#+ and says “I’m going in’’ and he gets it cause he’s a real one and is proud of his sister for chasing her dreams

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In

Summary: Frankie makes good on his promise to pick you up from work.

Word count: 3.7K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Having a panic attack (cue Frankie to the rescue), mentions of death and grieving, angst, yearning, could we perhaps be ✨making progress✨?

A/N: Hi friends!! Thanks for bearing with me after no new chapter last week! This one's also on the shorter side, but that's not to say there aren't some BIG things happening 👀 My hope is to have another chapter done by next week, but with holiday business, it may have to be two weeks between chapters again (sorry sorry sorry!!) Thank you as always for your lovely and kind words, ily all so much MWAH

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Present 

“I’m done at ten.” 

By the time he gets back home at 6:43, he’s already counting down the hours until you’re finished with your shift. 

Three hours and seventeen minutes, to be exact. 

For as much as Frankie could easily spend the next three hours and seventeen minutes doing nothing but staring at the clock hanging adjacent to the TV in the living room, he knows he’ll drive himself out of his goddamn mind. He needs something to do. 

If he keeps himself busy, he can’t fester on the million and one ways he could manage to fuck this up. 

Frankie forces himself to eat some sort of half-assed dinner, despite his nervous nausea that’s got the best of him. He purposely uses as many dishes and utensils to make a sandwich as humanly possible- if he does, it gives him something to do after. 

He cleans out his entire truck, down to vacuuming every last crumb crunched between the driver’s seat and center console. He debates washing the car himself in the driveway, but if he drives it to the carwash three blocks down the road, it’ll kill more time. 

On his way home, he stops at Auto Zone to get you a new car battery and exchanges it for your old one, dead, under the hood of your car. 

Frankie takes a shower so long, he can feel in real time the water shift from boiling hot, to luke warm, to ice cold. He washes his hair twice. His body, three times. 

He unpacks just about every item of clothing from his suitcase, laying them out on his bed in multiple combinations of pants and shirts, debating whether you'll think he’s a psychopath for showing up in a different outfit only a few hours after dropping you off. Frankie settles on shorts and a t-shirt- nice enough he doesn’t look like a fool, but casual enough for you not to suspect he’s been staring at every article of clothes he owns for the past thirty minutes. 

And somehow, after all of that, he still ends up in the Parrot’s Nest parking lot at 9:23. 

Thirty-seven minutes worth of waiting is a lot more manageable than the better part of three hours. 

Unfortunately, the last thirty-seven minutes he spends sitting in the parking lot are the most agonizing of his whole endeavor. 

He throws the last few innings of the Tampa Bay Rays game on the radio in the background, unable to stand the sound of silence that haunts him when he’s alone with his thoughts. 

Frankie tries not to panic at the fact that it seems like he’s forgotten how to engage in basic human conversation, praying that no one can see the way he’s rehearsing his greeting to you upon your arrival into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, what’s up? No, fuck, that’s stupid.” Frankie mutters to himself, running his palm over his face, “Hey, MacKenzie, how was work? No, ‘cause what if work was fucking awful and I’m just gonna piss her off more. Jesus.” 

He takes a few more long, deep breaths, staring at the roof of his truck while he tries to concoct the perfect set of words to string together. 

“Hey, Kenz. Kenzie? MacKenzie? Does she even fucking go by Kenz anymore? Fuck. Hey, miss me?” He jokes by his lonesome, his fake smile quickly fading at the anticipation of your response, “She obviously didn’t miss you, idiot. You’re lucky you can barley get her to fucking talk to you. Fuck me.” 

His pained groan and scrunched shut face are enough cut off the awareness to his surroundings just long enough to leave him oblivious to the fact you’ve not only exited the Parrot’s Nest, but have made your way across the parking lot and have your hand wrapped around the passenger door, rattling the handle. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frankie shouts, nearly jumping out of his own skin at the way you’ve announced yourself by shaking at the locked door. 

So much for rehearsing. 

“F-fuck-” He stammers, taking a moment to catch his breath from your scare, praying he hasn’t managed to shit his pants from how badly you’ve startled him. Once his pulse settles to rate low enough he’s convinced he hasn’t died of a heart attack, he leans over to unlock your door, unable to make eye contact with you as he grimaces his face in embarrassment. 

“S-sorry.” you murmur, sheepishly climbing into the seat next to him, quietly clicking in your seatbelt. 

“Jesus Kenz, you scared the shit outta me.” Frankie gulps, still trying to compose himself. He runs his hand through the curls of his hair, taking one last slow inhale and exhale with his eyes peeled to the floor, hoping the pink drains from his cheeks before he looks over at you. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to. I thought maybe you fell asleep, or something. You shrug, trying to defend your reasoning. 

“I wouldn’t offer to come pick you up and then fall asleep on you, I’m not that big of an assho-” 

Frankie cuts himself off before he can finish the rest of his thought, feeling the “L” and “E” of “asshole” die off somewhere in the back of his throat, killed by the death glare you give in proclamation of his own self-righteousness.  

He starts the car without another word, pulling out of the parking lot and hoping that his silence begs enough forgiveness. 

The crackling static of the car radio fills the void between you, Andy Freed’s ecstatic voice capturing both of your attentions enough to let the current state of the Tampa Bay Rays game shift your focus. 

“What’s the score?” You ask, nonchalant, eyes wandering anywhere but Frankie’s direction. 

“Oh- uh, I- I think it was 1-3 last time I checked, but it sounds like someone on the Rays just hit a sac fly, so I’m guessing it’s 2-3, now.” 

There’s a moment of silence, Frankie assuming you’ve got it in you to at least make one question’s worth of small talk. You seem just as surprised as him that you don’t let the conversation die there. 

“Did you um- you watched the game when you got home?” 

Your gaze won’t lock with his, but now, it’ll at least travel in his general direction. 

“N-no, I just uh- I just turned it on while I was waiting in the car.” 

“How long were you waiting for?” 

“N-not that long.” He barely gives you enough time to breathe, let alone call him out on his bullshit before he’s changing the subject, “How uh- how was work?” 

“Oh- It was uh- it was fine. Went by really slow. B-because it wasn’t um, it wasn’t that busy.” 

Frankie’s no code breaker, but he hopes the way you’re so quick to give him a reason why your shift had dragged on is a secret way of saying you spent just as long thinking about him as he did about you. 

“Sorry it was so slow.” 

Frankie knows his apology doesn’t do anything for you, but the way he’s picking each word that comes out of his mouth has him feeling like he’s tiptoeing through a minefield, too scared to make any move besides the one that seems the safest. 

“It’s okay, not your fault. That’s honestly part of the reason I took this job- was to give myself something to do, so I don’t spend every last second that my dad is alive dwelling on the fact that pretty soon, he’s not gonna be alive. It’s stupid, but I guess if being preoccupied with serving middle aged couples mozzarella sticks and over-cooked steak tacos for a few hours helps, then so be it.”  

He knows better than anyone that your attempt at humor is your shield, but it’s not hard to see how weathered and worn it’s become, barely hanging on by a thread to protect you from the worst battle you still have yet to face. 

“N-no, it makes sense. Distractions help. I-It’s been hard, having to see him like this. I get it.” 

His last sentence makes your head snap up from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie hopes that maybe your attentiveness means he’s had a breakthrough, showing enough genuine empathy that you’ll cut him a little slack. 

When he turns enough to see the scowl plastered across your face, he realizes he’s stepped on a bomb, and he’s moments away from explosion. 

“Oh, you ‘get it’, huh?” You scoff, sadistic smile curling in the corner of your cheeks. 

Frankie can see the way your blood is beginning to boil, trying to backtrack as quickly as possible to find any way to save himself. 

“N-no- I mean, shit-  no, Kenz, you know what I mean.” Frankie pleads. 

“No, I don’t know what you mean, Frankie. Please, explain.” 

The way your arms are crossed and head is cocked tells him everything he needs to know. Against his better judgement, Frankie decides not to take cover. He goes headfirst into the warzone. 

“C’mon, Kenz, don’t be like this.” Frankie sighs, preemptively kicking himself that this is the route he’s chosen to take. 

“Like what?” You snap back, sharp and sarcastic. 

“Like it’s not hard for me, too. Like I can’t be sad about it. You’re not the only person who cares about him, MacKenzie. He was the closest thing I had to a dad, too.” 

“But he’s not your dad, is he? And if you were, that’d make you a pretty shitty son, wouldn’t it?” 

It hits him like a cold, hard slap to the face, the way you don’t dare to show him even an ounce of mercy. There’s something about the bitterness in the way you ask it that hurts even more than if you would have just screamed at him, cursed him out, punched and pushed him until he bruised. 

A stark silence falls over the car, tension so thick, it’s like a bag of bricks has been dropped from the sky, drowning him in a useless pile of cement. There’s no use in crying for help. He doesn’t dare to speak, simply out of fear that if he does, this won’t be the worst of what’s yet to come. 

Frankie stays trapped for what feels like hours, each second passing by more painfully slow than the last as you stare out your window, watching the shadows of street lights dance across your body, illuminating you just enough to see the way your chest trembles with short, frantic breaths as you unravel. Your sobs can’t hide behind the silence in the way your tears can in the darkness. 

“Do you know how fucking lonely it is, Frankie? How lonely it is when everyone you’ve ever cared about leaves you? It’s like I’m fucking Midas, but everything I touch, eventually, I lose. A life before cancer, my soccer career, an engagement, a future, my dad, you? You don’t get to tell me how hard it is for you, because you get to let go of what you want on your terms, when it’s convenient for you, don’t you? I’m so sick of losing, Frankie. I’m so sick of it.” 

He watches in real time how something inside you snaps, like a bottle of soda that’s erupted after someone’s violently shaken shaken it, the twist of the cap releasing all the pressure and tension that’s been stored up and compounded upon with each rattle of their wrist. 

Frankie knows he’s not responsible for all of it, but he's the last bump you can take before you have no other choice but to overflow, leaving every ounce of you to seep out, vulnerable and exposed. 

What starts off as softs sobs, quickly shifts to heart wrenching heaves of your chest, every word you’re trying to get out lodged in your throat. He sees how your eyes fill with fear at the way you suddenly can’t catch your breath, body shaking as you shrink into your seat, fingers wrapping around your seatbelt with an iron grip around the worn fabric. 

“Kenz? Kenzie, are you okay?” It only seems fair he’s completely disregarded everything you’d had to say, beginning to panic at your tremoring figure crumpled next to him, speaking in nothing but violent wails you can’t control. 

“I- I- f-fuck, f-f- Frankie, fuck, n- no, no, I-” 

He won’t let you finish your thought- he only lets you stammer out the few words you can manage before he’s pulled off on the nearest neighborhood side street he can find. He blames it on military habit, how quick he is to react in the face of your panic, but he knows damn well it’s nothing but instinct the way he’s all but throwing off his seatbelt so he can reach across the center console and wrap you in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Just try and breathe, okay?” Frankie whispers, squeezing you so tightly in his arms you just might break. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t, fuck, i-it- it, it f-feels like I can’t breathe.” You sob, feeling your tear stains pool in the fabric of his shirt covering, face buried against his chest. 

“I know. I know it’s scary. I promise you’re okay, it’ll pass. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” 

He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his own breaths are, trying his best to stay calm with each long inhale and exhale he takes. The wave of grief that washes over him is different than the one you’re drowning in, the kind that makes his heart break at the type of panic he’s known all too well- he’d give every bone in his body to absorb your pain and make it his, but the best he can do is hold you until it subsides. He’ll hold you all night, if that’s what it takes. 

It’s a few minutes before he can finally feel your heart rate starting to slow, the stiffness of your muscles beginning to ease in his grasp as you come back down to earth with him. Your tears haven’t stopped, but at least your chest starts to rise and fall with his. It’s a baby step, but he’ll take any steps he can get in the right direction. 

“There ya go. Just like that. It’s okay. Worst of it’s over, I promise.” 

With the way one thumb is gently stroking your back and the other is carefully brushing the back of your head, it’s safe to say every inhibition Frankie could have has flown out the window. He hates how there’s a selfish part of him that can’t describe the way it feels to hold you again, even if it’s like this, but that’s a battle of his own he’s not willing to face today. For now, he’ll accept the sweet bliss of his self-indulgence while you’re curled against him. 

“You’re okay, Kenz. I’m here. I promise, you’re okay.” 

Enough time passes that his t-shirt isn’t getting any wetter, finally brave enough to peek your head up from the crook of his neck to wipe your tear stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Frankie’s grip only loosens enough to let you sit up, arms still engulfing your frame, tight enough to make sure you don’t float away on him again. 

“I- I’m s-sorry.” 

It’s so soft as it leaves your lips, if he wasn’t waiting on your every word, Frankie just might have missed it. Little do you know, he’s hanging on your every breath. 

“Hey,” he pauses, your eyes locking with his, softly pouting at the way your panic has made your face red and puffy, carefully swiping his thumb across your cheek to catch the wetness still streaming down the corners of your eyes, “you have nothing to apologize about, okay?” 

He waits in the silence again, letting you softly nod your head in agreement, watching the gears turn in your head as you process everything that’s just happened. You’ve come to enough to notice the way his hand still sits on the small of your back- he’s just as surprised as you when you let him keep it there for another moment before subtly shifting back in your seat. 

Your face scrunches shut, wincing with the last few deep breaths you take, like you're trying to push the rest of it out of your system for good. Frankie runs his hand through his messy hair and down the nape of his neck as he takes you in, still riding his melancholy high of the weight of your body pressed into his. 

“Thank you. For um- just, t-thank you.” You mutter, too sheepish to look him in the eye again now that full blown embarrassment has set in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Frankie nods, trying his best to let you know that he means it- really, truly means it. It’s the way he won’t take his eyes off you that must let you know he understands, watching you shift just enough in your seat for him to notice how your body turns ever so slightly to face him. 

“They’ve uh- fuck, it just comes out of nowhere sometimes. It’s um- it’s happened before, but these past few weeks, it just- it’s been a lot, I guess.”  

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but I um- I got ‘em all the time after I came home. Feels like you’re dying. It sucks.” 

It’s not graceful, but it’s genuine. Vulnerable. Honest. Frankie knows it’s the most truth he’s given you in more years than he’d like to admit. It’s not much, but it’s enough to see you scale the top of the wall you’ve built between you and him and kick down one of the bricks that’s holding it together. It’s not much, but it’s one less brick than that wall has had for a very, very long time. 

“What are you talking about? That was so much fun.” 

In the shared moment of soft, sympathetic laughter, it’s that he realizes the softest smile that’s stretched in the corner of your lips. Frankie tries not to stare, but when he sees it, he remembers how much he’s hated living without it. He takes it in for as long as he can, memorizing every crease and crinkle in your face, no matter how subtle. He’ll soak in every second he can. He’s thankful he does, because it’s only a matter of time before it starts to shift, corners of your cheeks shifting as you pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I- um- I’m sorry- a-about what I said earlier.  I- I didn’t mean it.” 

Frankie lets out a huff of confusion, convinced you must be playing a joke on him with your unprompted apology. He’s almost tempted to laugh again, but the way your jaw shifts back and forth, anxiously grinding on your teeth while your eyes stay peeled to the fingers working away at your skin reminds him of every other apology you’ve ever offered. The same look when you accidentally popped the brand new basketball he got for his 13th birthday, the same fidgeting of your fingers when overreacted to the dent you thought he put in your brand new car backing out of your driveway, the same tick of your jaw when you had told him why you hadn’t written him more while he overseas on his last tour of duty. 

You really do mean it. 

“It’s okay. I deserve it.” Frankie admits. As hurtful as it was, he knows you weren’t completely unjustified in what you said. He also knows if you’re offering him an olive branch, he’ll offer you nothing short of a whole olive tree back. 

“No- well, I mean, maybe a little-” your sarcastic self correction makes him laugh again, something long forgotten warming in his heart at the way your hidden grin reappears in the corners of your cheeks, “No- I just- that was shitty of me to say. I’m sorry. It’s- it’s just a lot right now. Not totally fair to take it all out on you.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” Frankie pauses, captivated by the way your eyes flicker up to meet his, still wet and sparkling from the last of your tears, shimmering in the warm glow of the streetlights. He wants to reach out, to grab you, hold you, press you against his chest again and tell you that everything will be okay, but he won’t risk burning the bridge of the progress he’s built. Not yet. The best he can do is keep building, nail by nail, plank by plank. 

“If you um- if you ever need someone to- to talk to, or whatever, I’m always-” 

“I know.” 

There’s a different kind of silence that fills the empty spaces of his truck the last ten minutes of the ride home. It’s no longer heavy, burdened by pain and fear with every breath that enters its void. It’s the quiet kind of reassurance that doesn’t need any words. The kind that says everything it needs to from stolen glances back and forth, accompanied by the warmth of pink cheeks hidden in the black of the night sky. 

The last thing that’s said after he’s pulled into your driveway is a simple “thank you”. It’s only two words, but something about those 8 letters put together seems like enough to fill a book with how much it says. 

The only thing that says more is the way you look over your shoulder when you make it to your porch, so brief that if he wasn’t looking for it, he surely would have missed it. 

Because in that moment you look back at him, he swears there’s a smile straining against the line of your lips that you’re trying desperately to fight. 

Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s truly lost his mind. Maybe he’s crazy. Whatever he may be, Frankie Morales knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight at the thought that he’s finally the reason for the smile on your face again. 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar @wonderpillar @sunnytuliptime @pasc4lfuzz @yesjazzywazzylove-blog

@kungfucapslock @vannabanana1995 @beezusvreeland @guelyury

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[lululuzzz08]

I STAND by this (btw i wrote this 23 military time so it might be messy and a bit crazy, i don’t have sources but.. most of the proof i got has been talked about on Tumblr, i’m not someone who thinks about this stuff without some sort of base. Unless it’s something i really wanna think about.)

I love Snape, he’s so intriguing and the only character i can properly relate to. I get what it feels to make bad choices that other people never forget. I feel like Snape is the perfect morally grey character that all us 2 thousand mistakes losers can relate to.

I hate how the marauder fandom hate Snape cause he’s mean to children and is “ugly”.. Like my guy is literally a rockstar with how he’s described!! HES NEVER EVEN CALLED UGLY. And then these curtain lovers (yes that was a Stranger things ref, link at bottom) Stan and bow down to characters with half a page of info! Don’t get me wrong, i love Eileen Prince (which i don’t see enough of) and Regulus black, all of that sort. But come on man… Barty jr is not an angel compared to Snape! Thats a canon fact, he’s a cold blooded murderer. Snape feels remorse! For Lily OR not, it wouldn’t matter cause the same was with Regulus. He betrayed Tom for his house elf, not muggleborns. Snape betrayed for his MUGGLEBORN childhood friend. Pretty similar huh?

Just because Snape is weird and had unrequited feelings who he never forgot doesn’t mean he’s a creep?? Also saying Snape would touch Harry like THAT if he looked like his mother is HELLA icky. Don’t take traumatized characters with flaws and make them worse. People who have been in Snape’s situation will feel like shit. If i hear one more person saying that crap I’m gonna go insane. Because it connects to a much worse problem in real life. Curtain lovers (i cant find a better name, its just so broad) have always blamed the “Losers” for unordinary or bad situations, stuff that doesn’t fit well. Or stuff the Curtain lovers messed up on. An example would be the past belief that witches lived among us. Now, i don’t want to bring real life situations into this, but hey, at least I’m not saying that Death eaters ARE the Nazi’s…

“Witches” consisted of people the curtain loving in command people (i would say government but idk if it was called that back then, oh well. I’ll just say curtain lovers) found a threat. People that were out of the ordinary. People that thought differently, that were WEIRD and easy to miss-understand. The curtain lovers would blame misfortunes on witches. Uncle Sam’s crops died? Sweetie call the priest cause it’s another darn witch! Oh I’m sorry Rebecca? You like books? As a woman?? I need to call the priest you filthy witch!

I know this might be a bit too deep for some god darn children books but saying Snape would SA Lily is such a dirty way to say you hate a character that you don’t even try to understand. It really dives into what type of person you are.

Also, hating Snape for being weird is SOO hypocritical. I mean, have you seen the other Harry Potter fans? Eughh.. I don’t even wanna think about the Tom Felton fans 🤢. That poor guy.

My point is that undermining a character is the least diverse thing you could do.

And the thing og blog said about Snape looking Jewish really adds to it. People really pick and take favorites. Leaving others to rot.

Hope you like this text. I might make a more proper argument in the future, its too darn late rn.

Marauders fans just be having double standards on the point they proud themselves the most on: Diversity

They be like "let's make James brown" (ik that it's in the whole fandom in general but ykwim) and reject the Jewish-looking guy

They be like "let's make Lily obese" and reject the underweight guy

They be like "let's make Regulus abused" and reject the canonically abused guy

They be like "let's make Regulus get groomed into joining the DEs" and reject the canonically groomed guy

They be like "let's make Barty's actions look right by saying it was for love" and reject the guy who did everything for the girl he loved (platonically or not)

Double standards, double standards everywhere.

Diversity only exists if Snape is not involved

[ghostgirl-22]

The threeway kissing scene except when artrick start kissing tashi slips away all smug like "my work here is done" and art just gets so into it hes not thinking about shame, being repressed or anything else rn, hes just whimpering "patrick... i cant stop" as theyre grabbing and rubbing against each other

"You dont need to" and they 👉👌

I could definitely see it! Tashi’s giving them the side eye cause she’s heard all kinds of things about fire and ice. But one of the things she kept hearing was how coupled up they were.

So when she asks if they’ve ever done anything and Arts denying it so vehemently and claiming that—- sure, Patrick gave him his first sexual experience but it was totally platonic and they were on separate sides of the room in separate beds both thinking about a girl “Kat Zimmerman,” one glance at Patrick’s face is enough for her to figure out what’s going on.

The way Patrick’s just stumbling behind the story trying to give Art the validation that he needs… maybe he even feels a little bit bad for telling her in the first place after Art begged him not to. Probably because it’s got Art all adorably flustered. She clocks them both immediately <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Canon drift

-/-/-/-

They’re both next to her in seconds when she sits on the bed. Art feels his world opening up when she kisses him first. He’s losing his mind at the feeling of her lips, her tongue. He grabs hold of her thighs a little nervous. She breaks the kiss. She’s got her face so close to his just breathing in his mouth. He loves the smell of her, the taste of her. He’d do anything to be with her.

She’s going back and forth between them. Art thinks he’s gonna die for how hot this is. They’re giggling between kisses. Nervous energy all around.

Then shes pulling them both in and it’s just a mess of tongues and mouths and spit and breathing. She tastes like cherry chapstick and Patrick like tobacco and together Art just wants more and more. He’s not sure when he realizes it.

That he’s just kissing Patrick.

It’s not like anything is changing. He still feels so good he wants to die. He’s chasing after the kiss, eager when he feels Patrick’s tongue. Patrick’s hand cradling his face, then his hair. He doesn’t want to stop. He’s grabbing at Patrick. Pulling him closer like they’re not already close enough. He can hear Tashi sigh but he still doesn’t know if he can stop… not until Patrick pulls back just a little bit.

Art follows him and steals another kiss. “Mm, holy shit,” Patrick’s grinning, teasing his fingers into Arts hair to steady his movements.

“You guys want it bad huh?” Tashi says, quietly, her eyes all sparkly. “Can’t even sleep in separate beds. You’re pushing them together and shit but you’re just roommates? I’m sure.”

Patrick is grinning like he knows something Art doesn’t know. Art tries to kiss her again but she presses her palm against his chest, holding him back. “Do that again.” She tells him, looking back and forth between him and Patrick.

“Patrick can I— can I please?” Art whispers. He’s all scrambled up, not sure why he can’t think. Nothing feels real right now. It’s like being high. Or being at Disneyland.

“Of course you can,” Patrick says softly. “What do you need?”

Art’s not sure what he needs he just knows he isn’t finished, he needs more. He grabs at Patrick’s shirt, the same shirt Art was wearing earlier and Patrick gets to his feet so he’s in front of Art, bent in half kissing him, then climbing on top of him, straddling him.

Arts grabbing at his thighs. Touching everything he can. Patrick’s bigger than him, feels so heavy and warm on his lap. Art jerks his hips up and Patrick sighs against his lips. Moans when Art starts rubbing him where he’s started tenting. He pulls Patrick down on top of him, like a heavy weighted blanket as he lays back in the bed.

Pushed together because Patrick needs to be close all the time. And then even closer than that.

Patrick’s body is covering him now. His stupidly big cock is pressing hard along his stomach. His mouth is all over Arts body.

“I wanna— wanna fuck you,” Art groans as Patrick sucks hickies into his throat.

“Yeah? Is that what you want, sunshine?” Patrick’s saying, hot breath ghosting along his neck, soft, deep voice resonating, making Art shiver.

“Yes,” Art moans, helplessly. He’s rutting his hips up, pressing himself along Patrick’s ass for friction.

He feels so out of it— so desperate.

“Fuck okay, you wanna fuck. Stay there. I need to find something.” Patrick says anxiously and Art groans when Patrick climbs off him and they’re forced to separate. He didn’t even realize Tashi left; he feels vaguely disappointed. Then Patrick comes back. Climbs on top and helps Art with the condom. It’s slippery wet with lube. Art’s holding onto Patrick… slipping it slowly in and two seconds later he’s doing it. Fucking into him, like Patrick’s a girl. A real tight virginal girl. Feels so fucking good on his cock. Art’s almost more desperate now.

Patrick’s breathing deep, moaning as he kisses Art all over.

Art is barely aware of anything but the continuous movement of Patrick on his cock and he finishes so embarrassingly quick he almost pulls the pillow over his face to hide himself. Now he’s actually grateful Tashi isn’t here anymore.

Surprisingly, Patrick doesn’t tease him. He’s just staring at Art and grabbing at his own oversized cock, jerking it slowly. Arts so mesmerized he can sense the distant thrum of arousal slowly beginning to bloom inside him again.

Patrick’s fingers are wet with lube, sliding up and down and up and down as precum leaks from the tip. The whole time he’s got his lips parted, saying nonsense things like, “you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” “Look at you,” “Better than a fucking dream.” His eyes never leave Art’s body.

And then suddenly he’s groaning as hot creamy liquid spurts all over Arts bare stomach and chest. Art kinda likes the feel of it, he hadn’t expected that it would feel so heated. Almost hot. And the way Patrick is panting like he couldn’t help himself, eyes still roving hungrily over Art. The idea that he needed to do that just because he was looking at Art. It all makes Art feel so good and warm.

They almost miss it. They’re lying in bed talking frenetically about how crazy the nights been. It’s like they’re drunk off of one beer split three ways. And then Art gets up to clean up a little bit and go pee when he spots her note.

I have to go back to my room but I didn't want to interrupt. Hope you boys have fun. See you tomorrow. ︎︎

Written on the little hotel notepad and signed T, with a heart.

And sure enough she’s in the stands at their match the next day just eager to hear more about what happened last night.

(And they never fight over her number and she never gets injured and she gets to be a star tennis player and has two boyfriends and her boyfriends are boyfriends and… and… and…they live happily ever after. The end.)

︎ ︎ ︎ ︎

[deprivedreality]

𝗜𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝘿𝙔𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏?!

Word Count: 1.2k

Content contains: pro-hero bakugo being a career man. mentions of katsuki having an s/o! I hope these ideas capture his fiery, no-nonsense personality while also showing how much he’s grown into a reliable and inspiring hero.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who when every time someone mispronounces his hero name, he snaps and shouts “It’s DY-NA-MIGHT, not ‘Dynamo’ or whatever crap you just said! Learn how to read, damn it!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a rigorous training schedule. Yes, cooking breakfast and cuddle time with his s/o is part of that schedule nevertheless. Even as a pro, Bakugo starts his day with a 5:00 a.m. workout. His mornings include explosive quirk drills, which terrify his neighbors, but he refuses to apologize because, “Heroes don’t take days off, morons.” He does try to keep it down a notch when he heard through his neighbors' kid that they were thinking about moving houses.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who insists on being on the frontlines for every mission, no matter the scale. He’s the first to charge in during a disaster and won’t leave until every civilian is accounted for. “If I’m not giving 100%, why the hell am I here?” And you better know that everyone appreciated him for his selfless actions.

Prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is efficient to a fault. His rescue operations are insanely effective but intimidating. He’ll shout at panicked civilians to “Move your asses, idiot!” but then carry them out of danger with precision and speed. Later, when they thank him, he awkwardly mutters, “Yeah, whatever. That's what I'm here for anyway. Just don’t get stuck again.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has a signature explosion mark. After saving the day, he always leaves behind a controlled, smoky explosion shaped like his logo—an orange starburst with jagged edges. Kids love it and call it his “hero stamp.” He just did it one time because y/n liked the idea of him having something like a bat-signal, it became like a routine for him.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's surprisingly good with kids. He didn’t expect it either, but kids adore him. When they swarm him for autographs, he grumbles, “You better not smudge this!” but secretly loves the attention. He even kneels down to their level so they can high-five him. It did took him time to warm up to them after some thought, he wanted to be like how All Might was when he was a kid.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is strict with his sidekicks. Bakugo’s sidekicks are the most well-trained in the industry because he pushes them relentlessly. He shouts, “If you can’t handle this, you’re wasting my damn time!” but always ensures they’re prepared for real missions.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who still has an unspoken rivalry with Deku, and everyone in general, but now it’s about who saves more people. Bakugo keeps a tally and texts deku, “Took down 8 villains today. What’s your number, nerd?”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who personally oversees every modification to his hero costume, from grenade gauntlets to lightweight boots. If the support team messes up, he’ll fix it himself, muttering, “If you can't do it right, I'll do it myself.” This causes his support team to work twice harder next time.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has workaholic tendencies. He rarely takes time off, claiming, “Villains don’t go on vacation, so why should I?” His s/o and his entire agency forces him to relax. Needless to say, his s/o alone can convince him. Even then, he’s still scanning news reports for emergencies.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an emergency quirk strategist. Bakugo has a knack for coming up with split-second strategies in the middle of chaos. He’ll bark orders to other heroes, and while they’re annoyed at his tone, they follow him because he’s always right. Other heroes learned it the hard way one time when they didn't follow his 'suggestion' and ended up making the situation worse.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who gets tons of fan letters and gets flustered reading them. One of his fellow heroes suggested for him to buy a shredder, but you know damn well he flipped them off. He gets tons of fan mail, but he has no idea how to respond. He also did not know what to do with them until his s/o opted to help him with this problem. Sometimes he’ll scribble a quick “Thanks” with a little explosion doodle and hope it’s enough, his s/o would be the one to arrange and mail them.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is devoted to his parents. Bakugo visits his parents regularly, bringing them little gifts like flowers for his mom (which she teases him about) and bunch of snacks and clothing pieces for his dad. He even helps fix things around their house during his rare free time. He makes sure his sidekicks and secretary knows when to remind him to call them during breaks.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who has is looked up to by other pros for his emergency evacuation drills. When Bakugo’s agency holds safety drills, his team wins every time. He calls it “real hero training” and will go all-out to make sure everyone’s prepared.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who was invited one time to attend a charity by ochako and it became something he does everytime. While he’s not a fan of public speaking, Bakugo attends charity events because he believes in helping beyond hero work. He’ll reluctantly auction off items like “Bakugo’s autographed gauntlet,” secretly donating extra money because “those kids need it more.”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who is an incredible loyal team leader. Bakugo might be tough on his team, but he’s fiercely protective of them. He is especially protective of his interns, some of them referring to him as the older brother they never had. If a villain hurts one of his sidekicks, you better know he’ll go all-out to take them down while yelling, “You don’t touch my people!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who built his own agency to be one of the best heor agency headquarter there is. His agency is a sleek, well-organized base equipped with cutting-edge tech and a training ground. The office is always clean because he enforces “No slacking off!” rules, even for janitorial staff. In his hq, he made sure that there is one room dedicated for his s/o.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who became an unintentional role model. Despite his rough personality, students and new heroes look up to Bakugo because of his dedication and success. He doesn’t know how to handle compliments and usually responds with, “Stop wasting time and go do your damn job!”

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who mastered using small, precise explosions for rescues—blasting through rubble without causing harm or creating paths for civilians. It’s become his trademark move, and no one does it better.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who's explosive personality makes him a media favorite, but he hates interviews. When forced to participate, he answers in blunt one-liners like, “Villains suck, so don’t do crime.” Although he did receive criticism at the start of hero career because of his brash attitude, but that's all.

prohero!Katsuki Bakugo who knows how to separate his personal life from his career so well that some fans were surprised when he revealed in an interview that he was already married. He proudly showed off his wedding band, telling his interviewer that he was a happy married man.

ᓚᘏᗢ @deprivedreality 2023 | all rights reserved.

[chrissturnsfav]

Following the anon i sent so I was thinking that singer!reader has always struggled with loving her like thighs and stomach or smt but hear me out if you’re comfortable with it maybe some mentions of self harm like

A scenario

So reader and Chris are laying in bed cuddling or some shit and he’s like tracing his fingers up and don on her thighs and he notices her scars orrr

They’re laying and he compliments her and she goes on a rampage of how she’s not and how ugly her stomach is or smt

⋆.˚✮ rapper!chris knows how to make singer!reader feel pretty

tw: mentions of body image issues

you're sat on the edge of the couch in chris' big living room, scrolling through photos on your phone. your gaze lingers a little too long on a paparazzi picture of yourself from last weekend, your legs prominently featured. a familiar wave of self-doubt washes over you, and before you can stop yourself, you mutter under your breath, "fuck, my thighs look huge."

chris, who’s been freestyling under his breath while jotting down lyrics in his notebook across the couch, freezes mid-bar. his head snaps up, and his eyes narrow, like he can’t believe what he just heard.

"hold up, what'd you say ma?"

you glance at him, trying to play it off. "nothing, forget it," you mumble wearily as you shake your head.

"nah, nah, we ain't doin' that." he gets up, his notebook abandoned on the coffee table, and strides over to you. "what’s this bullshit 'bout your thighs?”

you sigh, trying to avoid his gaze, but chris crouches down in front of you, his icy blue eyes locking onto yours.

"they’re just... big," you mumble. "like, bigger than they should be."

chris scoffs like you just insulted his entire existence. "bigger than they should be? mama, stop fuckin' wit me right now."

you try to laugh, but it’s weak. "i’m serious, chris. i see all these girls online with these slim legs, and then there’s me. i just feel...i dunno...out of place, i guess."

he sits beside you, shaking his head, still looking like he’s offended on your thighs’ behalf. "you’re trippin'. hard. have y'seen yourself? like, really looked at y'self? 'cause if y'did," he says, reaching out to lightly squeeze one of your thighs, "you’d know your thighs are perfect. thick, pretty, sexy as hell—are you serious?"

your cheeks heat up, and you roll your eyes, but he’s just getting started.

"y'know what your thighs say to me?” he continues and smirks a bit, leaning in. "they tell me you're perfect, tell me y'got the full package. tell me you’re built like a model, and that i’d be a dumbass not to appreciate you."

you can’t help but laugh at his over-the-top delivery, and he grins, knowing he’s getting through to you as he brushes his fingers lightly over the smooth skin on your thigh.

"listen baby," he starts, using his free hand to gently cup your jaw and turn your face to his, "i know the world tries to tell girls all this bullshit 'bout what they’re supposed to look like, but lemme tell you sum'n real: you are it for me. all o'you. those thighs you’re trippin' over? they’re one of my favorite things 'bout you."

he moves his hand down to your knee, his thumb drawing little circles. "so stop comparin' yourself to edited pictures on the internet, aight? you’re real, 'n you’re beautiful, 'n if anyone’s got a problem wit' that, they can see me 'bout it."

your chest feels lighter, the weight of insecurity lifting under his unwavering gaze and heartfelt words. you smile, finally meeting his eyes.

"okay," you whisper.

"okay?" he teases. "that’s it? after i jus' dropped the most fire compliments of all time?"

you laugh again, swatting his arm. "thank you, chris. really."

"'course," he says, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. "now stop geekin', i gotta go write a verse 'bout how my girl’s got the finest thighs in the game."

you roll your eyes, but your smile lingers long after he’s returned to his notebook on the other side of the couch.

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: i'm not comfortable writing about self harm, so i hope this was good!

thank you for reading!! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

So. I have a fiancé. A real life one. A guy who I love very much and will marry in 2026. I’m deeply, deeply in love.

When we started dating, I was emerging from a very abusive home life. I had learned through many, many years of experience that sharing my emotions with others was dangerous. That it would get me hurt. That it would get me hit.

So for a long time, I didn’t share when I was feeling frustrated. I didn’t tell him when I was upset. I didn’t tell him about the things that were bothering me. Either from home or work or whatever. It culminated in me experiencing those emotions and experiencing them on my own. It culminated in him knowing I was upset, often upset with him, but knowing that I wouldn’t talk to him.

By the time we had been together for a few months, the only times I was expressing any emotions to him were when everything bubbled over. I would burst into tears and sob or hours. I would yell. I would do everything I could to protect myself, even blame him for problems that I caused, because I had learned that vulnerability=danger.

A number of times I told him that being in arguments made me feel like I was going to die. That was not an exaggeration. The vulnerability of it made me feel like I was about to be killed.

But I owed it to my partner and to myself to try and reach a place where I could be emotionally vulnerable. He deserved someone who could access their emotions, share when they were struggling, and be emotionally intimate. If I was incapable of that, then I wasn’t ready for the relationship.

All of this to say: we DO owe our partners emotional vulnerability. If we say we want a deeper relationship, if we say we want to be closer than FWB, then we owe the relationship that. And if it’s shown to be a consistent problem that somebody can’t be emotionally vulnerable, then I think the other party gets to push. Or at least express their discontent.

This idea that Treasure violated Porter’s consent seems a little… immature? I don’t know. It feels like the musings of one who hasn’t had to navigate the back and forth of a real relationship.

Porter owes Treasure the vulnerability he claims he wants to give them. It’s okay if he doesn’t know how to do that. He has been hurt very deeply. That isn’t his fault. But the reactions that his trauma causes in him and the impacts they have on others are his responsibility. He is allowed to not be perfect at this. But he has to try. At least that. If he can’t, then maybe he’s not ready for them.

Treasure owes Porter the space to grow, the space to try in a safe way. If they can’t do that, if they’re too focused on their own hurt to recognize his extraordinary circumstances, then maybe they’re not ready for him.

But yeah. As someone who has Been Porter… maybe Porter is a lil in the wrong. And maybe he’ll get better. I did.

[reinbouxsworld]

Vil being Tamayo kind of implies that Neige is some sort of Muzan figure, hilarious as that is. Demon RSA. They get to be the baddies for once. (Does this make Chenya Douma then? 🤔)

BUT ALSO…

UPPER MOON LEONA!!!! I’m thinking of him and Falena having a sort of Kokushibo and Yoriichi situation. Strongest Demon Slayer Falena, who loved his little brother so much he could not bear to kill him.

LeoYuu. Leona taking a nap in some random secluded village during the day, and Yuu, unknowing peasant girl, accidentally steps on his clothes. The start of a beautiful relationship 🥹

Riddle feels like he would be Rui in the AU of an AU. It’s kind of fitting as well considering Riddle was the first overblot faced while Rui was the first Demon Moon faced. Heartslabyul Spider(?) Family?

Vil and Rook being Daki and Gyutaro. Vil who only eats beautiful people. Rook, who says he prefers to eat beautiful people but will eat just about anyone with no discrimination because “BEAUTE! 100 points!” Alternatively, Gyokko Rook.

Hantengu Idia… maybe?

Muzan Crowley going “Aren’t I so kind~” every time he turns someone into a demon.

Sorry for the long ask!

DON'T BE SORRY I LOVED IT FORL START TO FINISH OMG

OK OK, NEIGE IS NOT MUZAN. Buuuut... he IS a demon! AND YEP RSA BOYS ARE THE BADDIES FOR ONCE!!!! (I got so happy when I read this one I swear I felt like I wasn't insane by trying to imply this)

Tho Neige does look like rui (I wanted to get some of the spider design of him). But he's actually more on a Daki like role. He's inspired by jorogumo (spider demon on Japanese culture), which often takes the appearance of a beautiful woman. I'm still thinking how exactly his arc will work, so I can't say much besides Vil still hates him. 💅

Chenya is a demon whose resembles a cat (resembles cause he does not have ears that just his hair in here) AND he's very important to riddle's backstory — I can say that this is my favorite one till now tho.

Dramatic pause cause I'm about to gush over EVERYTHING NOW.

YES YES UPPER MOON LEONA IS LIKE MY SIDE HUSBAND AT THIS POINT AND YES I rrly like that idea????? Plus Farena would fit yorichi like a glove too AND GOOD I LOVE THE DOOMED SIBLINGS TROUPE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Honestly I'm very into the fact that if they meet as Leona as demon yuu would be turned into one too, just to make sure the slayers don't hurt his human to get him???! (But I also I'm rlly into the "turn me into a demon" "no" "turn me into a demon" "no" turn me in-" "FOR GODS SAKE NO")

OMG, YES. Not only that, but riddle ministering the rules over spider!heartslabyul family would be so interesting. I'm going for Trey as dad, Cater as mom as Ace and Deuce as older brothers (tho I feel like these two would be way more destructive than necessary). But demon riddle would also be a insane adversary if you don't have the mommy issues card to throw at him.

I HAVE NOTHING TO SAY ABOUT VIL AND ROOK AS GYUTARO AND DAKI IS ALREDY PERFECT AS IT IS.

Tho gyokko rook WOULD be amazing cause only rook could pull of gyokko weird ass and still make sense??? But Mostly he would make people into art into a way of making them beautiful forever?? (Much like sasori from naruto with his "art is eternal" thing)

HATENGU IDIA IS THE ULTIMATE ONE THO. Not only that, but to have five/six versions of Idia, and his stronger and younger one would still be Ortho WOULD MAKE IT EVEN MORE WILD. Bonus point if real Ortho was killed by him after being turned into a demon.

You got me with muzan!Crowley I'm definitely making this real in the au (it actually makes him even more sinister? I can handle muzan choking but I draw the line at Crowley ACTUALLY think he is kind when he's destroying lives (he's prettier doing it tho)

[valesyn]

Yeah I really agree with you. Steve and Peggy were sweet in the first avenger— I did really like their dynamic.

HOWEVER.

She built a life without him. He found a life without her. Of course losing one another was incredibly painful, I’m not disregarding that. If they had seen each other, just to give Peggy and Steve peace back in history or whatever that’s fine. But the whole staying back in time A) doesn’t make sense with what they established with time travel (creates branch line? But then. Yk. He just poofs there with them back in the real one. Not to mention with whatever the heck they’re doing now with the getting rid of the branch lines).

But B) it really does eliminate… like all that Steve is? And I get the argument of “it’s his character growth to learn to get something for himself”…. But I don’t think we’re really taking into account that this is kinda a drastic, world changing thing for him to just flippantly decide. (And imho, the whole thing just doesn’t follow with his character. Because to me it did feel flippant.)

Which is funny, cause I was okay with Steve going back in time when I originally watched it, but then when he came back old I was just… confused? Cause again, like @sunkissedliterarylightofchrist said, it’s already been shown he’s basically immortal. And we also know she had kids so, now he had kids? Which then we have serum children running around? Unless we’re saying he got rid of the serum some how which is a whole nother can of worms.

But yeah. Imo, if they wanted Steve and Peggy to interact one last time (since they were hinting and putting that in place throughout the movie), have him go back for his dance. Have them talk, have Steve assure Peggy that he’s okay, that she can move on. Let her live her life— (with Daniel Sousa. I’m still angry they canceled her show.) but yeah this could’ve been done before the final fight and all. Then hey, for those that wanted Steve to have “character development” and do something for himself— that was it.

And then with Evan’s contract ending, as sunkissed said, have it be his death protecting Bucky/sam.

Also. Like yall why didn’t Steve and Bucky get to interact like at all (if my memory serves correctly?) . Like I remember the weird end goodbye or whatever but like seriously. They grew up together— they’re best friends and with each other *til the end of the line*. We should’ve seen the end of the line, instead of old man Steve.

Anyway this was far to long a ramble for marvel which I now very rarely watch hahaha. I’m not up to date on any of the new stuff. Honestly the only characters left I care about are Bucky and Sam and I did watch Falcon and winter soldier, so like if there’s other things I missed with them in it, lmk.

Send me your biggest unpopular opinions. Can be about any fandom (I might not know what you're talking about but whatever) or anything in life. Anon or not, I wanna know

[boss-the-goofball]

An Archivit's Spark: Chapter 2 Teaser

Just finished chapter 2

Have a teaser~

--

He did not know what to expect when he was brought to the Pits. For a moment he expected to be immediately thrown into a fight with crowds cheering for the fighters to quickly spill energon, but instead it was eerily quiet. 

No cheering crowds, no noise from the other Gladiators, nothing.

D-16 soon knew why no one was saying anything based on the way they were looking at him—assessing him, as if trying to gauge his capabilities.

The stares were soon followed by whispers.

“Isn’t that a D-Unit? Didn’t think there were any left.”

“Weren’t they all forged with some odd glitch? Thought it would have been a fatal one.”

“Well I’m sure he’ll last longer than Shockwave, think this will finally be his last one?”

D-16 proceeded to tune the rest of them out as he was led to his new quarters, only to blink when he saw a smaller than average warframe standing there.

The look of shock on his faceplates quickly shifted to one of resignation, as if he knew this would eventually happen.

“I see they’re already prepared.”

The mech had a frown on his faceplates that were matched by his drooping antenna-like finials. His optics look like they had long since gone dim with acceptance of whatever fate he thought was in store for him, and from the way his frame lacked any real paint outside of a faded teal and hints of red. 

“Prepared for what?” D-16 asked, moving to sit on one of the two berths, though he couldn’t help noticing that the one he sat on was a newer addition.

“Didn’t you hear the other gladiators? They’re making bets that this will be my last fight.”

D-16 frowned, remembering the gladiators talking about someone with the designation “Shockwave.” He looked his roommate over and could quickly understand why they would think that about this mech, especially since he looked less built for fighting and more for something else.

“So what’s your designation?” Shockwave asked as he perched himself on the second berth.

“D-16.”

His companion winced.

“You still go by your serial number? I thought everyone had a proper designation by now, even if some of us got it from a humiliating moment…” he trailed off, running a servo over his face as he leaned back against the wall. “You accidentally cause a planet-wide quake within the mines one time and you get labeled for the rest of your functioning.”

“I don’t remember that happening here on Cybertron, and I’ve been in the mines since we quit expanding after coming into conflict with the Quintessons.”

Shockwave chuckled. “No no, this was over on Animatron. The energon we mined from there was not like what you find here on Cybertron, a lot stronger than the high grade produced here.”

[dismas-n-dismay]

Marcille could survive Chimera Falin, Falin could not survive Scylla Marcille- let’s get that straight. The difference is that Marcille doesn’t get honed in to her monsterfucker tendencies until she sees Chimera Falin whereas Falin would have imagined Scylla Marcille hundreds of times and would have snapped upon seeing it in real life and went to go kiss her gf while telling everyone not to worry about Marcille killing like 5 people because she’s the wife

And you KNOW Scylla Marcille would be whipped for Falin, don’t play with me Ryoko Kui told me herself

[sejarcus-archive]

Sejanus is like Chappell Roan in the sense that he was only ever meant to be loved by queer people, but it got out of hand, and now there’s way too many cishets who don’t get him, expressing opinions about him.

Sejanus I’m sorry that your character keeps getting absolutely murdered and turned into everything you’re not, just cause a bunch of straight girls wanna fuck the actor who played you in that horrible adaptation, and keep projecting their fantasies onto you, and aside from how bad that is, they won’t even admit the objective truth that the actor was actually a terrible pick for you and he doesn’t fit you at all

[clownjacket]

If Kipperlilly DOES end up betraying Porter/Jace as part of a secret other scheme she has (whether good or evil) and it has to do with saving Lucy, I just know she’s going to be a bitch about it and pull a ‘sorry, I only save High Five Heroes’ before leaving her other friends to die or some shit. And then she will take her final form: Magic Betty from Adventure Time, betraying her allies and saving her frost gf at the expense of the world. It would also parallel what Ankarna is going through (‘your girlfriend’s out of town, it sucks’, becoming a little imperialist rage machine under the influence of Porter/Sunstone but not being able to fully turn on Lucy despite going against her values and turning into a violent weirdo). This is my wish. My dream. I am manifesting it. Magic Betty Kipperlilly I believe in you.

[random0lover]

I hate men and their need to act like any emotional reactions you have while you’re on your period is just you being “hormonal” and “not yourself”

(Rant in tags)

[autism-disco]

^guy who takes literally any opportunity to procrastinate by organising,, and yet refuses/cannot organise his floor,,, what a sicko

[msfcatlover]

If your “holy grail” of characterization uses said character as nothing more than a prop to move the plot along, while objectifying them to hell & back, gives them minimal motivation, no agency to speak of, calls back to some of the most messed up shit they’ve done to people in a tee-hee isn’t that cute! light, and the only possibly character revealing choice they make is given less than a page of buildup and just so happens to be exactly what needed to happen to reinstate the status quo and never mention this little side adventure again (making it feel way more like writer convenience, rather than character-motivated choices)…

…If this is seriously the best version of this character you can point to, you can’t honestly expect me to see them as any deeper or more complex than the shallow prop this specific story used them for.

[haml3t]

I have not only a law school bestie but a law school husband who has quickly become one of my favourite people and whom I keep converting deeper into communism 💞