focusing on his words for a moment, but rather keeping her focus on his big, hairy tummy. Not that he cared, he favored looking at her tits moving in sync with his thrusts. He favored watching the lewdness in her eyes, he favored knowing that her ravenous pussy leaked all over his desk. All of these he favored, over her actually meeting his eyes (Sykes wasn’t a real romance type, case you haven’t guessed). He let her continue her grubby little hands as he lowered his face right to the nape of her neck. He could tell that she liked hearing him talk, given the way she seemed to pull at his hair every time his breath brushed against her ear.

“It’s gonna feel so good when I cum right in you. You’re already handling me so good, you’re already gonna cum yourself. I can see it. I can see it plain as day, you wanna cum on my cock. Even if I’m a bad, bad guy, you want me doll. And that’s SO sweet of ya, really.”

He could tell she was trying to give him a bit of a fight. Just a little bit of one. She had such a mean little scowl about her, as if she refused to let him see her cum. Unfortunately for her, he always took what he wanted. And after just a few more thrusts, after taunting her with his sweet, sweet voice, and after grabbing her so tightly she bruised, she came. She shook something fierce as he fucked her right through it, relishing in her cries of ecstasy. He was used to screams. Screams of mercy, of pain, but hearing one from such a cute little dame cumming for him, it was just so refreshing. She pushed his face away, only to bury her teeth right into his big, meaty neck. Most bites tended to happen on his hand, so feeling it here was just something else. He didn’t have a chance in hell. With a swear under his lips, he came. He forced her to keep still, pumping cum right inside of her. Even as it trickled out of her, he didn’t seem to quit. He wasn’t timing it, but he knew he lasted a damn good minute before he finished.

“Shit.”

Was his only response. A simple, satisfied swear. One that helped ease all the tension in his poor, old body. His stomach rested on hers as he panted, ever so slowly calming down from a damn good high. She was quite a vision herself, covered in sweat and bruises. Pretty thing. She forced herself to swallow, before speaking, wearily.

“We uh...square, right?”

That made him laugh. He shook his head, leaning over to his discarded jacket, and pulling out a cigar. He lit it up, taking a good, deep inhale, right before looking down at her.

“Honey, that was a damn good fuck, really it was. But that was NOT worth twenty five thousand. You still got a bit of work ahead of ya, Doll.”

He watched her wince as he tapped his cigar, letting the ashes fall onto her exposed skin. Yep.

She was a keeper.

#asks #lemon #not transformers #bill sykes #listen #i MAY have let loose some kinks of #mine #i uh #got it bad

[curlicuecal]

This is kind of a self-indulgent question, but how do you deal with people who VERY BADLY want to be your internet friend, and they'd be Crushed if you stopped talking to them, but you just don't have the energy for it/are beginning to resent them for it? (And for other reasons you can't bring up because whiffs of criticism squeeze their "I'm a terrible person" reflex)

Oh, gosh. As someone who has been on BOTH sides of this experience, this speaks to me right where I live.

If you’re at all like me, this stuff is difficult from several angles:

Firstly, I like people to be happy and not unhappy. If I can do things to make people happy, I tend to want to do them. Other people’s (un)happiness often feels like it weighs more strongly than my own (un)happiness.

Secondly, I am extremely rejection-sensitive myself, so this ups my perception of the harm to the other person. It also makes the whole topic feel extremely charged, b/c if *I* secretly don’t like this person for no reason they can control then maybe other people secretly don’t like me for reasons I can’t control. Maybe all my friends secretly hate me! (They don’t. I’ve checked.)

Thirdly, if I’m honest, I would like to be able to reject someone in a way that somehow causes zero change in their opinion of me, see previous All People Must Like Me At All Times Or I’ve Failed As A Human Being. (Also not true. I’ve checked on that one, too.)

Soooo yeah. This is one of those easier-as-a-bystander things, but here’s some things that have helped me.

-Untangle what you do control from what you don’t

You are in charge of your feelings and your actions. You CAN’T control (or even 100% predict) how the other person will react to them, so stop assigning yourself the task of being feelings!forecaster and emotions!wrangler.

Sometimes things in life (like you not manifesting the correct feelings) will make people feel bad in ways you can’t actually prevent or control. Give yourself permission to not try.  Break ups hurt, and the idea that there is a Magical Correct Perfect way that will cause no hard feelings is, sadly, not a real thing.  Pull off the band-aid fast or slow or however the heck you prefer.  It’s gonna come off.

-Try not to project

Worth emphasizing: If they haven’t said it out loud, you don’t actually know what they’re thinking or feeling.  Mind reading is a cognitive distortion, so try to spot when you’re falling into it.  Ditto for fortune-telling (you don’t know how they’re going to react) or catastrophizing.

-Practice enthusiastic consent in relationships

Seriously. Do this *today.* Every time you find yourself in a position where you need decide to skype/message/reply/hang out with/otherwise spend emotional energy on this person" check in on your consent. Do you enthusiastically want to?

If not: don’t.

It is amazing how often this idea feels revolutionary. But you don’t owe strangers (or your friends) make-outs or sex just because it would make them happy, and similarly you don’t owe them a deep, emotional feelings jam. Or even a relationship. Neutrality towards someone is not harm.

Guilt is a toxic as fuck relationship dynamic, Do Not Do.

-Sometimes people don’t click

It’s not a referendum on someone’s character if you just don’t feel it the same way. You don’t need to be someone’s friend because they are nice. You don’t need to be someone’s friend just because you don’t have a compelling reason not to be. You don’t actually need a reason to not want to be someone’s friend. There are several billion perfectly nice people in the world you will not have time to be in either a platonic or romantic relationship with.

Also, having incompatible relationship needs doesn’t necessarily mean EITHER of you need to change as a person.  It just means you have incompatible needs.

If you feel bad for not being able to be the Nice Thing in this person’s life, go leave a comment on someone’s fanwork.  There, you’ve brightened someone’s day.

-It’s not rude to not answer someone on the internet

This one’s hard for me! But seriously. Especially the less well you know someone, the less you owe them dropping everything to craft a response of any flavor on demand. Try not to frame it as “ignoring someone speaking to your face” and look at it more as “ignoring someone shouting vaguely in your direction across a crowded room.” I’m bad at small talk, so my rule of thumb is if I don’t have anything in particular to add to a conversation, I just…. don’t. “I liked ur post” does not mandate any particular response.

-Therapists get paid

Therapy is hard, emotionally-draining work aand that is why therapists get paid to do it, and why they only do it in a very specific, limited context. When you engage in therapy as a friend, it should be as part of mutually beneficial relationship. Does this mean that 2 friends always get the same benefits out of a relationship or that 2 friends will always have the same amount of spoons to spend on a relationship at any given time? No. But over the span of years it should probably feel like it evens out.

In my personal experience, starting as someone’s free therapist doesn’t usually work out well in terms of friendship. It feels nice to be helpful, but it’s a weird power imbalance, and best case scenario you’re both eventually going to have to work out new ways to relate to each other. Worst case scenario, one or both people’s spoons drastically change and suddenly you CAN’T continue the current dynamic and nobody’s got a safety net interaction-style to fall back on.

-You can understand and empathize with a reaction without having to prioritize it

You mentioned a “terrible person reflex”. And god, I feel that.  But this is one of those areas where both of you have GOT to be aware of who is in charge of handling that reflex. (Hint: it is not you). It’s very similar to struggles with jealousy or any other cognitive distortion– they are real, painful emotions, but as distortions they are not based in reality. People outside your own brain can find some ways to provide reassurance, but they cannot manage them for you. Is there a way you can work out a ritualized shorthand for the long set of reassurances or nimble tap-dancing that it sounds like ensues from this reflex triggering? (Something like: “are we still friends?” “yep!”)

In particular, if you find that expressing a need/feeling leads to you setting that conversation aside for prolonged discussion of the other person’s needs or feelings THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY OR SUSTAINABLE PATTERN.

-Listen to your brain when it wants you to stop doing something that hurts

When you’re experiencing emotional overload, distress, or damage, a healthy brain is gonna take steps to protect you. That resentment?  That is your brain giving you armor.  That is emotional coping.

If you’re like me, and not always very tuned in to your own needs (I *can* so obviously I *should*).  Sometimes your brain will just scale up the shouting (”Seriously, Stop Doing the Thing”) until you have to acknowledge it. One example is the “bitch eating crackers” phenomenon, where your brain escalates resentment of a person to the point where even the way they eat crackers starts to bother you. “Look at that bitch sitting there eating crackers.” This is not a good place to be in in a relationship. Repression is not a sustainable interaction style in a relationship.

-People that love you want you to be happy

If you are unhappy, that is important. If your happiness requires you taking a step back, *even in a way that hurts the other person*, most of your friends will want you to take that step. Plus side: this means that sharing a relationship problem will trigger good friends’ protective problem-solving rather than defensiveness. Or at the very least you know what they would want for you if they were in a better place.

The corollary to this is, of course, people that don’t value your happiness are not worth pouring your emotional energy into.

-If you’re waiting for the Thing That Will Give You Permission to Leave, “I want to” is sufficient reason

I have to include this because it is so damn important.  Seriously.  If you want out of a relationship, this is your sign.  Go.

-Be aware that “do this or I’ll hurt myself” is also abuse

Also so damn important.  Threats of physical violence to coerce behavior are Not Good.  Run run run.

-You aren’t required to invest work in fixing a relationship, but if you DO  want to put it in, here are some quick thoughts:

Switch to only engaging in ways, frequencies, and topics that you find rewarding. (ENTHUSIASTIC CONSENT. DESIST FROM EMOTIONAL SUPPRESSION.)

State your needs without feeling the required to offer detailed explanation or justification. (“I’m really stressed lately, so I need to only talk about casual things”)

Resist the urge to get drawn into guilt spirals.  (”I’m not mad” + restate need).

Resist engaging with stuff that violates boundaries you’ve communicated–just ignore and switch the topic. Redirect any too-heavy stuff to other channels. (“Sounds like you need a therapist to talk to”; “Ugh, that sounds stressful, hope you find someone that can help you through that”; “Sounds like something you two will need to work out together”; + TOPIC CHANGE).

Shift some of the relationship work to the other person, such as strategizing ways to balance conflicting needs.

Frankly what I’m hearing from you is “I want to stop” so…. yeah, you can stop.  Official Stranger On the Internet permission given.

ps, check out Captain Awkward’s tag on The African Violet of Broken Friendship, highly recommend.

#Anonymous #advice #curlicue has opinions #1k