#Connotation between the two in my brain.

[saturdaymournings]

ohoho boy tomorrow is gonna be so bad but yanno what I’m gonna be a brave little guy and I’m gonna treat myself to back to back bath days so it’s all gonna be good in the end. Today was so bad today was fucking dreadful but there will be a way !!!!! I have to remember the small joys I have to stay strong

[themareverine]

Bond Girl, part 1 | patch!Logan x fem!reader | themareverine + bpmiranda

synopsis: the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen such a thing—obscene. like bait from the possession of man everyone here knew to more vile than any beautiful thing could be. because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful. and his taste in jewelry? immaculate.

warnings: patch!Logan, flirting, suggestive themes, part 1 of a co-written little thing with @bpmiranda (surprise!), casino atmosphere, booze, gambling, language, nameless!fem!reader but mentions of curls and blue eyes, ⚠︎.

a/n: save me, Patch!Logan, save me! I can't get away from this idea and my absolutely insatiable lust for this man, ROFL. this idea hit me the other day and after conversing with @bpmiranda, I knew we had to write this. big thanks for her for 1) being phenomenal, 2) listening to my ramblings, 3) jumping on my Patch train, and 4) deciding to collab! ahhhh! my part is done, but hers is coming and will, most likely, be NSFW and probably SO FAR AND AWAY BETTER. and yes i got carried away with context what else is new ROFL get on our taglists for updates!

➜ bpmiranda’s part 2 ⋆｡˚ ੈ✩‧₊˚ ✧.*

She isn’t usually one to go for something so—obscene. 

Not that the idea of fine jewelry, really, should be considered obscene. It’s honestly an insult, something so beautiful tethered to a negative connotation. It was the farthest thing from obscene. Just simply the first adjective that leapt to mind the second she’d seen it, dangling elegantly like bait from the possession of man everyone in here  knew to be more vile than any beautiful thing could be. 

Because, if Logan is anything, it’s beautiful—and his taste in accessories? Immaculate. 

“It’s too expensive,” the absolute glint that passed through his eyes sparkled almost as clearly as the stone, catching light like starlight coupled, somehow, with sun, “you really shouldn’t have, Logan.” Cool against the flaming embarrassed scarlet chasing up her neck, he was deliberately slow. Rough hands skipping along her décolletage sent shivers down the length of her spine, numb beneath the wolfish gaze staring back at her in the mirror. Fingers reaching to brush along the face of the stone, it felt heavy. 

“I didn’t,” he sounded so pleased with him, chuckling in that low way that sent her brain pulsing, “poor bastard’s wife is probably pissed, huh?” His hands are more caring than she ever thought possible, clasping the necklace into place. Watching her swallow her own breath, her eyes only skip up to his when his hands find the back of her chair, leaning forward to brush his mouth along the shell of her ear. 

“Can’t imagine it lookin’ as good on anyone else as it does you, sugar.” 

At least two carats, it’s basically a small nucleus of sunlight, sparkling against her pale décolletage, its radiance only challenged by the offset of what she can only assume is a platinum bezel. Gently rubbing the stone between her fingers, she releases a slow breath that shakes more than she would’ve liked, but comes from her core. His hand brushing along the strap of an equally breathtaking gown only exaggerates her inability to breathe evenly, and she swears to God the color racing up her neck deepens. 

“You won this?” turning in her seat, she gently pushes him back with a hand to his chest. “In cards? You always play for cash,” without flinching, she probes for an answer—Logan never bets collateral. He always plays for money, or, on occasion, information. It was how she’d come to know Patch—the man of Madripoor. In all her months of watching him play, she’d only ever seen him accept collateral one other time, and she protected the Van Cleef bracelet on her arm nearly with her life. “It has to be worth a small fortune,” quietly she turned back to the mirror, slightly entranced by its brilliance.

He chuckled, “Not small enough,” his finger brushes a tendril of curl hanging from the simple pins at the base of her neck, “Wasn’t thinkin’ about how much it cost, sweetheart. Too busy imaginin’ you wearin’ it to bed,” His hands skim down the neckline of the dress, an elegant yellow satin slip cut dangerously up the thigh, thin and leaving mostly nothing to imagination, “but I guess this’ll do for now, hm?” 

Willpower of the gods had somehow propelled her out the chair, hand in his as he’d tugged her against his chest. Arms fortressing around her softness, holding her closer than sin. She finds herself lost under the heavy of his gaze, even as her fingers trail up the sleeves of his suit jacket. Crisp as snow, it cuts him perfectly, as if designed for him and him alone. He’s warm, chasing away the slightly chill that pebbles the skin of her arms, the A/C of the hotel suite more tangible than ever. 

“For now,” she’d echoed with a small smile, amusement passing through her tone. “Maybe if you’re good, I’ll ask you about that active imagination of yours later.” Hand finding his cheek, she guided him into a slow, unhurried kiss. “You feel lucky tonight, Lo?” Words murmuring against his lips, his head angled to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers.

His chuckle was light, entertained as his fingers traced along the straps at the back of her dress, “Ain’t about feelin’ lucky, sugar,” tipping her chin up, he smiled at her darkly. “But if it makes you feel better, you bet.” 

Absolutely obscene. 

He’s still as perfect now as he had been hours before, draping a once-in-a-lifetime diamond around her neck, sitting in the low haze hovering in a smothering, thin veil about their casino’s air. Their casino—the gambling house they’d called home for the entirety of her sojournings at his side. Walls and floors that knew their secrets, hallways that saw parts of them no human, probably, ever would. 

Madripoor was beautiful, a stunning land with its own cultures rich with wonder and charms untouchable to nearly sunlight—it was not a difficult place to land, to count off the fingers of time. Especially for a man burying secrets in shallow graves of earth and unknowns. Abundant with vibrant color, pulsing atmosphere and the adrenaline of living, its wellspring of anonymity was wanting, attractive in a way any other nowheresville wasn’t. Logan had established himself as a man of countenance in these streets, specifically this house—a man of power, strength. Gall, courage. Unkillable, untouchable, wholly wondrous. 

Countenance. His reputation preceded him—whether as a badge of honor, a curse of death, or a last-nail coffin truly, honestly, depended on whom one would ask. Bodies jumped under tables beneath the steel of his gaze, the earth opened up to consume lesser beings. Flurry of opinion wasn’t uncommon, if you asked around the shadows and dripping neon of the city— bodies in this quarter of the city produced a cocktail of options for poison. Akin to asking which band champions in NOLA at the height of Mardis Gra, the hair of the dog hours—good thoughts weren’t anorexic around here, weren’t starving for air to give them life.  

All had an opinion. Scant few actually held water. 

Madripoor trembled with the respect wise men hold for phantom’s when he strode into a room. People knew, just from him cutting the doorway of the casino floor, that “Patch” was not an easy dance. Garnered a respect she’d never seen so freely offered to anyone else, dignitaries were not so often well noticed. Logan half expected the room to whip around to eyeball him he was so aware of his own presence, but not in the way one would think—not in the sense of ego or pedestal, high-horses. Never.

“Same feelin’ you get shiverin’ down your back when you think you're bein’ watched, sugar—just the way it goes when guys like me make an entrance.” 

Logan rarely made an entrance—Patch, even less so. Exits were more his thing, honestly. 

But far and away, Madripoor had signed and delivered its standing opinion on the man with an patch, the man from the north—the man nobody could touch, whose face shadows didn’t find. For four decades he’s been frequentlying this place, blowing in and out like the steam over bayous and still water, never aging a day. Always stalking, always collected. In blood it screamed, up and down the streets, this province’s opinion—You bet on Patch, and you have your man.  

And tonight is no different. While Logan may not be an easy man to dissect with discernments, he is an easy bet. Easier, yet, to watch. Even at the bar, across the floor—where light is golden and soft, the air is thick with smoke. Music that has been hastened for generations spins through the air like dreams, summoning atmosphere and charm into the room like a sweeping arch of divinity.

It had become some kind of twisted religion, almost worship. Watching him rake fools over hot coals at this same casino table, when starlight strikes and the sun drips from the sky like slow poison. It’s like a killing hour, almost—the scent of blood and money hang in the air like calling cards, tantalizing sirens. It is the same dance, similar songs each night they grace this room—Logan seats himself at the card table. He orders whiskey, a cosmopolitan for her. Lights a cigar, asks the floor manager for a tab. Taps the corner of his mouth with a thick finger for her kiss, kisses her harder than she would expect from him—takes cash he slips into the neckline of her dress, “You keep here, darlin’, and also like always, he’ll take her chin between calloused fingertips, “gotta keep my lucky little thing closeby—’ma jealous fuck, sugar. Don’t go runnin’ off.”  And the answer is always the same—

“Where else would I be?” 

Certainly nowhere else could hook, line, sink her soul like that little quicksilver of a smile he throws at her—the way his gaze rakes over her frame, dissecting every bend and curve like a creature worth studying. Like he hasn’t known every part of her, explored each plane and territory of her skin, her soul. Logan has known her up until the half of her soul, possesses parts of her she’ll never return to—he takes more than money, on nights when he looks at her like this. More than information or courage or a man’s dignity—he takes her. Everything she possesses, balances it between his fingers, bleeding and raw, like it is a plaything and circus.

And really, she thinks, there could be no better thing under the sun.  

 At some point in all of this, she’d wondered, early on, if it would be like this, always. Running with him. Stalking lines, scouting out survival and nexts—spidering in gigs only to feast on the blood of the innocent unsuspecting. Vampires of opportunity, of fortune. She’d learned in short shit that, while the game is always the same, the wonder was in the stakes—it’s never about the game. 

Balance of power is always found in what one is willing to lose in the chance to gain.

“Something new, mi encanto?” 

Her chair sings a little as she adjusts to swivel back around to the bar, smile soft as she considers the surprise glass of something slipping her direction across an elegant, seen-everything bar. Warm eyes consider her, Dominic’s expression soft and entertained as he stereotypically slaps his rag over his shoulder, driving home a subliminal point. 

Canting her head softly to the side, she dips her finger into the crystalline booze, allowing it to gently float around the cool zing of alcohol and promise of a buzz that will warm her spine. Her finger gently traces the rim of the fine glassware, gaze tracking to the clock above the bar. It’s been two hours—two hours parked at the bar in a dress the color of sunlight, watching. Drawing the attention of every dick and eye this place produces. A pretty sentinel over the reputation and suppositions of a man rumored more to be a god than mortal, she’s little more than a trophy in this room—Logan’s trophy. Patch’s pretty little thing. 

Hardly more than eye candy, little less than pornographic imagery—she’d quelled a few looks of new faces unaccustomed to the goings-on of this house, of its finer workings. Didn’t take much more than a sharp lift of her leg over the other, a nod of her chin towards the table—rare cases demanded she actually leave her perch at the bar and make an effort to fill in the program gaps. Coming up along his chair, lingering touches on his chest and shoulder—the occasional slow, sloppy kiss between hands of poker, blackjack. Little else drove the point home so deeply, coffins and nails.

 She’d only ever been broached by the brave who had never returned—most were warned. If not by circumstance, then by Magnolia y Pecado staff—she was off the table. A no-go. Off limits. Hands off, don’t touch the pretty thing who parts her legs for the man everyone in Madripoor knows as Patch. If they only knew of him what she does, they’d think so differently. 

‘All bets off when you’re mine, sugar.”

“Gracias, Dominic.” 

She doesn’t ask what it is, Dominic understands her taste. Quite the working relationship they’d developed over the months of her making this bar her second home. Always thrilled to see her but rarely surprised, Dominic worked twelve hour days. Five daughters, his adorable, busy-bee and as-sweet-as-honey wife expecting a hopeful son—the only friends she had in the city. Inés was responsible for half of her wardrobe decisions, much of her makeup. Often her rambunctious gaggle of ribbons-and-curls girls ran about this casino during business hours, passing time in the pool, in the gardens.

 Glass chilled between her fingers, she takes a light sip of the cocktail, brow lifting as the tropical kick spins around her tongue in a lovely zing that makes her smile. Lifting it, she takes a bolder sip, “That’s brilliant, Dominic,” her smile grows, and she wrinkles her nose, “what is it?” 

He chuckled, “Jungle bird,” beginning to vigorously rub at a stain in the grains of the wood, “clarificada—clear. Mi amor’s only drink,” winking at her, his smile is bright but quickly fades as his eye moves over her shoulder, tracking movement. 

All too suddenly, Dominic’s spine towers tall. Heart skipping for only a second, his movements become cut, slow. When he nods across the floor, chin lifting as his hands begin flying beneath the bar—effortlessly, she knows he prepares the familiar short glass. A distraction, certainly, but calculated.  She’d never understand his practiced anticipation of needs, but forever appreciate them, “Problema, mi Cariño,” his eyes cut over to her sharply, long pouring a multiple-seconds finger of Redbreast, “looks as if there’s trouble, Miss Patch.”

Miss Patch. Common amongst the staff, it carried a responsibility she wrestled with more than she’d be willing to admit—belonging to someone was a place she’d never imagined for herself, much less Logan, but the irony isn’t lost on her, either. Everything she’d never thought for herself, everything she’d ever fantasized in high fantasy and dreams—all one ball of wax, a bed of roses. 

Name not lost, her stomach flares with a pinprick of alarm, heat spreading through her blood despite the pebbles of chill racing across her skin. Glancing over her shoulder, she tucks her chin. Tracking, eyes skirting the game currently underway at the long, gorgeous felt table. Remnant’s of Dominic’s Jungle Bird sings on her tongue, punching low in her stomach a sort of sweet that almost stings, watching Logan at the head of the table begin slipping out of his expensive suit jacket. 

The slightest glance over his shoulder is all the greenlight she needs, dark hair glinting almost sapphire under the right lights, the trembling wire of tension in the air. Nearly misses his hand at the side of the chair, fingers snapping for her to come hither. 

Taking the Redbreast between her fingers, her own drink in hand, her little sigh is amused. Follows a light chuckle, there’s a breathlessness she can’t quite put a finger on. The idea of being summoned isn’t all that distasteful—it’s wicked, what it does to the depths of her womb. 

“And there’s my cue.” The smile she cuts to Dominic is wry, words dismissive, almost airy—something is off at the table. She can see it in the shifting eyes of the men across the felt, the way Logan rolls a shoulder. 

Steely tension snaps at the air like a rabid wolf, hungry and slavering as it devours any sense of control she feels, usually, with the man she knows as Wolverine so near to heart. Usually he keeps a good handle on things—and he maybe does, maybe this is deliberate. But the precipice feels shaky, being on the outside looking in— like balancing on a livewire above swirling oceans. 

Slipping from her stool, her hand smooths over the satin of the gown, bending slightly to straighten material teasing the floor around her feet in a tastefully cocktail,  elegant train. Foot over foot she minds the height of her heels, floorspace between the bar and table vanishing beneath her approach. 

Another small drink, eyes drifting over the table—her nail gently ting, ting, tings against his glass between loose fingers. Meeting the gaze of men whose attention lifts to her arriving at Logan’s side is easy, all she has to do is offer a teasing, flirtatious upturn of his lips. Of doe-eyed light and oh, hi. Easily she offers the cool Redbreast, gently nudging it against the back of his hand as her hip comes to rest against his chair—Logan’s attention doesn’t cut from the study of his cards, brow lifted, easily. 

Unmoving, chuckling across the table lifts her gaze over the rim of her glass as she teases her drink for a second time. “My my, Patch, my friend — pretty little thing you’ve got there, at your beck and call,” she sums him up quickly, falling back in his chair. Shifting his hips forward, like he’s got a twitch in his dick at the sight of her dipping backline, “You are one surprising sonuvabitch, I’ll give you that.” Wolf whistle off his words accompany the  shake of his head, eyes lingering over the curve of her hip longer than necessary. “Pretty things here, in Madripoor—where can I find one’a you, honey?” 

“Didn’t think there were any more like me,” she counters with a little giggle, winking at him. Her hand comes to rest on Logan’s shoulder, tracing the hard line of muscle beneath his milkwhite shirt. Teases along until her hand gently curves along his chest, between the unfastened buttons, “Thought I was limited edition.” Dropping low, her lipstick catches the bristle of Logan’s beard in a slow, heavy kiss to his jawline, sharp eyes holding the man fully entranced with her show across the felt of the table, “Gotta pay to play, huh, baby?”

 Bodies around the table shift uncomfortably, the man to Logan’s left practically on the verge of either an aneurysm or cardiac arrest, either is possible considering the size of his beer gut and the unhealthy sweat soaking into the band of his Stetson hat—Texas, mogul. Married, probably. Or at least feeling a level of guilt. The man to their right, complete in a look that’s so Miami it hurts—designer white pants, loafers. What appears to be a silk shirt tucked in, unbuttoned, in a flamingo pink that’s so ambitious it makes her smile. She couldn’t even determine his eye color, his eyes were still welded on the swell of her ass. 

They’re so easy, men. One look at a pretty thing, a little batting of the eyes — they were so painfully predictable, Logan had been right. He’d taught her everything about this game, this back-and-forth. How to make them drool, how to make them ache, to worship at her feet. The perfect equalizer, the best distraction—give them what they don’t know they want, “And all their walls come crumblin’ down, honey—that’s what you do.” If he weren’t a better man—if Logan weren’t hers, he’d be eating out her palm just as much as any of them. 

But she belonged to him, a tight leash she shortened seemingly by night. 

“All depends on the game,” he bites at his lower lip, “what’s my grand prize, mi amor?”  He butchers Spanish almost as badly as he butchers atmospheres, and it would make her chuckle, the way he masks his obvious desire behind a hand rubbing around his mouth. Instead it just makes her roll her eyes, tease her nails along Logan’s chest hair carefully beneath his shirt. Heat pummels off of him like a locomotive, even with his jacket shedded. “You like to play games, do ya, sweet thing?” 

Logan’s gaze snaps up from his cards, viciously. Beastially. 

“Easy, bub. Ain’t nice to fuck with another man’s property.”  

It rumbles low, wolfishly in his chest. Sharp chill launches down her spine like a needle, injecting poisons into her veins that begin to melt her self control. Logan rarely ever labeled her so basely in front of other men—it was not his routine. He had, in other times, when context demanded he whip out his dick for measure— she didn’t have details. Admittedly she’d been too distracted with Dominic and drink tasting throughout the night to pay attention to this game, to know if Logan had anything working over this gig. All she knew was from what little pillow talk he’d offered this morning, after burying his cock nearly to her ribs and rearranging her abdominal cavity.

Information. Information, baby—it’s all about connections. And oh—that’s right. It tracks around her brain in a sharp, white-hot loop. Information, Logan wants information. 

 A patch may well cover most of the animation of his eyes, but it is evident, the darkness—leers like a predator, hunting. Watching. The corner of his mouth ticks up, muscle in his jaw pulling as he eases back into his chair, loosens a shoulder. Logan may as well scent this man’s blood and call it a day, she thinks, but instead his quicksilver smile grows as the man puts down his cards in front of him, resting elbows on the table. 

“Ease up there, ace,” his hands open in a slow arc of easy, I’m-just-playing settle-down, “Only teasin’.” His accent is remarkably unbalanced, a little of something she doesn’t know, more of a part of the world she’d never heard. Logan takes his drink from her hand, tosses it back sharply, and the glass finds the table with a harder-than-necessary crack, “You payin’ to see my cards or what, old man?” 

“Keep your dick on, would ya?” Logan grabs her hand from between the buttons of his shirt, prompts her forward with a sharp tug, Jungle Bird in her hand upset like a child’s bathwater. And before she can think, Logan’s big hand grabs her chin tightly between thick fingers, “Kiss for luck, sugar?” His breath hot with whiskey sends her reeling, heat between her legs an inferno only ever matched at Vesuvius. 

God he was hot when he was pissed off and all possessive. 

A little nod of her head ticks up the corner of his mouth, his eye tracking down to the perfect curve of her mouth highlighted by lipstick the color of blood in her veins. A growling chuckle from the base of his ribs has him kissing her, deep and hard, tongue skipping along her bottom lip—in heartbeats he manages to make her breathless, every fiber burning as she shares his taste, allows him to rip a hungry little moan that knifes her right in the gut. 

“Tastes good,” he murmurs against her lips, “you’re doin’ so good.” 

Unsure whether to thank or bite him, she manages a small smile against his mouth while her hand skips low, to the low heat  between his legs. Nursing a semi nobody would ever suspect from otherworldly levels of cool-as-a-cucumber, her nails gently bite into the meat of his thigh. For a second his hiss skips her pulse, suddenly  at a loss against his mouth. 

Collecting quickly, “Trust me, baby,” and she adds the bite she knows he loves to her touch, “I know.” 

If anyone heard his barely-there, punched out groan, hell would sooner freeze. Satisfied with himself, he breaks first, giving her cheeks a rough squeeze before lightly shoving her away. A little proud, mostly for show. He’s mean in the best way possible, in the way she’s come to lust for. Treating her like a brat, worshipping the ground beneath her feet—it’s a delicate tango they do on the blades of alias and fun, of future and fortune. She’d come to crave it, a high she’d never escape. Laces adrenaline through her like a freight train, feels safe and dangerous all in one big ball of inexplicable, never-want-to-leave way. 

Swiping at the lipstick a kiss on his cheek has left behind, she throws an easy glance across the table to the three men who stare, nearly agog, at her. “Best of luck, gentlemen,” bending to kiss Logan’s cheek with a mock sugar sweetness almost too saccharine to be true, she tosses back the rest of her Jungle Bird.

“May the odds be never in your favor.” 

@sidkneeeee

@thevoicefromanotherworld

@misscrissfemmefatale

@eternallyfrustratedwriter

@permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88

@laaadygisbooornex3

@itsafullmoon

@kmc1989

@bpmiranda

[royboyfanpage]

Okay, let's talk about Ollie's experience with fatherhood.

I'm an Oliver Queen apologist forever, but I think that there's a tendency in fandom to go one of two ways- "absolutely perfect dad, no flaws whatsoever" or "evil abuser who shouldn't be within six miles of a child". This isn't an Ollie exclusive phenomenon, a lot of characters and topics do fall into that black-and-white mindset. But the thing is- Ollie doesn't have to be either extreme. Particularly with Roy, who most of the debate centres around, Ollie wasn't perfect! I think there's such a rich discussion point in terms of young Roy's relationship with Ollie, so much more than just That Panel. Because, in my interpretation, Ollie absolutely cared about him, absolutely saw him as a son, but also the idea of being a father is something that deeply terrified him. The idea that this literal child being dependent on him made it feel more real, if that makes sense. Coming to terms with the fact that he was responsible for another person's life was difficult for him, and so he put up this wall- hero and sidekick. A conceptual dynamic, one that's not based in reality. He can keep that distance between himself and Roy and decide what that means, he doesn't have to be a father because that word has so many strong connotations, but he can still express that he cares about Roy, in his own way. That's why he always calls Roy 'Speedy' even out of costume, that's why his first thought is that Roy's undercover in Snowbirds. He can focus on being a good mentor to Speedy, which will have a trickle-down effect to being a good guardian to Roy, right?

Unfortunately, kids' brains don't work like that! Especially not a kid who's already lost two fathers. Roy needed a stability in his teenage years that Ollie just wasn't able to give at that time. He didn't see "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy because he loves me and doesn't know how to show it", he saw "Ollie's nice to me as Speedy, which means I'm only good as Speedy". This, at least in my opinion, is a major factor in Roy’s later self-esteem issues. Roy’s constantly underestimating himself as a hero, constantly comparing himself to Dick, and pushing himself 24/7 to improve because he internalised the idea that if he’s good, if he’s the perfect hero, then he’ll be loveable. He can’t be bad, he can’t fail, he can’t back down because if he does, he’s nothing.

It’s absolutely not Roy’s fault, but also this doesn’t mean that Ollie’s an evil neglecting abuser, either. Even the best parents fuck up, and Ollie was by no means the best parent. He took in Roy as a sidekick, as a buddy, and then never really found a way to combine the ideas of sidekick and son. He assumed that Roy would be able to interpret meanings behind gestures, which is something that Roy seems to struggle with even into adulthood. I’ve talked about it a fair bit, Roy’s absolutely someone who relies on the explicit, but he’s also not someone who’ll ask for clarification, which has caused conflict in his relationships time and time again. And while it's something he has gotten better at as he's gotten older, a 12-18 year old Roy would absolutely not be able to read Ollie's motives.

And Ollie's fear of fatherhood isn't something exclusive to Roy, either. Sure, he'd gotten better at it by the time Connor and Mia entered the picture (speaking as an oldest child myself, we are the guinea pigs of parenting, I was my mum's sibling), he absolutely still expresses this with them. I mean, just look at his face when he finds out Connor's his son.

That's the face of a man who's just had the crushing weight of parenthood slammed down onto him again, the moment Connor stopped being an ally and started being his responsibility. He's scared, because Ollie absolutely does not see himself as a good father for someone to have. This was very much present during Roy's teenage years, but particularly since this is post-Snowbirds. Both in terms of Roy developing a drug addiction and in terms of Ollie's own initial reaction to it, he immediately spirals. And, since we've already established he does not know how to process things, he lashes out at Connor.

And as for Mia, he's definitely matured significantly by the time she comes into the picture, and compared to with Roy he's a lot more open with his feelings. However!

He still won't explicitly accept the responsibility of fatherhood! Despite acting like a father to Mia in every way through his actions, he still won't use his words! Even though in the issue following, he expresses a paternal protectiveness over her.

And I think Mia's HIV diagnosis is maybe one of the biggest examples of his distancing himself and hiding his feelings, particularly when Connor asks him how he's feeling about it.

He's so fine, so totally fine, trust him when he says he's fine, totally not freaking out. He's absolutely not terrified for his not-daughter, no way.

Ollie has this fear that if he gets too attached to his kids, he's gonna end up failing them. If he keeps a distance from them, then he can't blame himself when they get hurt. Is this good parenting? No! Absolutely not! But this is also the man who dresses up as Robin Hood and who chose to die rather than lose his arm. This is not a healthy man.

But he tries, he tries so hard, even if it's in his own way. And he recognises when he fucks up! And he tries his best to mend it later on!

He's not the best at showing his kids that he loves them, but he's so proud of Roy when he becomes Red Arrow. He comes back to life to save Connor. He stands by Mia's side when she gets diagnosed and becomes Speedy. He's not a great dad, but goddamnit he's trying to be.

In conclusion, no, Ollie is not the perfect father. He's deeply flawed, and his own emotional incompetency has been and always will be a point of conflict between him and his kids. But he's not some uncaring abuser, either. He's trying.

[toiletclown]

breathless. (part two.)

spencer agnew x gn!reader

mostly fluff, a little angst.

summary: to 'train' for an upcoming guitar hero stream, you head to spencer's for the first time in weeks. the tension is thick, and you have to call your best friend, angela, for some input. your feelings were growing to lengths you weren't sure you could handle -- but what other choice do you have?

word count: 2251

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

It was not fine. The AC in Spencer’s apartment had broken sometime between him going into the office and him coming back home. He sent you a text to let you know, and even offered to bring all his stuff to yours if that was easier, but you knew how many cords and controllers that entailed and told him it was fine, you’d just wear something you’d be comfortable in.

However, you were not prepared for just how warm his apartment was. You came over in a cropped baby tee and some comfy shorts, but you had worn a very thin cardigan over the shirt, hoping it would be thin enough you could keep it on. But alas, the world was constantly against you, and about fifteen minutes into your visit you knew you had to shed the layer. The windows were open but there was no breeze, and the standing fan and ceiling fan were working overtime. 

So here you were, standing in Spencer’s living room, attempting to hide your Guitar Hero skills while also trying to hide your discomfort. Honestly, you weren’t even sure why you were uncomfortable. It’s Spencer. He’s seen you in worse. At least this outfit is cute, right? When you finally pulled yourself out of your thoughts, you realized you were beating Spencer in 1v1 by a country mile. What the hell was he doing? You knew he was good at this game, and despite you purposefully missing every few notes and hitting the whammy bar much too late, he was still way, way behind.

You paused the game and turned to look at him. You had been standing in front of the couch, since it was a little harder to play the guitar when sitting down. He, however, was sitting on the couch in gym shorts he had no right to be wearing (They were so short that if he moved one inch the wrong way there would be a problem. Why did he pick such slutty little shorts??) and a Zelda triforce logo tank top. His arms were on full display, along with his gorgeous legs, and you had to admit your words got caught in your throat when you saw him. You hadn’t really looked at him with much precision when you arrived because you were more focused on how warm the apartment was, but now, seeing him with his leg balanced on his knee and the guitar lazily draped in his lap, you were borderline salivating.

“You okay, Peach?” He always called you that, since you had a penchant for snacking on peaches and preferred to play as Princess Peach whenever the two of you played Mario Party or Mario Kart. He never let it slip at work, but a part of you wanted him to. Just to see how someone else would react to it. Would they hear it as a platonic, long-term-friendship type of nickname, or would they pick up on a subtle romantic vibe beneath that? Was it crazy to want that romantic connotation? 

“Oh, yeah, I’m okay. Are you, though? I’m not very good at this and I’m still beating your ass. You good over there?” You willed your blush away at his nickname for you, knowing he, realistically, didn’t have any romantic implications behind it. You knew why he called you that, and it made sense. Let’s not think too hard on it, okay? No need to make a romantic mountain out of a friend-shaped mole hill.

Spencer sighed, opening and closing his mouth a few times before finding his words. “Yeah, sorry. The heat is kind of making my brain blank out, I guess.” He stood, pulling the string on his ceiling fan to move it from medium to high speed. You were silently wondering why it wasn’t already on high, but chose not to question him. You also knew he was lying. You’ve been friends with Spencer (on top of having severe unrequited feelings for him) for far too long, and you knew him better than he knew himself. You knew all of his tells, and currently, he was avoiding eye contact and picking at his right thumb, which he always did when he was nervous and/or lying.

You sat down next to him, still leaving some space due to the heat. You were both quite physically affectionate with one another, but lately you had both pulled back in that regard, though neither of you wanted to say anything about it. While he had basically stopped being touchy-feely altogether, you still attempted that contact sometimes. He didn’t react the way he used to.

“Spence, honey, I’ve known you far too long for you to lie to my face. What’s going on?” You voiced your concern with a gentle hand on his thigh, close enough to his knee that it didn’t come across wrong, but also far enough away from his knee that you felt a whoosh in your stomach. It was too late to move it now without him calling you on it, though, so you left it there.

He took a deep breath, seemingly gearing up for a word vomit. But instead he shook his head. “Sorry, I’m just dealing with some… personal stuff, I guess, and I was lost in my head. We can get back to it, I’m sorry, Y/N.” He patted your hand with his, before moving to grab the guitar again and start the game back up. You pulled your hand away, burning, and decided you needed to leave. 

“Oh, it’s… it’s okay. I’ll head out, leave you to your thoughts. You can always text me if you need me, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow?” You stood to start gathering your stuff, and you felt Spencer’s eyes on your back as you bent over to pet one of his cats. The cropped tee was definitely showing off more of you than he had seen before, so it was only natural for him to look. But you wondered what he was thinking, too.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow. Sorry again about the AC being broken. Maintenance should be coming by soon,” Spencer supplied, walking with you to the door. “Hopefully I won’t have to sweat to death for much longer.”

You both laughed, and you held your arms out for a hug. Spencer hesitated, before returning the hug and reassuring you that he’ll see you tomorrow. You offered him a goodbye and told him you loved him, like you both did every time you parted. You didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t say it back this time.

//

Angela, please help me. You didn’t know who to talk to about this. Your thoughts had been a bubbling mess for hours at this point, and you couldn’t talk to Spencer, and you weren��t quite ready to talk to Courtney about it. Courtney should be your go-to about this situation, but you weren’t sure how to broach it. Hey, you went from coworkers to friends to lovers. How do I do that? wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker to get into the conversation. Angela had heard you vent many times before, and although you never, ever named Spencer in the conversations, you had no doubt that little Italian gremlin knew you were talking about him. Angela was very intuitive and just because you leave a few details out and refuse to use his name in conversation, that doesn’t mean she can’t pick up on everything else. Especially since Erin was clearly picking up on it. Among others.

What an ominous text to receive at 1am. What’s up babe? 

Holy fuck, was it that late already? You checked the time and sure enough, it was 1:03am. You’d been in your head for far longer than you thought.

Oh fuck I didn’t even realize it was that late lol my bad queen :(( we can hold off till tmr it’s nbd!

NOPE you’re not pulling that shit, ft me rn

You sighed, but it was near impossible to say no to Angela, so you turned your desk lamp on and hit the FaceTime button. You needed to get this out of your system soon anyway, it was starting to eat at you. With other people seeing it clear as day you felt as though you should probably work your feelings out before Spencer realized.

“Hello there my gorgeous best friend, what’s on your mind?” Angela was clearly in bed, face lit only by her phone and the fairy lights she kept strung up around her room. “Is it Spencer?”

Your face went pale at her question, which answered her for you. “Oh, so it is Spencer! Did you ask him out? Did he ask you out? When’s the wedding? Can I sing at the reception? Oh, that might be weird, right? What would I even sing? Oh, I know–”

“Angela.”

“Sorry, go on.”

She let you ramble on for a few minutes, starting from the beginning. When you were hired and instantly bonded with him. When the movie nights turned to movie sleepovers and the game nights turned to game weekends. When he got promoted to cast, then you got promoted, and suddenly your friendship felt different. The first Erin Dougal meme, the second Erin Dougal meme, and finally, whatever the fuck had happened tonight. The way he was distant, but not cold. The way you could feel his eyes on you, and the two times you caught him “lost in his thoughts” as Erin had phrased it. His lack of response when you told him you loved him tonight. That was what hurt the most. He had never left you hanging when you said it, and he said it more often than you did. At lunch, on set, while watching him play Fortnite. You always reassured each other in every aspect of life. And suddenly, it was like that reassurance and friendship was going dormant.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong, I guess? It seems like out of nowhere we lost our friendship and we’re back to being acquaintances, in a way. He’s not as touchy anymore, and he gets weird when I am. He rarely invites me over anymore. I haven’t stayed the night in months. And he didn’t say he loved me before I left tonight. He’s never not said it back. And like, why? What changed? What did I do wrong?” Once your word salad was out and in the open, Angela sat for a minute, thinking on how she wanted to respond.

“Okay, I have a question before we proceed.”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want me to respond as your best friend or as your coworker?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Only slightly.”

“Then as my best friend, please.” You took a breath in, knowing with this selection came some harsh words. If she was responding as your coworker she would be nothing but kind, but with the best friend response you knew she was going to drag you, hard. But at this point, you needed that, didn’t you?

“Y/N, my sunshine, my flower, my angel. He’s pulled back significantly as of late because he thinks that his feelings for you are one-sided.”

“His–”

“Don’t interrupt me, you clown!” 

“Okay!” You laughed along with your friend, knowing that this conversation was going to be hard but it was necessary.

“He sees all these things in a different light because, somewhere in the timeline of your friendship, he got it in his head that you would never reciprocate his feelings. So now, all those things he used to enjoy, almost hurt now. Your touch on his skin is no longer comforting, because he wants more. And he doesn’t think he’s capable of getting that. He’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose you, but he also is having trouble coping with the fact that he doesn’t know if he can ‘just be friends’ with you. Spencer might have held his façade quite well for quite some time, but it’s cracking now and he’s scared. He doesn’t want to lose his best friend, but he also doesn’t want to be strictly friends anymore. He wants to love you openly, and he thinks he can’t do that.”

“Jesus, Angela. How do you even know all this?” You were absorbing her words, letting them flow through you. Spencer thinks his romantic feelings for you are one-sided? Spencer has romantic feelings for you? What the hell is going on, man?

“Because three and a half minutes before you texted me, he also texted me. I was basically reading his text out loud, word-for-word. And before you yell at me for breaking his trust, you are my best friend and I am legally obligated to tell you everything, just like you are legally obligated to tell me everything. Even though you seem to think I can’t parse that the guy you’ve been obsessing and gushing over is Spencer despite your obvious phrasing. You're not as slick as you think, babe.”

You sat in silence for a moment, really trying to let everything sink in. Your feelings weren’t one sided. You had a chance with him. He didn't suddenly dislike you, or hate you, or not enjoy your company. It was just harder now. And that, that you understood, quite thoroughly.

“Ang, how do I unfuck this?”

“I already have a plan for you, Peach.”

You groaned, “Okay, that’s not fair!”

“I know, I know. So here’s what you're going to do…”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

taglist: @lokidokieokie (thanks for being my first ever taglister hehe)

[rayveneyed]

cw: smut / a/b/o dynamics / cisfem!reader

contrary to popular, old-fashioned belief, alphas and omegas can be friends.

long gone are those times of wilful ignorance, the use of nature as an excuse for shitty behaviour —well, i'm an alpha, see, so i really can't help trying to shove my hand up your skirt, so—

most people are chill nowadays, you like to think — like to being the key phrase. sure, you get the occasional tradomega trying to tell you that you need to dive into your divine feminine and serve your alpha as god intended — and you've definitely been on the receiving side of some ticking biological clock rhetoric, for sure, by snot-nosed alphas with not even a single yen to their name — but it is what it is.

all of this to say that: when sero hanta is guts deep in you, it's completely platonic. completely. cute. casual. nowadays, no hair-brained ideas of marriage or monogamy or commitment accompany your coupling — it’s animal instinct, dirty and intense and slick and hot, scratching a biological itch, and that’s it.

you really lucked out on your choice of partner, too. sero’s an alpha, yes, but not in the derogatory sense. he doesn't get pissed when he smells other alphas on you, like a territorial dog; doesn't tell you that you should be settled down, already, with a household of pups to manage at 25 years of age; doesn't push and prod when you work long hours and devote most of your time to your career. he's funny, and goofy, and tall, and lean, and — and, well, his hair is floppy and inky black, and when he's hunched over you, sweat dripping onto your collarbone from his pointed nose, his cheeks flush the cutest shade of pink…

ahem. anyways.

while there are many omegas that are no doubt stronger than you when it comes to heats, forgoing human contact in favour of 700-odd pounds of silicone, you're part of the large majority that would rather shack up with somebody real. you're not knocking it, of course! your sock drawer is testament to the fact that you love your silicone, really, but there's just something about a person. all heat and skin-to-skin, sticky and nasty in a way that leaves you more satisfied than anything else.

and sero — with his kind eyes and goofy smile (and skintight hero suit) — is not only more than willing to help you through your heats, but have you enjoy them. not an easy feat when your insides are tying themselves up in knots between orgasms, but by god does he do it. something about his hips... something about the way he bows his head to your shoulder, grinding long and slow into you, hips pressed flush to hips. his lips brushing against your skin when he groans, his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back. you're not sure if you should be jealous of his obvious sexual experience, or just grateful that you get to be on the receiving end of it.

there is, of course, the obvious romantic connotations of it all. you’re not stupid enough to completely ignore it; after all, heats are these romanticised, coming-of-age-esque happenings, the plot of most early 2000 rom-coms and bad pornos. cute omega roommate forgets her suppressants and goes into heat! real alpha-omega love-making guaranteed!

but its not like that, because hanta is hanta and you are you. you’re like sharkboy and lavagirl. or fireboy and watergirl. whichever pairing fits the dynamic better — you’ve always been the hothead between you two.

“that’s a really shitty idea,” a friend warns you. she’d caught you with your scarf undone, baring the hickies that hanta had left on you to the world — an embarrassing result of the occasional non-heat trysts you’d find yourself caught up in. you couldn’t even blame the heat hormones for the way you’d almost mauled him, but a girl simply has needs! “i’m telling you, casual heat sex never works. trust me.”

but it works for you and hanta, right? because no matter how much you fight, how much you disagree, how much you chastise him for putting himself directly in the line of fire — on live tv, no less! — it all melts away in a pile of blankets and pillows. no matter how deep his cock drives in you, no matter how his teeth scrape your scent glands and have your toes curling against his back, it all ends up the same — slumped in front of the tv, lazily lounging on your phone while he boots up his nintendo 64 to kick ganondorf’s ass for the billionth time.

(and it doesn’t matter that sero isn’t seeing anyone else — it doesn’t matter that he’s deleted his dating apps, or that you keep the pillow he sleeps on when he comes over so that you can scent it when he’s gone. it doesn’t matter that he reminds you to take your anxiety meds — you know, omegas are 44% more likely to have GAD than the average person? — or that he remembers how you take your tea, coffee, and pho. these are things you’d do with any friend, of course.)

it’s cute. casual. not at all romantic, so surely you shouldn’t think twice about leaving a toothbrush at his place. and what harm could a set of pyjamas do? and you could always do with an extra pair of socks, and your skincare, and perhaps an extra phone charger…?

[dullgecko]

I love a trans Riz moment and one of my headcanons is that goblin names are gendered by the number of syllables (Pok, Sprak, Riz all being one syllable, Sklonda being two).

And we all know that middle school Riz was Going Through It in terms of bullying so he was almost certainly also misgendered constantly by the other kids.

I think that’s part of why Sklonda is so against the other Bad Kids using nicknames for Riz because The Ball is two syllables and they’re accidentally misgendering Riz (according to goblin grammar) and she has had enough of other kids misgendering her son because they think it’s funny.

It’s also why Riz hates the multi-syllable nicknames like Rizbert and Rizwalda and keeps insisting it’s “just Riz”. But equally he also doesn’t want to come out. He’s sure it would be fine, but he doesn’t want to risk it just in case things go wrong. So he doesn’t know how to explain it so he doesn’t say anything, but it definitely hurts every time they do it.

(I think at some point he does deserve to snap at them though, as a treat).

(I’ve been trying to write a fic about this for ages but the words aren’t wording right, so I offer it up as a humble headcanon to be rotated in other peoples brains)

Goblin biology is different from humans or elves or even half-orcs. They're goblinoid not humanoid after all, their anatomy was different and their ancestors could be traced all the way back to the fae realms in eons past. Like with most creatures of the fae realms their relationship between their biological sex and gender is fairly loose, or more realistically practically non-existant. Hells, if you want to be a different biological sex the switch is incredibly quick and easy. Just go and talk to one of your hordes elders and with magic you'd be done within half and hour. Simple.

Riz grew up in Elmville though and Solesians tended to be weird about the whole thing. Sex and gender seemed to be intrinsically linked for some reason and, in order to naturalise better, goblins tended to stick with the gender that most-accurately reflected what was expected of their current biology.

Riz was six years old when he told his dad he didn't want to be a girl and that was that. A quick jaunt up to his families ancestral home, dinner and a minor name change and he was back in Elmville ready for school on Monday. It should have been as easy as that but even after explaining that he was a boy now the kids at his school just didn't seem to understand. They constantly kept calling him by his old name, some of the Helio kids even going so far as to corner him and preach at him about how what he'd done was evil. The bullying lasted for years and followed him all the way through middle school, only adding more ammunition to what he was already dealing with just by being a goblin in the first place.

He thought he'd managed to leave he worst of the bullying in the past when he finally made it to high-school. None of the kids who knew him in middle-school had come to Aguefort so no-one knew that he was a girl before. Just to make double sure though he made sure to dress the part. No one would call someone in a suit a girl, it was the most masculine outfit he could think of after all.

Honestly it was going better than expected. He did wince initially at the whole The Ball nickname but that was fine. His friends didn't know the multiple sylables were a thing in goblin, though his mom still drew her lips into a think line and glared whenever she heard Fabian call him that. They didn't even call him that in a teasing way anymore, it was more of a title so he felt like it didn't have the same kind of connotation.

At the moment though they were teasing him a little bit. It was all good-natured, someone having commented that the nickname Fabian still used for him was weird and they should really think of another one. They'd rotated through quite a few humerous titles but had somehow strayed dangerously into nicknames playing off his own name which he protested.

"Oh! What about Rizbert? Or Rizmothy." Fig waved her spoon towards the goblin, swallowing around mouth full of icecream even as Riz winced.

"Guys no. Just Riz is fine. Or The Ball. I dont mind The Ball. Plus you keep making my name longer aren't nicknames supposed to be short?" He clutched at the glass of his milkshake, claws tapping at the glass as he tried to get them to change the subject.

"Yeah but you cant go shorter than Riz so we need to think of something else." Kristen nudged her shoulder against their rogue, the height difference meaning she just bumpd him directly in the head which made him make a quiet 'ow' and rub his temple where she'd clocked him.

"What about Rizzy?"

"Guys seriously I don't-"

"Rizriz?"

"Please stop."

"Rizbian, no thats too close to Fabian."

"Kristen honestly I don't like-"

"Rizgug! No wait same issue as the Rizbian one. OH how about Rizik."

The goblins eyes narrowed down to thin slits as the last name was said, Riz baring his teeth and slamming his glass into the table with a loud bang that made his party members jump.

"It's just Riz." He spat, venom lacing the short sentence as he pulled his ears back and down. Kristen holding her hands up in front of her in a defensive posture even as the goblin grabbed his breifcase off the seat beside him and slid down under the table.

Riz duck between his party members legs, not able to hear them calling after him over the sudden roaring sound of his own blood in his ears, and stalking out of the diner without another word. Milkshake dripping onto the spot where he'd just been sitting because the glass had cracked when he slammed it down with too much force.

They'd tried to follow after him but it was basically impossible after he left their line of sight, the rogue was incredibly adept at not being seen when he didn't want to be and he really didn't want to be right now.

He managed to drive his party into a mild panic after only a few hours, the goblin marking himself as offline in their group chat and declining their calls after a few rings (including Fabians, which did not bode well considering how pissed off he'd been when he had stalked out). Adaine had even tried to skry on him, but his wisdom was high enough that he easily slapped down her attempt and sent her a single text message consisting of the word 'no' before turning his crystal off completely.

They'd ended up splitting up to search for him across the city, heading for any spots he might go and promising to fill eachother in if they spoted him. Fabian had been circling the town on the Hangman for a while by this point, squinting down alleyways as he passed just in case he could spot their sneaky party member down one of them.

He'd passed the Strongtower Appartments at least twice before he thought to check there as well. Sure, it was a far too obvious a spot but maybe The Ball HAD just gone home.

Fabian hopped off The Hangman outside the front of the apartments, patting its seat and telling it to continue circling and searching without him as he stepped inside. He knew where Riz's appartment was, hells he even had a key these days, so he head there directly and let himself in.

He probably should have knocked before just barging in though, given that there was a rather pissed off goblin woman currently sitting at the dining room table glaring daggers at him. "Ah. Apologies. I did not expect you to be home. Have you purchance seen The Ball recently?" He had paused, half-inside the apartment with his hand on the doornob and very nearly backed all the way out again when she somehow managed to look more annoyed when he spoke.

"I'm not going to confirm or deny if I've seen Riz recently." She put heavy emphasis on his name, ears flicking as she interwove her fingers on the table in front of her. "But, if you have come to apologise I may see fit to pass it along when I do see him."

"Pardon?" Fabians look of genuine confusion made Sklondas demeanour shift, ears flicking into a more curious position rather than the angry one they'd been settled in before.

"You're not here to apologise for deadnaming him?"

"Sorry I'm not following? We were having lunch and he got pissed off and stormed out. We were looking for him because well.... we were worried and he switched his crystal off." Fabian entered the apartment completely, letting the door swing shut behind him with a click as he stood awkwardly in the entrance area.

"You called him Rizik."

"Kristen called him Rizik." Fabian corrected her, noteing that the normally open door to Riz's bedroom was shut. "Fig mentioned that you didn't seem to like when we called him The Ball and was trying to find a new nickname. I recall that may have been among them."

Sklonda rubbed her hands over her face, heaving a sigh before tipping her head back to look towards the ceiling as if asking a higher power for help. "Don't use that name again. Didn't you know it would upset him?" "No?"

The goblin woman gave him a confused look, pushing back her chair and heading over to Riz's room to knock on the door. Cracking it open slightly and chattering at the person hidden inside in goblin before shutting it again.

"Goddamnit kid. How are they supposed to know if you don't tell them." She donked her forehead against the closed door before turning back to face the fighter.

"Look he's fine and home. Tell the others that but he doesn't want to see anyone at the moment. I think he's mostly feeling silly about getting so pissed at you all and storming off because you couldn't have known it would upset him." She pointed a finger at Fabian before waving for him to sit down at the table. The half-elf pulling out a chair and sitting down obediantly when directed to.

"The kids at his last school used to call him Rizik all the time and thats because it was his name. He shortened it when he told us he was a boy and I'm only telling you this because he said i could. Don't tell the others."

Fabians eye went a bit unfocused as he tried to process what he was being told, eyebrows shooting high on his forehead when he finally put it together. "TOLD you he was a boy.... So he wasn't before... Ah. Deadname. Understood. I'll.... inform the others that that particular nickname is completely off the table."

[amourane]

Hi Yves, thank you for writing such great fics for us! I noticed you haven’t written anything for Blaise so is it ok to request for him?

Blaise and y/n are aurors and “rivals” bcs they think they’re better than e/o. They had to go to a mission tgt and she got hurt/almost got hurt but tried to play it cool while Blaise was so protective (swooning rn).

If you’re uncomfy writing Blaise you can also make it as Theo.

Much love xx

hexed hearts

pairing: blaise zabini x gn!reader

genre: fluff, aurors au, post hogwarts

w/c: 1.6k

summary: hate was a very strong word and it was the word you would use to describe blaise zabini perfectly.

warnings: swearing, you get hit with a hex and you bleed, nothing too graphic

a/n: tysm for requesting this anon!! i'm so happy you enjoy my writing and ofc you can request for blaise, this is my gift to you <3

Hate was a strong word. It was something that everyone said. Arguably it was a word most people used often without truly knowing just how strong the connotations were. No, you didn’t hate Blaize Zabini. You despised him with every single cell in your being. Not only was he a cocky asshole he was also determined to surpass you in everything. 

The two of you had been in the same year in Hogwarts and though you had only met when the both of you were 11 hatred had already been brewing. He was conceited and arrogant and snarky. All the things you hated. The rivalry between the both of you had only grown throughout the years, the tension pulling tighter and tighter.

Now, the both of you were aurors and no one got a wink of peace when the both of you were around.

“Can you not be an insufferable piece of shit for two seconds?” You snarled at his direction and when you see him sporting the same devilish smirk it only fuels your anger further.

“One. Two.” He holds his fingers up as he counts the seconds, mocking your emotions even more. “There, done. I know that you love me Y/n but you can’t even stay away from me for two seconds, that’s adorable.”

You lunged at him, anger bubbling over the top, ready to pounce on him and hex him into oblivion. Blaise was so annoying, so irritating and yet he was also so brain-numbingly handsome and smooth. You felt someone grab your shoulder stopping you just in time before you pummelled the man’s face in. 

“C’mon Y/n I can’t be the one cleaning up after the both of you again.” Harry sighed as he held you back. You watched as Blaise’s smug grin only widened as he leaned back into his chair. “The both of you are going to have to get along, there’s a mission for both of you.”

“But-”

“No buts Y/n, this one came from the guys above. You know how they are so you and Zabini are going to have to get along.” 

Harry didn’t say anything more as he left you standing there in disbelief. You didn’t even have a chance to refuse or even beg to not go. Blaise let out a low whistle as soon as the other auror left. He got up from his seat and made his way towards you, the shit-eating grin on his face only irritating you further. You scowled as he stopped just a few inches in front of you.

“Don’t be a pussy L/n, I’m sure you can resist my charms for a few hours.” He threw you a wink and you felt your skin crawl with disgust. Blaise was attractive, yes, but merlin how you wanted to just punch that annoying expression right off his face.

“You better not fuck this up Zabini or I swear to merlin-”

He cut you off before you could finish and rolled his eyes at the words you spat out. “I know, I know.” He shrugged his shoulders back before glancing at you again. Your glare met his eyes and you found yourself getting lost in his dark gaze. “You should know by now I don’t fuck anything up.”

With that, he snapped you out of your hazy thoughts. Your glare hardened and you scoffed at his arrogant statement. That was the last thing he said before disappearing behind you, leaving you to stew in your own anger. You had just been put together with your worst enemy on a mission. This was unbelievable.

//

The mission was a standard recon, yet the tension between you and Blaise made it anything but. Sneaking through the dense forest, you tried to focus on the task at hand and not the infuriating presence beside you. Blaise, for once, seemed focused, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of danger.

It wasn’t meant to be a hard mission, the both of you were skilled enough to handle any of the attacks that were hurled your way. Yet, everything happened so fast. One minute you were shouting hexes, pointing your wand at the danger before you. Blaise was beside you, his movements fluid and precise, something you had always envied. 

In the chaos, you didn’t see the hex coming. It hit you square in the chest, sending you sprawling to the ground, pain searing through your body. It hurt, it hurt a lot but you couldn’t let that stop you. This was a mission and every mission was treated with the utmost importance. There was no way that you were going to give up so easily. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to push yourself up and carry on. 

“I’m fine.” You muttered through clenched teeth as you struggled to stand. The pain only seemed to increase, spreading throughout your body quicker. “Just a scratch.”

Blaise’s eyes narrowed as he glanced at you, his expression shifting from annoyance to something you couldn’t quite place. “Bullshit, Y/N. You’re hurt.”

“I said I’m fine.” You insisted, ignoring the throbbing pain in your side. “Let’s just finish this.”

But Blaise wasn’t having it. He grabbed your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “We need to get you out of here.”

“I don’t need your help, Zabini.” You snapped, trying to pull away, but your strength was waning.

“Stop being stubborn.” He growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

His words stunned you into silence. Before you could protest further, Blaise lifted you into his arms, carrying you with surprising gentleness. You could feel his heart pounding against your back, the adrenaline of the fight still coursing through him. Your own heart was beating just as fast and you tried to steady your laboured breathing. Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but lean into him, exhaustion and pain overcoming your pride. 

As the two of you reached a safer area, he set you down gently, his hands lingering on your shoulders as he checked your wound. You winced when he pressed at your side and you turned to shoot him a glare but apologies were already tumbling from his lips. The concern in his eyes was undeniable, and it confused you. This was the same Blaise Zabini who had always been your rival, your nemesis.

“You’re going to be okay.” He said quietly, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. He muttered a spell you assumed was to calm the bleeding that was seeping through your clothes. “Just hang in there.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, not sure what else to say.

“Don’t mention it.” He replied, his usual smirk returning. “Just try not to get yourself killed next time. It’s a lot of paperwork.”

You rolled your eyes at his snarky remark, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. “You wish.”

As the adrenaline wore off you found yourself more in tune with the pain as well as the lingering touches that Blaise left as he helped you. The forest was eerily quiet and you knew that the danger was no longer there yet the silence only made it more awkward between the both of you. Every once in a while you would meet his eyes and your eyes would lock with his for a second before he turned away.

It was weird.

You winced as you shifted, the pain in your side sharp and persistent. Blaise noticed immediately, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Let me see.”

You debated whether to refuse his request before giving in. “Fine.”

He knelt beside you, gently lifting your bloodied shirt to inspect the wound. His fingers brushed against your skin, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The wound was deep, and the sight of it made you grimace.

“You’re lucky.” He murmured, his voice oddly tender. “A bit higher and it could have been much worse.”

“Guess I’ll have to thank you for that.”

Blaise looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the usual antagonism was absent, replaced by something softer, more intense. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. Just… try to be more careful.”

He was so close, his breath warm on your skin. Your heart kept the fast pace it had despite the fact all your adrenaline had already dissipated. He leaned closer towards you, fingertips grazing your wound and his touch somehow soothed the ache you felt.

“I mean it.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. “I hate watching you get hurt.”

“Blaise-” The words die in your throat and you can’t continue the sentence you so desperately wanted to say. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. This was the same Blaise who had driven you crazy for years, yet here he was, showing a side of himself that left you breathless.

Before you could open your mouth to respond he had already closed the distance between the two of you. His lips brushed against yours for a tentative kiss. His lips were soft and you found yourself clinging onto him, desperate for the sweet sensation that he filled you with. It was gentle at first before it increased with intensity. The pain you felt disappeared and all you could focus on was the beautiful man in front of you.

When he finally pulled back the both of you were breathless. His eyes searched yours as if he was looking for confirmation if he had read the situation correctly. You took a shaky breath, your mind reeling from the intensity of the kiss.

“Maybe we don’t hate each other as much as we thought.” Your voice was soft, a small smile playing on your lips as your hands loop around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

Blaise’s expression softened, his thumb tracing your jawline. “Maybe not.”

Silence enveloped you once again and this time it felt comforting. Blaise’s arms felt right around you, his warmth radiating off his body making you feel that much more safe. There was no longer the crackling animosity between the two of you.

“Told you you couldn’t resist my charm.”

“Shut the fuck up Zabini.”

[twoheadedoddity]

John Gaius and the Gospel of John

Ok. Here we go. I've spent the last little bit annotating my copies of tlt in detail, and I've been focusing a lot on the biblical references— especially John's confession chapters in NtN. I'm essentially cross-referencing the verses alluded to in the chapter titles with the actual content of the chapters, and recording some thoughts/observations. Not entirely groundbreaking, but I want to be thorough.

I'm building off of posts by @todd-queen here and here; go read these posts because they exploded my brain. The cipher. wow.

Please bear with me and if you read nothing else, read the entry for the final chapter.

Side note: I'm mostly using the New Revised Standard Version (the one I'm most familiar with) and sometimes the New International Version.

John 20:8

"Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed." (NRSV)

This is the big one—as has been previously pointed out, the fact that Muir got this verse to fit as the first numbers of the cipher AND be so relevant melts my brain. Immediately, connotations of Harrow breaking into the tomb at 10 (the first person to ever so do), seeing Alecto, and wanting to live. She saw and believed.

This chapter consists of John setting up the context for the cryo project, the Earth dying, all that. The main link is how the verse fits with Harrow's story.

John 5:20

"The Father loves the Son and shows him all that he himself is doing; and he will show him greater works than these, so that you will be astonished." (NRSV)

John and his crew are trying to buy time amid the projects getting shut down. Their power gets shut down anyway, and miraculously, the bodies that John touches don't decay. This verse speaks to both the first pieces of John's powers and foreshadows the more drastic "miracles" that will come later.

John 15:23

"Whoever hates me hates my Father also." (NRSV)

The crew realizes the link between John, his eyes changing, and the intact corpses. They try to experiment to see if anything will bring about changes in the bodies. Nothing does. He names them Titania and Ulysses. He moves the corpses' hands from across the room for the first time. Not really much to link the content of the verse to the content of the chapter here if you ask me?

John 5:18

"For this reason they tried all the more to kill him; not only was he breaking the Sabbath, but he was even calling God his own Father, making himself equal with God." (NIV)

The crew wrestles with the implications of what John can do—in a way, the idea that John could be chosen in some capacity, or that John can now play at being God. This is also the chapter where they decide to stream on the internet; so, you could maybe say that the verse foreshadows the ways they'll be targeted due to John's actions.

John 8:1

"While Jesus went to the Mount of Olives." (NRSV)

The verse, in context, comes right before Jesus demonstrates to a group how none of them are without sin, and shows mercy/forgiveness to a woman that others were wanting punished.

As for Jod—his little necromancy twitch streamer gig starts to take off. People start coming to him for help or healing or miracles. His words, he's "playing Jesus." Obvious parallels to the sections (such as the above verse and those that follow it) where Jesus is teaching folks and performing miracles. Interestingly, Cristabel intervenes, telling John he's wearing himself too thin and that he's making the same mistakes as Jesus by never turning people down. So John sets a limit to one hour of miracles a day.

The cult really gets going. The authorities turn up. The choice is get taken down or do something drastic. John chooses something drastic—COW WALL. Cow wall scares everyone into leaving the cult alone for a bit. I think, in a lot of ways, this is the chapter that was foreshadowed by the previous chapter's verse, if we really want to draw parallels that far?

John 19:18

"There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them." (NRSV)

John mostly talks about the politics of the FTL program—more funding stuff, the way cryo was dropped, the inconcistencies with the program, the trillionaires rushing ahead with stuff. I'll be honest, I only vaguely grasp the corporate-funding-technology-science-and-capitalism side of John's story. But I don't think there's any link here.

John 5:1

"Some time later, Jesus went up to Jerusalem for one of the Jewish festivals." (NIV)

^ He goes up for a festival (the KJV uses the word feast, so I keep rotating that word in my brain too) and in the next verses encounters sick people in a pool. He heals one of them.

John faces no consequences for Cow Wall and other crimes. If nothing else, his influence grows. He and his crew have a barbeque and talk about their plans.

At the barbeque, big bright lights go off in my brain that point to the word feast in the KJV. This literally isn't anything. Like I don't think it's a very meaningful connection to make here. But my brain keeps going "I connected the dots!" I didn't connect shit "I connected them!!"

John gets approached by an important organization and he agrees to help them. So now he's remotely controlling the corpse of a big world leader to fool the world into thinking he's alive, in exchange for a lot of money and a city-destroying weapon. Great. Comparison between Jesus' miracles of healing and John's necromantic reanimation "miracles."

"Could you give him a permanent pulse? Could you make it so he bleeds if he gets hurt? Could you fix any current degradation to his corpse? Could he talk, if we wanted him to?" (NtN 271-272). This is a quote that @/todd-queen pulled from the text, and it fits really well.

John 3:20

"For all that do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed." (NRSV)

More FTL stuff. The nomination for that. John finds out that the plans that were progressing for FTL and the evacuations were dubious at best—just trying to make it look like progress. John is furious, and decides to lean into the necromancer-cult-leader-twitch-streamer act even more, gaining even more sway.

I think something could be said for the verse—being all about evildoers hiding and preventing their deeds from being exposed—can be linked to the trillionaires lying and covering up the ways they are interfering with the FTL project/evacuation plans. And how John tries to expose them. I'd be able to give a more concrete argument if I understood the FTL plotline better but for some reason I struggle so bad with it.

@/todd-queen also links it with this quote, about how John and his crew hide the nuke, intending to never let it see the light of day. Which is also a good connection imo. "We kept laughing that it came with a manual. I think we were scared of what would happen if we stopped laughing. We pulled up the floor and put a safe beneath the lino and swore we were never going to use it." (NtN 279).

John 9:22

"His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders, who already had decided that anyone who acknowledged that Jesus was the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue." (NIV)

John grows in power. People come to join. It becomes an international sort of crisis. The first violent exchange occurs, and John uses the energy burst from the deaths to commit atrocities. One could link the verse to the various authorities coming after John and arresting anyone trying to join his cult. John certainly would. I hate him so much.

John 1:20

"He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, 'I am not the Messiah.'" (NRSV)

The chapter where everything goes to shit. FTL accelerating their escape attempt to mere days and then hours away. The attempted coup with G1deon and the nuke. John's crew is convinced this is the end; Cassiopeia and Nigella getting married. John reveals that he also has the corpse puppet ready to start a nuclear armageddon, as a backup threat to prevent FTL. Everything goes to shit at the cult compound. Cristabel shoots herself to make John figure out how to work with the soul. Everyone kills everyone else and John starts the apocalypse. Becomes God using the collective souls of the population and that of the earth. Obtains perfect lyctorhood with the earth, creating Alecto. The order of events for the actual nuclear apocalypse are unclear, because John is self-contradicting and a liar.

The actual contents of the chapter are... a lot. All over the place. But it's the most raw and visceral part of John's confession, which kind of fits nicely with this particular verse���given that it's from the section about John's (the Baptist, like, from-the-bible John) confession.

While I haven't covered the alternate ARC chapter numbers, I need to point out that this chapter is John 1:9 in the ARC. "The true light that gives light to everyone was coming into the world." (NIV). Seems pretty fitting for the chapter where he becomes God and begins the process that will become the resurrection, right?

John 5:4

This verse doesn't exist in the NSRV and many other versions, because in recent translations scholars think this verse wasn't part of the original. It is:

"From time to time an angel of the Lord would come down and stir up the waters. The first one into the pool after each such disturbance would be cured of whatever disease they had." (NIV)

The first connection, of course, is John picking and choosing who to bring back. Healing, resurrection. Yeah.

In this chapter John answers some of Harrow's questions. It's hard to tell which bits he lies about, exactly, but Harrow knows that he's full of shit. She decides to find the truth, and find God—probably not John in the end because he's a horrid lying sham—and walks into the River.

Right. Ok. Now back to this verse not being accepted as part of the bible anymore. On one hand, many of the Christian sources explaining its removal talk about how older, more accurate manuscripts do not contain this verse, so it's more accurate for more recent translations to remove it. Interesting. A chapter where Jod is clearly falsifying information being named after a verse that is supposedly not genuine. Tamsyn Muir your game is incredible.

Please direct your attention to this reddit post. The verse could also have been removed to focus attention on Jesus' healing power rather than having an angel also be doing the same thing. The post puts it better than I can, go read it, but essentially: John is trying to focus the attention on himself—the idea that he's the source of the world's power.

Choosing John 5:4 for this final chapter of John's confessional was very, very deliberate. I would like to shake Tamsyn Muir's hand and also ask her oh so many questions.

Final thoughts: I definitely that the main purpose for the choices behind most of the verses were primarily to fit with the cipher. But, where possible, Muir would have wanted them to fit somewhat with the contents of the chapter.

However, where things were very, very deliberate, were the first and last of these chapters—20:8 and 5:4. There is no doubt in my mind that these verses were handpicked for how incredibly relevant they are.

A lot of what I've pointed out has been pointed out by other people as I've mentioned throughout this post. I'm glad to be bringing it all together and freaking out over it, even though I doubt I'm the first to do so.

[youling-the-ghost]

sfth incorrect quotes pt.10 because school's kicking my ass and I need my daily dose of brainrot to survive

AJ: Go fuck yourself. Sam, smugly: Sure, but only if you watch Tom: It doesn’t have a bone. Sam: Then why is it called a boner? Luke: Look, do I consider myself attractive? Yes. But would I have sex with my clone? Also yes.

AJ: Is the plural of milf/dilf milfs/dilfs or milves/dilves? Sam: Milfs. Tom: Milf/dilf is an acronym, you can't change the spelling to milves/dilves. AJ: Wait, they're acronyms? What do they stand for??? Luke: Mom in late forties, dad in late fourties. Luke: I learned that from the movie called M.I.L.F that I saw the trailer of in theaters probably 5 to 7 years ago. Tom: Mom/dad I'd Love to Fuck. AJ: WAIT, WHAT THE FUCK— AJ: I NEVER REALIZED IT WAS ACTUALLY HORNY! Luke: Oh, is it not mom in late fouries? Sam: What? No! It isn't! Luke: THE MOVIE TRAILER LIED TO ME! Tom: Luke... Luke: THIS IS WHY I DIDN'T THINK CALLING PEOPLE MILFS WAS ALL THAT BAD BECAUSE IT STOOD FOR SOMETHING HARMLESS IT JUST HAD A SLIGHTLY SEXUAL CONNOTATION! Tom: I am entirely unsurprised that this is coming from you. Luke: AJ, DOES IT MAKE SENSE WHY I CALLED THE DIARY OF A WIMPY KID MOM A MILF NOW BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WAS LITERALLY JUST A DESCRIPTOR WITH FUNNY CONNOTATION! AJ: The word milf has been ruined for me. Sam: THAT'S ITS DEFINITION, IT CAN'T BE RUINED THAT'S WHAT IT MEANS! Tom: Y'all are dumbasses. Tom: I am the left brain, I am the left brain. "I work really hard until my inevitable death" brain. You've got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might. AJ: I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSY- Sam: Is letting someone win at chess sapiosexual bottoming? Tom: Can everyone in this godforsaken group please learn the skill called "Think Before You Speak"? Luke: Ya know...it might be. Sam: How do you tell someone that you wanna have sex with them in a polite way? Tom: Excuse me Mx. Would you give me the honours of indulging in sexual activities with you? Luke: What the fuck is wrong with you two? at the supermarket Sam: All right, the last item on the list is "virgin oil." Sam: Sam: Wow. Imagine being an item and still being called a virgin. Tom: Capitalisation is the difference between "I had to help my uncle Jack off a horse.." and "I had to help my uncle jack off a horse.." (It was then that Junyu realised...he accidentally turned on NSFW only and that's why the quotes have been so horny.) Sam: Hey! Wanna hear a joke? Tom: Sure. Sam: Your life! Tom: Actually, my life isn’t a joke, jokes have meaning. Sam: Tom, no. AJ: Can you recommend a book that'll make me cry? Tom: General Mathematics 8th Grade Edition. (in reference to that one guessing game where AJ forgot how math worked) Luke: It's locked. You got a lock pick? Tom: Yeah- Sam: *kicks down the door* Luke: They can't make me admit France exists, right? Legally, that's not allowed. Luke: Sure, if France was REAL I'd say I liked it. Luke: But who's to say. AJ: I think France isn't real. Tom: AJ, you used to live in France. AJ: And??? AJ: You gave me up, you let me down, you turned around, and deserted me. Sam: But did I make you cry? AJ: *cries on the spot* Sam: ...Shit. AJ: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food? Tom: ...What??? AJ: What’s your biggest fear? Luke: I am incredibly arachnophobic. AJ, under his breath: You don’t want spiders to get married? Tom: Luke, I think we have a problem. Luke: What, the fire? Tom: No, the- wait, what fire? Luke: Oh forget about it, this sounds more interesting. Sam: Hey Luke, can you give me the opposite of these words? Sam: Always, Coming, From, Take, Me, Down. Luke: Never, Going, To, Give, You- Luke: The fucking satisfaction. Luke: Inside you, there are two kidneys. Luke: I’m gonna steal them. Tom: So my therapist was talking to me and she said that I really just need to break down my walls and let people in. Tom: So I’ve decided to break the fourth wall. Tom: *looks at camera* Hi there. I use humor as a coping mechanism.

[dr-spectre]

What’s the different between hypnosis and brainwashed? Sorry, I just love your Callie obsessed and I don’t understand the different between the two

You don't understand the difference between the two? Don't worry, i got you.

Let's start off with brainwashing. In most definitions of it, it is described as pressuring someone systematically to adopt radically different morals, ideologies and behaviors via forcible means against a person's will, knowledge and consent.

Now let's get into hypnosis, it is described as a state of deep relaxation and focused concentration, where the subconscious is more open to suggestions and it's sometimes used as a form of therapy to treat addictions. It is not some stage act where you can get someone to get naked on stage, that's not how it works. It is not some thing where you swing a clock around and go "you are getting veryyyyy sleepy" and now you control someone's mind, nope, that is a common false assumption about hypnosis.

One of these terms is something used in therapy, the other is used in cults and political/military circles. The two are very different and have different connotations.

The main thing with brainwashing is that there is a forcible/ non consensual aspect to it where the individual doesn't want their mind to get changed. However in hypnosis, suggestions that are given to a person in a hypnotised state must not go against a person's will or morals otherwise the person will not listen to the suggestion, IT IS A VERY IMPORTANT DISTINCTION BETWEEN THE TWO!!!!!!!!! VERY VERY IMPORTANT!!!!

Brainwashing is against someone's consent while hypnosis REQUIRES consent and is not some form of mind control. That's the major difference between the two. Hypnosis is an altered state of conscious while brainwashing is someone's mind literally getting systematically reconditioned until the person's old morals no longer exist.

You can see now why i have problem with Callie being called "brainwashed" during Splatoon 2 because she canonically said to Octavio, "okay fine, I'll hear you out." You don't hear people who are getting brainwashed "yeah sure I'll hear out your points!!!"

You cannot use the word brainwashing for Callie's circumstance because her dialogue in the relationship chart literally goes against the definition of the word itself and using that word treats Callie more as a damsel or object rather than a character who just needs help. I'm tired of Splatoon fans and casuals pushing that word around towards my comfort character when there's a ton of evidence to say otherwise. I am getting REALLLLLLLLLL FUCKING TIRED....

"But Marie sai-" I know, she said "brainwashing sunglasses" in the English version I KNOW!!! From her perspective she would obviously think Callie was brainwashed by the shades, she has no other information to go off of, doesn't mean she is right and WE SHOULD BLINDLY TRUST HER PERSPECTIVE!!!!!!!!! YOU'VE EVER SEEN AN OVERREACTING FAMILY MEMBER BEFORE?!?!

Callie was hypnotised, full stop. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The whole "i remember" thing is not because the shades brainwashed her and removed her memories, it's just that Callie is in a mentally ill state PLUS in a hypnotic state where she's very concentrated and focused. The shades being shot off of her is like you writing an essay in class and someone smacks your eye. Callie looks like she has a headache and it takes a while for Callie to ""come back to her senses"" where she starts thinking a little bit more rationally. Her hearing the Calamari Inkantation floods her brain with good memories and positivity as the song has mysterious and mystical elements to it, Callie gets pumped up and all of that darkness in her head clears away and she goes "i remember! YEAH!!!"

The ONLY character you can argue was brainwashed in the Splatoon universe, is Agent 3. That's the ONLY ONE i may allow.

But even then they say "they have been hijacked." As in Tartar has taken direct control over Agent 3's body and it's not reallyyyyy brainwashing because Agent 3 was unconscious and probably had zero idea on what was going on until they woke up on the helicopter at the end of Octo Expansion.

What about Marina Agitando? Possessed by an ai after getting knocked unconscious. Not brainwashed or hypnotised!!! Marina was asleep during her time as Marina Agitando.

CAN WE STOP THROWING WORDS AROUND LIKE THEY MEAN NOTHING!?!? Stop using that word to describe "Splatoon character but evil." No. Enough. ENOUGH!!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!!!!! I AM GETTING SICK OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I'm not yelling at you anon btw lmao. I'm yelling at everyone else, thank you for the ask!)

[moonselune]

Hi queen! I love your writing and the one about noble!tav, I was wondering how you think it’d change if reader was a noble from a high ranking Drow house instead of a surface race given their culture? (And selfishly cause my Durge is a drow) tyty!!!!

OooooOOoo

I love the idea of a noble Drow!Lady tav, because there are so many connotations there.

Because Drow!Lady Tav, when it comes to her expectation of men would be Astarion.

A vessel for use and pleasure, especially as she is high ranking, she would never have to care for them in a way that lower ranking drow would utilise them.

But she absolutely does not see him like that at all and that would be such an interesting dynamic.

Because I don't know how Astarion would react to that

She is exactly the type of woman he would target, wealthy, high ranking, and it helps with his justifications that she holds some prejudice.

Regardless if Drow!Lady!Tav does or not that is what he is just going to assume

But he knows you, you aren't like that and I think a part of him, in a way relishes in the fact that you chose him, you chose to treat him well, to love him and you can hate all the rest. But he is yours to love and to respect.

That power is something that would definitely be attractive to him.

The two of you would thrive in the underdark and he would likely gain a position in your house - yes there would be backlash but you saved the world, you would love anyone to challenge you on that.

OH MY GOD ASCENDED ASTARION

So this is where it would not work because Drow!Lady Tav would have so much independence and self assurance that she would just be like nah fuck you, I'm going back to being treated like royalty

But if he turns you

IF HE TURNS YOU AND LEAVES YOU AS SPAWN AND YOU CAN'T LEAVE

Your House would go to war

He would be made as an example

Fuck, it would cause a war between surface and underdark because how dare this surface scum do such a thing to Lolth's favourite princess (even if you aren't its all about the image - they just want a reason to go to war)

Well shit I've done it again, probably going to have to make this a fic.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Revised note: I switch pov halfway through whoops but you can literally see my brain turn this into a fic

[littleeyesofpallas]

So I've mentioned before that Hisagi Shuuhei's given name Shuuhei[修兵]: "disciplined soldier" is a homonym with shuuhei[州兵]: lit. "state+soldier" but refers to both the organization and individuals of a "National Guard" and contextually the US National Guard specifically. And I've mentioned how it kinda plays into his characterization in relation to his zanpakutou. But something that maybe isn't as apparent is how he shares a very loose theme with Kensei.

Kensei's got a weird mix of things going on and it always felt to me like part of it kind of pivoted half way thru the series, and really the Visored in general, where he started with a sort of US military theme but got shifted into being more of a Japanese style biker gang leader instead(and how that plays into Mashiro's toku hero gimmick)

Among other things he's got the retroactively named move, BakudanTsuki[爆弾突き]: "bomb thrust" that has a subtle militaristic connotation to it. But then in context it's the same root word for "bomb" used in Bambietta's Schrift The Explode[爆撃]: "bombing(raid)" like in an aerial bombing from a plane.

(The other attack there is just SANDBAG BEAT[サンドバッグ・ビート] which doesn't feel especially thematic, but I guess does kind of evoke him being in something like a more western boxing gym, rather than any kind of japanese or samurai specific aesthetics like you'd expect from Soul Society. And his given name is written as "West(ern) Fist")

And then his zanpakutou, Tachikaze appears to be, at least in my mind, evocative of the Tachikaze class destroyer ship. Although I admit that's largely on the back of my own kind of wild/broad speculation about the Visored more as a group than anything supported by just him specifically.

Shuuhei ka tsuyosou na namae janee ka! Nakuna![修兵が強そうな名前じゃねえか! 泣くな!]: "Shuuhei is a strong looking name isn't it? Don't cry!"

It feels too obvious to need spelling out, but he's not just giving the generic pep talk, he's very specifically pointing out the Shuuhei's name means "Disciplined Soldier" so he should act like one.

I wish I could find it again but I swear there was some transcript of an interview where Kubo more or less reiterated stuff he'd been asked in other similar Q&A but mentioned that he doesn't really design characters with a background in mind, he just draws what feels cool and comes up with a story and personality to match the look. And mroe over that he similarly doesn't design characters with their relationships in mind, he just takes the characters he's already made and imagines which ones look like they'd get along in some way or another. (Among other things this explains why the same women keep showing up in 8th division, not because Nanao and Risa, or even Risa and Kyoraku were ever meant to be meaningfully related but because Kubo just keeps making these women who look the same and ends up pigeonholing them into the same basic network of characters.) Again i can't seem to find this specific Q&A though so take that "factoid" with a grain of salt.

Still it's with that in mind that it feels like Shuuhei and Kensei ended up together. Not because Kensei was ever actually meant to be Shuuhei's childhood hero but because they both had a soldier gimmick and so Kubo's brain filed them into the same general corner together. And it's from that link that he specifically made their meeting in the TBtP arc punctuated with this line about Shuuhei's name.

Also Shuuhei's got his whole motorcycle thing which is weirdly never actually brought up in the context of Kensei's biker thing and his hollow form made to look like car parts; although it's Shuuhei who's only briefly nodded to as the orbital factoid around Jackie's whole gay leather biker daddy themed Dirty Boots. (Very funny that between that and Mashiro's Kamen Rider homage that we have two implicitly motorcycle riding kicky ladies in Bleach. "...two nickles..." and all that...)

[lakeofflowerss]

The moon, she and I ( Fleurmione )

English is not my first language so I apologise in advance for my mistakes.

They had said goodbye to Ron and Lavander less than five minutes before so they could start their way to their respective homes. The night was beautiful. Hermione couldn't tell if it was because it wasn't hot because, on the contrary, it was quite cool and the weather wasn't so overwhelming or because Fleur was holding her by the shoulders almost pressing her to her as she talked about how the stars seemed to shine much brighter than usual at the same time the music, now soft, was still enveloping them despite being almost a block and a half away from the bar.

Fleur's laughter echoed in Hermione's chest just at the height where she had her head resting. She looked up and Fleur's mouth was moving as she let out giggles and words that Hermione's brain, totally hypnotized by the situation and intoxicated by the strawberry cologne, couldn't quite understand. At some point the laughter subsided as well as the walk, she could not say for sure when they stopped moving forward, much less could she define the exact moment when Fleur fixed her gaze on her with a beautiful glow, even more dazzling than the moon's own.

Fleur felt like time had stood still there, in them, embracing and smiling at each other while a gentle breeze caressed their faces. She sighed helplessly as she ran her gaze over every faction of Hermione's face, just as she had done that time on the terrace, the first time she had been dazzled by the particular glow the other seemed to emanate without noticing it in the slightest. Still the Earth's satellite was not at its brightest, apparently she had to wait a little longer to have her picture perfect romantic date under the light of the full moon.

Hermione's eyes were locked on her. She had never been a big fan of direct and sustained stares, to her they tended to be extremely invasive and judgmental but now she had those brown eyes fixed in the darkness of her own she couldn't remember a time when she had felt safer. The lashes and crinkles that adorned his gaze accompanied by the sweetest smile in the world was the sight she wished she could hold as long as possible in her mind.

Hermione's hand slid carefully and gently to Fleur's neck. At no time did her gaze tremble or her smile drop. She separated from the other's body for only inches and for such a short amount of time that it wasn't even worth counting. The older woman's arms wrapped firmly and warmly around her waist in an unneeded attempt to keep her from escaping. She tilted her head to the perfect spot for their breaths to begin to mingle even with two centimeters coming between their lips.

Hermione's thumb first outlined Fleur's jaw as if it were the petal of a rose and then slid across her lower lip. The delicacy of the caress sent a shiver down both their spines. The scene was different, the sensation was different, much more of them, much more private than all the previous ones.

"Can I?" Hermione knew, Fleur knew, they both knew the question was because the connotation of what would come next was nowhere near similar to the previous ones.

"Yes...please." Fleur swallowed saliva and deep breaths came to her chest at the same time Hermione's lips came to her, and with a tenderness she had never been gifted with, she kissed her.

The kiss was sweet and intimate, even when they were in the middle of the sidewalk of a busy street that insisted on reminding them of their normality with the passing cars shouting all kinds of things and honking their horns. The bubble they formed was thick enough to feel that the noises and screams were meters away from them. In the distance, just where the terror of both of them and their insecurity about opening up with each other had been.

The seconds passed and the kiss continued its rhythm, their accompanied and calm breaths were the faithful reflection of the peace that was flooding them. The touch of both of them on the other possessed an extraordinary warmth, the breeze kept caressing them and it was the only thing, together with the soft music in the distance, that kept them on earth without letting their minds make them fly to the thousands of scenarios where they would like to replicate that kiss.

Separating was torture. They both felt the lack of the warmth and comfort that the other instilled in them. When Hermione arrived at her home, number twelve Grimmauld Place, she found Harry, Ginny and Teddy waiting for her in the main library. When she walked through the door she saw her nephew asleep in Ginny's arms who looked like she was about to fall into the same situation. Harry sat up and his face reminded her of her own when he was up to some mischief.

"Where were you, Hermione?" he asked her firmly as he searched her face and body. She couldn't help but smile. Her friend, brother at this point in their lives, was one of her favorite people in the whole world. Sometimes he forgot the detail that they were the same age and cared for each other as if they were little kids, as they did all their lives as the relationship was a back and forth. Although for some time now Harry chose to repay all the care that Hermione gave him since they met.

"Harry, relax" she placed her hands on her brother's shoulders "I was with Fleur." She smiled and felt him relax.

"Were you still with her? You could have warned me, I thought you were only going to see her for an hour and come back. It's almost three in the morning. We thought something had happened to you because your phone was sending us straight to the message box." the quickness of the words and the residue of alcohol still in her system made her let out a giggle as she threw herself on him to hug him.

"I ran out of battery and the truth is that when I'm with her I forget everything" she sighed and walked away "sorry. I promise it won't happen again."

"It's okay." revolleted his eyes and smiled at her. "So...Tell me, how was your night?"

"I'm going to get everything ready for tea and tell you about it. " she turned toward the kitchen.

[cyberrose2001]

I stumbled upon the NSFW Alphabet with Bay!OP weeks ago and i saw your requests were open in your bio. 😳

Could you write one about Options being stressed out and being unable to stop groping the thighs of his human? Squeezing and groping his human like his little personal stress ball while or after doing paperwork (and maybe getting them all worked up with his worshipping.)

he/him masc (or transmasc) reader, please? it can be sfw, suggestive or nsfw 🫢🤭

Bayverse Optimus x masc!reader

Hey, Anon! Here's a little drabble for you, I can never resist Optimus's love for thighs. Thank you for reading my stuff and requesting!!

Pronouns for reader are he/him!

Warnings: Suggestive/NSFW, teasing, slight dom.

Word count: 553

When Optimus said he wanted you to accompany him while he does his paperwork, you knew those words had a deeper connotation. Resting against the wall of his private garage in the NEST base with you sprawled out on his lap, Optimus kept your legs spread wide with his own knees. One servo on your thigh and the other holding up a data pad.

Optimus tried his best to finish off the rest of his report, he really did, but he underestimated how much of a distraction you are to him and struggles to type out even the simplest of sentences. It also doesn’t help that his spike is painfully pressurised and squished between his abdominal plating and your back.

Despite being a major distraction, he came to enjoy utilising your thighs as a stress relief. Your thigh felt so soft against his contradictorily cold servo and he admires how your flesh concaves around his digits when he gives it a squeeze, enjoying your little whines as he does so.

“Optimus… please tell me you’re almost finished.” You managed to whimper out as Optimus gropes your thigh again. You’re not sure how much longer you can put up with his teasing and at this point in time your patience is dwindling. A solid two hours of you being a human stress ball was enough to get your core heated and turn your brain into mush.

“If you stop talking, I will finish quicker.” Optimus growls and gives your thigh another squeeze, his thumb rubbing oh so close to your inner groin.

“Well, if you keep rubbing me like that, I’ll be the one to finish first at this point.” You scoff, folding your arms across your chest.

Optimus narrowed his optics down onto you and swiftly removes his servo from your thigh. He’s not finishing at all if he talks to me like that, he thought with a sly smirk on his dermas.

The Prime was pleased when he heard his human whine at the loss of the servo. The only way to teach you patience is denying you of any touch until you begged for him, and Optimus fucking loves it.

“Sorry! Sorry…” You mewl, reaching a shaky hand towards his servo that’s hovering above your thigh, “Please… I’ll be patient.”

Optimus is satisfied at your apology and returns his servo back to its rightful place on your thigh, continuing to grope and squeeze at your flesh while he returns his attention to finishing of his paperwork.

Another half hour had passed, Optimus had just finished his work and you were an absolute mess. Your body felt like it was on fire, and you desperately needed a release. You tilted your head up to look at him in his optics, begging with your eyes for him to fuck you, for anything.

Thankfully, he nodded, moving his servo to the hem of your pants and slips his digits under. He spreads your thighs apart to allow himself more access to your aching heat. You let out a cry as he finally strokes you, relieving the tenson in your stomach that has been building up for the last three hours.

Optimus leans down and whispers in your ear, experienced digits touching you in the most delightful way, “Patient boys are good boys, don’t you agree?”

[lazyvase]

TMNT LEGENDS: Class Fit Ranking 3

There are five classes in TMNT LEGENDS: cunning, might, tech, spirit, and swift. These classifications are largely inconsequential, for they don’t affect stats and abilities. All they determine is how much damage you do to an enemy, and how much damage an enemy does to you.

As such, I can rate the matchup between a character and a class purely superficially. All I need to consider is the character and the connotations of the word. We may also consider the characters they are weak and strong against (class wise) if need be.

The matches will be graded 1 through 5. 1 meaning that they should’ve been a different class. 5 meaning that they must be this class.

Today we go over:

SPIRIT

Leonardo: 5/5. Gee. I wonder if the class based specifically on this character will be the perfect fit.

April O'Neil: 5/5. Her psychic powers make her a perfect fit.

Snakeweed: 3/5. He does have the uncanny ability to live after death. He's also a bit spooky. The Might class would've made a bit more sense.

Justin: 1/5. ???????????????????????????????????????????? Kinda monstrous and weird and spooky. Laser eyeballs. The Might class would've made a twinge more sense.

Pulverizer: 3/5. I think spirit in this case is less supernatural and more "He's a little confused but he's got the spirit." In all fairness, I don't think any other class would fit him at all.

Michelangelo (Vision Quest): 5/5. In his Vision Quest journey, Mikey learns to focus and rely on his senses. This is akin to having spiritual awareness. It's perfect.

Muckman: 2/5. ???????? I guess he affects the turtles' senses. Once again another high-spirited character as he's a public superhero. His conscious has its separate identity. I guess that's rather spiritual.

The Creep: 5/5. One of the creepiest (looks at you knowingly) characters in TMNT, The Creep evokes many classic horror villains, which are often supernatural in nature. His ability to drain mutagen is analogous to soul sucking. The whispers that follow his appearances bring to mind ghosts and haunting. What lands him perfectly in the spirit class is his little mutagen shrine.

Leonardo (Classic): 5/5. Gee. I wonder if the class based specifically on this character will be the perfect fit.

April (Kunoichi): 4/5. Now, I know that you think this should be 5/5. After all, April's psychic powers are stronger than ever in season 4. However, there's more ways to look at this, namely in the Might class. First of all, her sheer power level from her psychic powers pushes her to Might. She was going toe-to-toe with Super Shredder. The Power Inside Her shows her easily overpowering Shredder's henchman. Second, Might also represents her developing skills. April's a full blown Kunoichi by this point. Her fighting prowess has never been better. Especially when she delivered The Dragon's Tail right to Tiger Claw's fur patch. Regardless, I do find it hard to argue against the psychic character being in the spirit class. I don't find it hard to be disappointed that a character's variation is the same as the original.

Bebop (Movie): 3/5. In the movie Bebop and Rocksteady are high spirited. They’re always having a laugh, having fun fighting the turtles and Casey Jones, and are always gassing each other up, "My Man" indeed. Still, with the two being more brawn than brains than ever before, the Might class would've made a twinge more sense.

Leonardo (Movie): 5/5. Gee. I wonder if the class based specifically on this character will be the perfect fit.

Leonardo (Space): 3/5. Space Leo should've been Tech class. First of all, I swear he's the one who uses the space blaster the most this season. Second, he's able to fly a spaceship all on his own, which is shown when he hijacks the scout ship after discovering Fugitoid's dark past. Third, as a big Space Heroes fan he would be (and is) geeking out over all the high tech space stuff. I'm still fine with him being spirit as I imagine his spirits were kept high with the Space Heroes esque adventure.

Pigeon Pete: 4/5. Very much a case of having high spirits. Though Pigeon Pete's spirits are high enough for him to get away with it.

Raphael (Original): 1/5. What the fuck. Not only are the turtles in the mirage not the most spiritual, but Raph especially isn’t with his temper and speed to kill. Why did they do this?

Rocksteady (Bunny): 2/5. High spirits being in a bunny costume. Call me a rubber band the way I'm stretching far and snapping violently.

Usagi Yojimbo: 5/5. Very confident and sure of himself. It would be accurate to say he has a strong, defined spirit and will. Also parallels with Leo.

Conclusion

Total Score: 3.77/5. Spirit required a lot of stretches. In all fairness, someone's spiritual abilities are much harder to keep track of. Though many characters given the Spirit class had no spiritual abilities at all. Instead more focusing on emotion.

Next time we'll go over what Spirit counters: Swift.

[p-redux]

You know, I am stunned at the lack of logic and critical thinking in this fandom. It’s like those with extreme opinions have such strong confirmation bias that they can’t get out of their own way. When I read some of these posts on lots of different blogs, I am struck at the logical questions that are never truly answered- well except by ad hominem attacks and logical fallacies and extensive conspiracy theories.

1. Wouldn’t a TV show that’s not on a well-known and popular streaming service love the PR they’d get if their costars were actually in love and in a real life relationship? What value does the production company gain by keeping them hidden for almost 10 years? I can’t logically see that it would bring more profits. So we’re supposed to love a loyal, brave, committed, and family-oriented Jamie, but we need a single, sexy Sam to sell the show?? Cognitive dissonance anyone?

2. Now that it’s well established that Sam and Caitriona essentially ARE Outlander and are EPs, wouldn’t they have the power to say no more if this “ narrative” was true? If they quit, there’s no OL. Couldn’t they refuse to film anything else if they aren’t allowed to tell the truth (if it’s hidden)? It’s interesting that Ron and Terri are married, Maril and Matt have twins together, but S and C were forbidden to be together? I would think that could be a legitimate lawsuit. Didn’t they renegotiate new contracts since the first season?

3. Do people actually believe that Sam and Caitriona are good people, philanthropic people, hard working entrepreneurial people, wonderful human beings but at the same time think that either of them would actually lie about their own children? With Sam’s childhood, people honestly think he would deny his kids AND be away from them for months? That they both would lie and deceive us about her father’s funeral?

4. So it’s been 10 years and NOT ONE person associated with either of them has publicly and clearly stated, with no doubts or other possible connotations, that they are really together? No costars? No personal friends? No teacher of their kids? No hospital personnel where the kids were born? No extras on OL? No crew members- even those that have been gone long enough that any NDA they signed about the production would have expired? No hotel staff where they may have traveled with their kids? No former “fake gfs” who might be pissed? No friends of “ fake gfs” that want to defend their friend and set the record straight? Not one person who has been associated with OL who might just think this is harmful to children? No photos of them with kids in public- clear photos, not reflections or someone in the background that we cannot clearly identify? Not videos where we cannot tell who is actually there? Wouldn’t someone somewhere have gotten a photo of them together as a family? In ten years? Have you P, seen evidence that I haven’t? I have seen nothing but reflections, blurry images, unidentifiable people in the background. Am I missing something?

5. About their chemistry- they aren’t the only actors I have ever seen that have great chemistry but no real romantic relationship. There are lots of them. It’s like people don’t know what actors actually do. So much of chemistry in acting between actors is about trust and respect for the work. Even some of the best chemistry has been between actors who didn’t really like each other in real life, but were able to use their chemistry and their talent to create characters we believed loved each other.

6. Lastly, I can’t wrap my brain around liking and respecting these two actors for their work and for their real lives, while claiming every day they are lying to me.

People see what they want to see or what they need to see to support their position.

Occam’s Razor tells me that the simplest explanation is often the best one.

Hopefully when OL finally ends, these two will get some peace.

Now, watch the “but what about ______? “start.

Bless you Anon for summarizing everything I and countless other SANE fans have been saying in the Outlander fandom for the last 9 years. The thing is...some Extreme Shippers continue to ship for a few reasons. I put them in these categories:

1. OG shippers who have invested SO many YEARS in their SamCait fantasy ship. They want to "save face." It's embarrassing to acknowledge that you were fed and believed a LIE for so long. Their egos can't handle it, so they'd rather double down, and find a way to pretzel their brains around things that are obvious facts to the rest of us. They don't want to feel like they "lost." So, they just keep on denying the TRUTH and the mountains of evidence showing that Sam and Cait are not a couple in real life. The alternative is too painful to them. It's been too much time, too much energy, too much of themselves invested in the ship, and they are missing something in their real lives. The ship fills that void.

2. New fans to Outlander who have recently discovered it. They've gone down the rabbit hole of shipper Tumblr, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter X accounts and they haven't climbed their way out yet to blogs like mine, and other Non-Shippers.

3. The Fake Shippers who pretend to be shippers to MAKE MONEY off those still clinging on to the life boats. There are still bloggers and shipper groups who know they have a captive audience in shippers holding out hope that some of what the original shipper leaders sold them might actually be true. These fake shippers manipulate gifs, pictures, videos, SHOW shippers what they WANT to see. They keep them hanging on with podcasts, magazine, subscriptions. They sell them trips to Scotland, conventions t-shirts, mugs, daily "proof" that Sam and Cait secretly live together with their 5 bairns. And because con artists are experts at conning people, they make everything believable...and some poor souls buy what they're selling. Literally BUY 💵 what they're selling. Sadly, this fandom is filled with a lot of retired women with disposable income, who are lonely or disillusioned with their own lives. And they are easy pickings for the money hungry fake shippers.

So, in summary, the reason there are still some SamCait Shippers is a combination of fake shippers SELLING them the fantasy AND women needing to STILL hold onto the fantasy. With a few actually mentally unwell women thrown in here and there, who have diagnosable mental health issues.

It's actually quite sad. If only they had gotten off the ship with the rest of us years ago, they could have been enjoying celebrating REAL love. Instead, they're on a constantly rocky ship that causes them disappointment more often than not. Here, on terra firma, no one needs Dramamine. It's lovely. Because it's REAL. 💞