#I hate to tell you this (not that this person will see it) but you are actually wasting your own time

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

[russilton]

Alrightly, I’ve got the f2 driver I’m backing for next year. Class fuckin act, in a world of drivers who avoid saying anything

Be a Christian Mansell

Transcript under cut

I wish we could live in a world that doesn’t require a public figure or a sports person to bring attention to the world’s problems. But we live in a world of social media and this is sometimes, and most of the time, where all the problems start. As a sports person I have to keep in mind cancel culture is real and it’s scary. And I’ll never please everyone, but what is a simple thing to fight for is peace, love, and the safety of people. I don’t know why as humans we have to be in so much of other peoples business and bring everyone down, it’s exhausting and I personally don’t get much hate, I only see it. To all the trans people and everyone in the LGBTQ+ community, I don’t judge you, I don’t feel hate towards you, I accept you for who you are. Don’t let the world tell you who you want to be. Find people you love and who support you. And for those who are fans of me, you’re always welcome in my community❤️. #nohate

[nightguide]

this is my tips to slander the suggestion about the prediction if i was an astrologer:

i can do what i like but it's not even there to see as if you already know his chart in real life

like you can tell on his moon that you're there anyway (libra moons have it too damn hard these days)

2. sexless opinions about his life with sarah could also indicate he's not even remotely single at all or by any means 'how can a fan get to him' energy

3. he doesn't care or know you exist (which is why i reblogged you cuz i liked your opinion)

this is how a muslim would do it

5:19 يَـٰٓأَهْلَ ٱلْكِتَـٰبِ قَدْ جَآءَكُمْ رَسُولُنَا يُبَيِّنُ لَكُمْ عَلَىٰ فَتْرَةٍۢ مِّنَ ٱلرُّسُلِ أَن تَقُولُوا۟ مَا جَآءَنَا مِنۢ بَشِيرٍۢ وَلَا نَذِيرٍۢ ۖ فَقَدْ جَآءَكُم بَشِيرٌۭ وَنَذِيرٌۭ ۗ وَٱللَّهُ عَلَىٰ كُلِّ شَىْءٍۢ قَدِيرٌۭ ١٩

O People of the Book! Our Messenger has indeed come to you, making things clear to you after an interval between the messengers so you do not say, “There has never come to us a deliverer of good news or a warner.” Now there has come to you a deliverer of good news and a warner. And Allah is Most Capable of everything. — Dr. Mustafa Khattab, The Clear Quran

schizophrenia madonna's whore complex: (why you hate life and all it's purposes: why you suck at breathing is everybody else but you (personal problem against a God named 'Allah')

SMWC: this does not like me by thought (astrology) and i hate how i'm perceived by height (weird ways of being you cuz i have a dramatic monologue about life given to me by standards: shitty celebrities don't personally respond to you like a fckin call centre wonder why they are famous which is why they (i) lost the point in being myself) like i know why now

schizophrenia Hollywood: (i really hate to be there cuz i vibe all the time (cant help being this good to live, yk)

SH: i started living again with this (said gender) i love, and i really really like him (i got a crush on him too badly that i cannot speak (me 99.9% of the time and i dunno how to ask but i know i have a choice (rlly my faves an me don't understand cuz all my feels are real, yk?)

schizophrenia hate: the fckin episode of doctor who convinced me to fuck david tennant on the go but he ain't even real anymore (hence why my stress does not collaborate with band energy which is why i put a Urie there and not Tennant cuz his thwarts are my cohorts in demonic practices in space and time made me thinking about good luck charlie for many reasons now, like get me my own sex scene, i hate Hollywood for misunderstanding me (actually a fan of Raven (DC comics)

SH8: i wonder how Brendon Urie is sexually thinking about me atm

My bold prediction is that Brendon Urie is going to leave the public eye for a year, maybe two years max and then attempt to make a comeback with his new "wife guy" persona.

My second prediction is that this will blow up in his face within six months

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

REDAMANCY. 18+

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader word count. 3915 summary. you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove. warnings. 18+ only!! reader has a moment of inadequacy at the beginning, logan being attentive<3 quick description of thigh riding but it's not proper, titty kissing, fingering, cum eating? (licks his fingers) pinv sex. angst start, fluff middle, smut ending. mdni a/n. #needthat

Feelings of inadequacy seem to follow you like a stray dog. The constant, repetitive thought that what you do or say or think or feel may never be enough. But it was silly really, to be afraid of the contents of your own mind, especially when you had no reason to feel that way.

You thought these feelings were controlled, contained even. But as you anxiously twist your wedding ring upon your left finger, you can’t help but slip into that prior mindset you believed to be packed away. You beside the stove, mindlessly watching the simmering pot of tonight's dinner, staring at the vegetables bubble around in the sauce. 

It was Logan’s favourite, and it was a token of your appreciation for yet another grand gesture of his love towards you – the thanks a slither of what he does for you on the daily. But as you watch over the chicken pie filling in the saucepan, you can’t help but notice something missing, something that’s supposed to be there but isn’t. 

And when you blink from your fixed, hazed stare, you see exactly what you need on the countertop. The chopped up pieces of bacon on the board —his favourite part— sitting there like it’s mocking you, telling you that you’re terrible for forgetting it. And it’s not like you can add it now, it would be horrible and ruin it completely. 

All you can do now is move on, move past it. Though now it feels like you can do anything but. The bacon a reminder of your apparent failures, inadequacies. It was silly to be caught up on missing meat, but it wasn’t just about that – it was like it was even more proof that you were out of your depth with Logan. That forgetting the bacon somehow made you a horrible, horrible person.

You stare at the board for a moment, trying so desperately hard not to let it get to you and then you see Logan walk past the window – a couple fresh chopped logs of wood under one arm, an axe and a bunch of wildflowers in the hand of his other. And somehow the sight made you feel nothing short of awful. His thought and care once again overshadowing your attempts.

You quickly wipe under your eyes, an act of precaution to make sure nothing had seeped from you while you beat yourself up over something so tiny. You follow the sound of the front door opening, the scuffling of his boots following shortly after as he places down the pieces of timber. 

“Smells fuckin’ good,” he compliments, the warm, homely smell hitting at his nose immediately. 

He walks over to you, right, flower-held hand tucked from your view as he moves to stand behind, free arm reaching for your waist the second he’s close enough. 

“I got’ya somethin’,” he whispers behind you, punctuating his sentence with a kiss under your ear – his neck peering round and over your shoulder. 

You turn into him, your back against the edge of the counter to see what you already knew to be in his hand. He pulls the flowers from behind his back, the stems cut neatly with the help of his adamantium tools. They’re beautiful, all hand picked from the surrounding forest around the cabin. 

He guides them to your hand, noticing your unusual hesitation as you stare at the bouquet. He, too, pauses, looking over your face to understand your silence. Did you hate them? You never usually hate them.

“Do you…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Hate them?”

“No,” you say, word soft as you shake your head, the motion just as gentle as your voice.

Logan cocks his head slightly, angling to meet your eyes but you only divert them again, turning away from his gaze as you reach for the bunch of flowers. Only now they’re out of your grasp, his hand to his chest. 

“You okay?” he asks, the withdrawal of the gift an attempt to make you meet his eyes. 

“Yeah,” you lie with a nod, a small, faint, smile accompanying the fib. 

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” 

You look over him quickly, expression bashful as you shrug. He hates when you lie to him, especially about these things. It was only a white lie really, just a small, teeny tiny mistruth to spare yourself from embarrassment. But your silence doesn’t last long.

“I messed up dinner,” you admit, the confession pried from you by his prolonged, patient silence. Your words are quiet as you avoid his eyes, instead staring down to his chest.

He glances past you and into the saucepan, seeing no such fault. He faintly shakes his head, features quizzical as he tries to understand.

“It looks good to me,” he says, with a slight, but genuine shrug – unable to see what you see.

You close your eyes with a sigh, the noise light and airy as your head drops, gaze lowering. 

“I forgot the bacon.”

His head cocks once again, the motion like he’s growing more and more confused. 

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying to get you to say more. 

But that’s all there is to say, you forgot the bacon – that’s it. It wasn’t like it was a pause or the beginning of some speech.

“It’s your favourite part,” you reply, defeat evident in your voice. 

“Uh-uh?” he guides you through your confession, still unsure of what the issue is. He knew there was more, he just had to ease it out of you. 

“It’s your favourite part,” you repeat, momentarily glancing up to meet his eyes. “It’s not your favourite meal if I forget your favourite part,” you cut yourself short as your voice begins to waver, a bubble forming in your the back of your throat. 

He holds onto your short eye contact, following your gaze when your head goes to turn. “Come on now, talk to me,” he offers his comfort, speaking like it was a plea.

“I feel like I can never keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” he questions, desperate to keep you talking. 

“With you,” you pause and place your hand over your opposite upper arm, the act a brief moment of self soothing. You exhale softly before continuing. “You do all these nice things for me— see? Look,” you point to the flowers in his hand. “Right there. You thought of me and you got them and they’re beautiful. Why can’t I do that?”

Logan opens his mouth to speak, though you’re keen to continue. The bandaid free and invoking all your feelings to come out at once. 

“I make you desserts, I make a mess. I buy you something, I buy the wrong thing. I make your favourite dinner, I ruin your favourite dinner,” you pause, your vision growing blurry. “Sometimes,” you pause once more, wiping your eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if you know how much I love you. Like, I can never seem to prove it and I don’t—” you cut yourself off, stopping yourself from what you were about to say. You didn’t want to make a further mess of things. 

“You don’t, what?” he asks, his attention undivided as he listens to you. “You don’t, what?” he repeats, eyes boring into yours as he urges a response from you. 

“Want you to feel like you made a mistake,” you confess, voice quiet like you were ashamed for thinking such thing. 

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he questions, flipping your moment of insecurity back on you. Though his words hold no malice, no intention of hurt – just simply speaking like he was trying to figure you out. 

Your silence speaks louder than any words could. Your eyes quickly flickering over his face like you were anticipating what he may say in response. It could go one of two ways: irritated and angry or soft and hurt. 

“I haven’t,” he says, voice as firm as his eyes. “I know I haven’t,” he repeats, trying to engrain it into you. 

All you can offer Logan is a faint, flattered smile, fragments of disbelief just as evident within you as before. One thing about your husband you knew to be forever true, is his earnest nature. So you knew he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to hear only to spare himself.

Logan places the flowers on the counter to the right of you, laying the bunch neatly at your side. He keeps his attention on you, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s trying to prove his sincerity – his honesty. 

His head drops slightly as he rests his lips against your forehead. “Do you believe me?” he asks gently against your skin, punctuating his question with a kiss to where he just spoke.

You wrap your arms around him as you tuck your face into his neck, hands connecting in the middle of his back. “Yeah,” you reply, word muffling into him. 

It was a lie, a partial lie at that. You knew in your heart —deep, deep in there— that it was true, and that you believed it, but right now? You just couldn’t get it into your head. So you lied, not wanting to run around in circles with repetitive asks all evening.

But this is Logan, he knows your tells and when you’re lying. But he doesn’t poke any further, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling away, clearing his throat briefly. 

“Why don’t you go lay in the tub,” he starts, usual gruff voice now soft, speaking like he’s trying to soothe you. “I’ll finish that off,” he gestures with his eyes, nodding to the stove top on the other side of you. 

You turn to look at the ‘mess’ beside you and nod, accepting his help with no more deflecting or avoiding. And as you step aside, you stroke over his back where your hands laid just moments before, the act another one of your silent thanks.

His left, ringed hand brushes your left, ringed hand as you move from your placement in front of him, your fingers loosely entwining for a short, brief second before passing. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Standing in front of the dresser in your shared bedroom, you change from your towel and into something a little more comfortable – opting for a robe and slippers. You give yourself a quick glance over as you pass the mirror on your way out the room, though you don’t take too much notice, instead flicking off the light switch as you set off to the living room.

The bath helped. It helped massively, actually. 

Your slippers scuffle along the hallway of your cabin, the floorboards worn and creaky by it’s old age. Lingering in the doorframe, you look over at Logan on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the lit fireplace ahead – looking as though he’s lost in thought.

“Hi,” you start, capturing his attention.

His eyes flick up to you, a faint —his usual— smile welcoming you back. He clears his throat like he’s going to speak but instead he taps the empty seat on the couch beside him.

You look around the open space before your eyes land on the orange, warm light shining out of the oven and onto the tiles. The pie you started to make now sitting on the centre shelf. The rest of your messes cleaned and tucked away, all evidence hidden. And there he sits, asking for no recognition – no praise or approval for cleaning up after you. He’s just there, patiently awaiting you.

“How long’s it been in?” you ask, gesturing to the oven. “The pie,” you add, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Three minutes,” he reciprocates your warmth as he nods you over to him. 

“Did you let the pastry warm up?”

He nods.

“And the—” 

“Taken care of,” he interrupts, slipping his hand into yours. He guides you to stand between his legs, eyes honed in on you above. Like he’s anticipating you, he answers the question you’re about to ask – once again proving just how well he knows you. 

“Cooked it in ‘nother pan then added it on top,” he replies, speaking casually.

You stifle a laugh as you shake your head – it was really a simple fix. 

With his gaze still focused on you, he begins playing with your left hand, his thumb mindlessly grazing your ring – the fiddling an absentminded act. As if he’s reminding him and yourself of your marital bond.

“Thank you.”

He hums, the sound far more gentle than his typical rough ones. It’s like he’s acknowledging your appreciation without taking the credit for it.

You extend your free hand, reaching for the side of his face, touch light as you brush over his cheek. Your thumb traces under his eye, soothing over the tired skin as you take a step closer – silently instructing him to lean against the back.

Logan does as wordlessly asked, his hips rolling underneath himself as he repositions, sitting in a manspread for you. He follows your movements as you sit on his lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your arms briefly hooking around his neck as you do so. He looks up at you from your very, very slight height advantage, eyes keen as he gazes into yours – staring like he’s trying to read you. You seem far lighter, far happier than the last time he saw you. 

One hand rests on his cheek, the other grazing through the shorts of his dark hair – your hold gentle and dear as you press a string of soft, slow kisses across the stubble of his beard. One by one you get closer to his mouth, reaching his lips by the fourth. 

His hands move up you from behind, skimming across the cheeks of your ass until they’re resting on your hips, the presence of his hold noticeable through the robes' thin fabric. He begins a pawing – irregular, needy squeezes into you like he’s silently communicating his thoughts and wants, scoping out whether you feel the same. 

“How much time is left on the pie?” you quietly ask, speaking against his lips. Your question also an attempt to scope him out.

His grasp around you tightens, the slight force of his hold making your grind against his thigh. “Enough,” he prompts, murmuring into your mouth – lips not yet daring to connect.

He grinds you over your thigh, the motion slow and leisured as he holds you over him, working you up little by little. Gentle exasperated breaths from you caught between your closeness. 

Upon hearing those sounds he loves ever so much, he pulls you into him, wrapping you into a brief, momentary hug before turning and laying you on the empty space of sofa beside him. He adjusts, situating above you but to your side, weight anchored beside you. 

You look up at him sweetly, eyes flickering over his face in the same way he does you – specks of admiration and lust forming within each of your glances. You adjust under him, the act like you were trying to redirect him, guide him to above rather than to your side. Wanting to feel him graze up against you.

Logan brings his free hand to the side of your face, touch heavy and desperate as he thumbs over your cheek, holding you there as he presses a couple lengthy kisses to your lips – the contact anything but brisk. And with that hand around the swell of your cheek, he’s grazing it down your neck, trailing towards your chest. 

He parts the loose, flimsy material of the robe, parting the fabric so he can slip a hand inside. Cupping one of your bare tits, he pulls it out from underneath – the full weight of your breast held within his warm, large hand. All of it on display for him to marvel at from above. 

Angling his neck, he reaches for your tit, tongue swiping over the nipple just moments before his lips encompass it. The warmth of his mouth making your stomach tingle and fingers tighten in his hair, a jolt-like roll of your hips accompanying your desperate micro actions.

He holds himself there for a prolonged moment, keeping his lips to your nipple as his fingers begin a very slight pawing around the lower swell of it. The motion like he’s rolling you within his hold. A streak of residual wet being left behind as he pulls his head up from your chest.

You look down to him between your tits, his face just mere inches from yours. One of your breasts still within Logan’s manly hold, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your priorly sucked nipple — the act a soothing caress. 

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, voice quiet between your close distance. “What’d you want?” he adds, just as softly as before, speaking like his one goal is to provide service. Service to you. 

You make a faint, disgruntled whine upon his questioning, your mind whizzing with thoughts of him, ideas of him. The feel of his cock growing hard against your thigh only making your head race faster. 

He shifts above you, lips reaching for yours as his hand around your tit travels down and between your thighs. The warmth of his touch is nothing like your warmth. He slips behind the opening of your robe, his fingers itching to your bare cunt ever so slowly, moving like he’s trying to help you decide. Though he’s doing the complete opposite — making it all the more challenging to answer with your mind whirring like it is. 

He lines the crease of your cunt with the pad of his finger, brushing up and down with the lightest, faintest of touch — his lips resting against yours so he can swallow your jittery breaths. The strokes from him are almost mindless, brushing over you like he’s unaware of the effects he has on you. Still has on you after all this time. 

“This?” he whispers against your mouth while his finger trails up the slit of your pussy, grazing over your folds.

You nod against him in response, the motion gentle and careful.

Logan teases over your cunt’s lips, collecting the slight build up of slick to smear and trace over you — spreading your arousal with his light touch. Working you up the and more. He pulls away to look over you, wanting to watch your face. 

And when your eyes find his, that’s when he slips his middle finger into you. Holding onto your gaze as he presses inside with the utmost of ease. 

It was what you needed, not what you wanted. And he could tell — the knitting of your brows and slightly unsatisfied crumple of your nose telling him before you even got a chance. And as you open your mouth to speak, mere milliseconds away from asking him to add another, he’s already lining his ring finger up with you, slipping it inside to accompany his middle. 

The steady rocking of him further blurs any sense of coherency in your mind, the slow massage-like fucking of his fingers against your g-spot loosening you up nicely for him. 

Your hand in his hair moves to the side of his face, grip desperate as you hold him there, muffling incoherent words of thanks — each murmur being overshadowed by those blissed noises he can never seem to get enough of. And while you keep his face to yours, your other hand is reaching for his arm between your thighs, fingers struggling to enwrap the meat of his upper wrist. 

The pumping of his fingers into you is steady, each graze of him from the inside coming from a place of leisure, like the concept of haste is the furthest thing in his mind. 

Though, he’s only human and there’s only so much he can take. Especially when you’re squirming under him like you are. The clicking of his fingers in your pussy only making it harder on him. 

So, he slowly retracts from the wet warmth of your cunt, strings of your cum remaining connected to him, until they don’t. And as he pulls himself away from you, he licks over his knuckles, lapping over the milky white band you left around him.

Logan sits on his heels between your thighs as he unbuckles his jeans, his dry hand tasked with the job of unbuttoning. He gives the band a hasty tug down, the act nothing short of pure desperation. 

He digs down the front to grab a hold on himself, grasp tight around his dick as he pulls it out over the top of his jeans. Cock hard and heavy within his hold. And as he gives himself a few preparatory strokes as he leans back over you in his prior hovered position — weight anchored on his free arm beside your head.

Guiding his cock to you between the opening of your robe, he pushes his head through your lips, collecting your arousal like it’s his personal, endless supply of lube. And only when he deems himself ready, he’s lining up with you, the tip of his dick pressing up against you for a brief moment before he’s easing in. Slowly but surely feeding himself into your cunt. 

Upon the entry of his thick, heavy cock, your hands fly up to his face, holding either cheek to keep him close, lips skimming like they did just minutes before. Breath being caught in your throat, the air almost trapped as you feel him sink further and further inside, filling you entirely with himself.

He stills, keeping the whole, full length of his cock plugged inside, the motion of his hips non-existent as he gives you a quick second to get reacquainted with his size. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours while he catches his own breath, the suction-like feel from your cunt having the same effect on him as he does you.

You squirm underneath him and your knees cling to his sides, keeping him glued to you.

“Move,” you whisper, the word like that of pure need. “Come on.”

His lips straighten against yours, a subtle smile forming. “Thought’ya liked the buildup,” he speaks quietly. 

The hand that was around his dick, feeding into you, now rests on your face — carefully manhandling you and keeping you put. Logan nips at your lips quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to them as he rolls his hips into you, bumping his cock up.

“That’s what you wanted?” he teases, pressing a kiss just under your chin, making you tilt your head back. Hand moving with the motion of him, palm grazing to rest at the base of your throat. “It is, ain’t it?” he continues with his teasing, muttering between kisses along your jaw. “Hm?”

You hum, the noise sounding like a whine amongst your other blissed sounds. The concept of formulating coherent speech seeming to be far too difficult with the way he feels inside of you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes closed and nod, unable to do anything more than that – just lay beneath him, taking his tender, loving fucking. 

Logan’s one true goal: to replace all prior feelings of pain with pleasure, wanting to make you forget about your upset from before. And with the way his dick is winding into you, he’s getting closer to that goal. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

including the moodboard bc she’s cute

[nubsdolls]

SYPNOSIS ; g/n reader x sparring partner! bakugou, fluff, not proofread .. matching bracelets , enjoy ! xoxo, jord .ᐟ

A/N; this was supposed to be a lil drabble but this came out longer than i intended .. anywaayss. I PROOOMISEEE im gonna start posting more i’ve disappeared for sosososso long.. in the meanwhile take this, luv u guys !!!!!

sparring partner! bakugou that swears he only bugs you 24/7 to “get your ass to training grounds” because you need to improve. no other reason because of course, he cant stand you.. or anything about you, for that matter.

so no, it doesnt “mean” anything when sparring partner! bakugou comes up from behind you to, “fix” your form. adjusting you by signaling you to rotate to the side by giving your hips a little push, nudging your elbows up so your face is protected by your hands.

sparring partner! bakugou who always insists to be near you, discreetly, if he can. because he obviously doesnt want it to seem like he cares, because he doesnt. even during training or maybe even an attack on the school? near you. covering you and making sure warn you of the sneak attacks from behind you.

and even though you practically hate sparring with him, because hes so damn ruthless, ensuring a trip to recovery girl by the end of it, its weirdly the highlight of your days. hearing the ding! of your phone, followed by the usual message from him.

: training grounds. 5 mins

even when its five in the goddamn morning. you never fail to meet him there.

and after a small while of this cycle, you make the (probably) safe assumption you guys are, friends? acquaintances?..hell, maybe you were even on kirishima’s level of ‘friend’. toleratable? at the least.

so while on one of your free days afterschool, youre shopping with the bakusquad. mina, jirou, denki, sero, kirishima, and obviously, bakugou. god knows how they convinced him to tag along.. you get lost in a cute little merch store, spotting matching all might bracelets. ew, corny. who would even get those?

ca—ching! “aaand heres your change, have a nice day!”

you would.

though, you probably shouldve thought this out.. who were you gonna match with? ofcourse, it could always be mina, but she also didnt absolutely fixate on all might. but, there was, one person you had in mind..

and sometime in the week after the hangout, at the end of your—no less than brutal, training session, you tiredly brought it up.

“the other day—while we were at the mall, i saw these matching all might bracelets—“ pant, “i kinda just bought on it on sight, annnd i didnt really think of who to give the other half to before i did.. but i know you like him, so..”

you trail off, simply suggesting it as you move over to sit down on a bench, taking a drink of water, while also, pulling out the bracelets from your pockets and reaching your free hand up to show him.

sparring partner! bakugou scoffs upon seeing the bracelets in your hand. golden age and bronze age all might bracelets.

“thats stupid. im not wearing that shit.” he growls, crossing his arms. his voice a little panted from training. you were getting better. not that he would tell you that directly, of course.

“chill, dynamight.” you roll your eyes playfully, emphasizing his hero name on your tongue. “i was just suggesting it, if you dont want it its fine.” you explain casually. even if, the sentence did hurt your feelings a little.

“ill just give it to izuku.” you shrug, you guys were friends, pretty close if you did say so.

and you almost swear you saw bakugou’s eye twitch. a glint of, jealousy? in his eyes as you bring up the green haired boy’s name.

he lets out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “tch. whatever, give it to that nerd. not like i care.” before he reaches down next to you for your water bottle, taking a swing, airsip.

setting the bottle back down next to your thigh, he speaks up again. “‘aight, hurry, we arent done. round two.” he adds harshly, motioning with his hand for you to get back up.

“come on. please? one more minute. its so eaarlyyy.” you whine, almost pouty as you throw your head back. still exhausted from the sparring just a few minutes ago. 6am and hes annoyingly productive.

“hurry or i can blast your ass right here.” he glares down at you, grumbling through gritted teeth.

“im getting uupp, geeez.” you groan, lazily getting up from the bench and almost coming up to meet his full height.

later in the day, during class training, you figure you should probably find izuku to give him the other matching half, one already on your wrist.

you couldve sworn you remembered putting it back onto your other wrist so you wouldnt lose it. maybe it was in your dorm instead? whatever, youd just have to give it to him tomorrow.

today, you were working in partners, testing out new possible moves, strengths, weaknesses, and overall just trying to improve on any weak spots.

and like always, sparring partner! bakugou was next to you. basically having claimed you as his designated partner for anything by now, glaring at anyone who even suggested you work with them and not him.

and as your throwing hits at him, trying to catch him off base with your quirk, you notice a glint coming from under his gauntlet, you pause a moment.

its the matching half of your bracelet, all might’s golden age bracelet.

he notices this. feeling his ears dust the slightest pink from, embarrassment? and he uses this moment of weakness to gain the upper hand, pinning you down on the floor.

and youre completely shocked by the sudden move. somehow flipped on your chest to the ground, arms tucked behind your back with his knee holding you down.

“stay focused.” he hisses, reprimanding you for your bad habit.

“thought you said it was stupid?” you mutter. tilting your head to the side ever so slightly to look at him. a sly, cheeky smirk on your face.

“it is.”

maybe it wasnt so stupid after all.

[aspoonofsugar]

"I'm done blaming myself for your mistakes"

This line by Vi pretty much sums up her conflict in Act 1 of season 2, but I have yet to see it discussed. The point is, in fact, that Vi does blame herself, which is why she is unable to properly call Cait out. If Jinx specifically were not the one responsible for Cassandra's death, I doubt Vi would have stayed silent in front of Cait calling Zaunites animals or that she would have accepted many of Cait's actions without saying a word.

Vi still feels at fault for Powder becoming Jinx, which makes her vulnerable and willing to compromise on her morals, so that Caitlyn would not leave her. Ironically, I think this behavior is among the reasons why their love story does not work out in the first Act. They fail to communicate properly.

On the one hand Cait treats Vi badly. She insults Vi's people and insists that Vi should become an enforcer, despite her knowing of Vi's painful past. Obviously this is wrong, but personally I think it stems from Caitlyn's poor attempt to reconcile her love for Vi with her hate for Jinx:

"Three faces keep spinning through my mind. I see mother when they found her. And every fiber of me just sinks like in dark water. But then there is Jinx. Laughing. I want to tear that laugh from her throat forever. Then I see Vi. I asked her to put on the uniform. Suffice to say, she declined."

Cait's solution is to have be become a part of her society, so that she can keep on hating Jinx and the "bad" Zaunites, while loving Vi and the "good" Zaunites. Except it obviously does not work.

On the other hand Vi is unable to call Cait out. And the whole point is that Cait needed someone to call her out. She is grieving, but she is obviously becoming like the enforcers she once despised. Like the enforcers Vi despised. She negates Cassandra's legacy, by using her ventilation system to poison the air. She acts cruelly against a man, who is unharmed and who has clearly been hurt by that same gas she weaponized. She is ready to shoot a child (even if she does not intend to kill her), so that she can get at Jinx. Vi clearly sees all of this, which is why she asks Cait not to change:

Vi: Everyone in my life has changed. Promise me you won't change.

However, she fails to confront Cait about it all. Except that when you are in a relationship, you must feel secure and free to call the other person out. Even to get into a fight with the other person. Still, Vi is so terrified of losing Cait too, that she is indecisive. And in the end she is tragically left behind by Cait.

This happens because Vi herself has not yet decided who she wants to be. Is she a Zaunite or an Enforcer? Does she want to kill Jinx or not? Vi can't choose. Jinx even calls her out on this:

Jinx: Plastering my face all over, so someone else would do your dirty work?

She tells Cait she wants Jinx dead, but the moment she can kill Jinx she doesn't. Sure, Isha comes between them, but after Cait disarms Isha, Vi could pretty easily take Isha away from Jinx and let Cait kill her sister. However, she does not. That is clearly because she sees Powder in Isha. Jinx and Isha embraced are clearly representative of who Jinx is as a whole. She is an unstable terrorist, but she is also a hurt child. That is who Jinx is and that is what Vi (and Jinx herself) needs to see and to reconcile. Even now, Vi insists that Powder is dead and that only Jinx remains. However, Jinx is Powder no matter how much Silco, Jinx herself and Vi insist she isn't. She still clearly is.

It is just that Powder has changed, but this is normal. Just like it is normal Vi herself has changed and will need to change again, so that she can decide who she really wants to be. Just like Jinx and just like Cait will have to do.

As a side note, I am loving the foiling between Cait and Jinx. They have always been foils, but while last season focused on how this juxtaposition impacts Jinx, right now we are seeing how it impacts Cait.

In season 1, Jinx sees Cait as Vi replacing her. In a sense, Jinx's jealousy of Vi stems from that same inability to accept change. Jinx too deep down hopes she can go back to being the innocent Powder and that Vi can love her, like she did in the past. However, that is not possible because people change and forge new relationships. Jinx forges a bond with Silco she can't simply erase because Vi wants to. Just like she can't erase the one with Vi simply because Silco wants to. Similarly, Vi has a new bond with Cait that she can't break simply because Jinx asks her to. So, Caitlyn is really who Jinx wants to be. Someone complementary to Vi in battle, but also reliable, dependent, lovable. By the end of season 1, Jin realizes she can't really be that person anymore and interiorizes there is a part of her Vi can't understand. That same part Silco instead accepts.

Silco: Don't cry. You are perfect.

In season 2, Jinx becomes Cait's dark side. She is really Cait's Joker, as she is the one who challenges Cait's sense of justice and morals:

Cait: It's her blood in your veins. Vi: Then why are you the one acting like her?

Cait is letting grief and pain change her for the worse, just like Powder was transformed by her own losses and traumas. Cait keeps insisting she is different from Jinx, but she isn't. In fact, her whole fiasco kinds of hint at it symbolically. Cait poisons the underground city in her attempt to catch Jinx. Only for Jinx rewinding the ventilation system, so that the poison Cait used is sent back to Piltover. Jinx literally acts like Cait's mirror, which is why Cait's shot ends up hitting exactly this, a mirror. As in, Cait can't really kill Jinx without hurting both herself, Vi and the whole city :P

I am curious to see how their foiling will develop, now that both girls are growing into the leaders of their opposite factions.

[straylightdream]

late night calls

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭: choi seungcheol x f.reader

↳ it’s four am and there is only one person that he wants to talk to.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: non idol au, idiots to lover, friends with benefits

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.8k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: the mc is mad at seungcheol, angst, smut (more warnings to come about that)

an: this is a part or my loosely connected SVT series all for you.

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected sex (mc is on birth control), oral fem receiving, creampie, size kink, some dirty talk

Laying in his bed he stared at his phone wondering If he should call you. Your last phone call hadn’t exactly ended the best. Things between you had started to become strained. The call ended with you telling him you weren’t just his booty call and hung up on him leaving him with a major case of blue balls.

Things with you two weren’t always like this. You were friends long before you started hooking up. You met Seungcheol through his roommate. You and Joshua worked together and you’re really close with his girlfriend. You just so happen to also live in the same building as him. You lived one floor above him. When you met Seungcheol you’re pretty sure Joshua's plan was for you to date his roommate. There was a clear instant attraction between the two of you, but things didn’t work out. The timing was bad. You were nursing a broken heart, and Seungcheol started to see a new girl. Even though you didn’t start anything romantic you and him became very close. You would often hang out with the roommates and Joshua's best friend before they became official.

From the beginning you couldn’t really kick your small crush you had grown to have on Seungcheol. When you started sleeping together your little crush didn’t magically go away either. You just did a good job at burying it. You were fine with being friends with benefits. You just hated when Seungcheol treated you like just his fuck buddy. You like to remind him that you’re friends before anything else. Recently he’s been kind of distant and when you hook up it feels like the lights are on but no one’s home. He’s not caring like he normally is.

Your last call when he asked you “to come over and fuck” pissed you off. You didn’t want to just go over for sex. You normally hang out first and then it would lead into to sex. You never called him with just the intention of sex, and in the beginning he didn’t either.

It was four in the morning and he couldn’t sleep and he knew only your voice could soothe him to sleep after such a shitty day at work. He laid in the darkness of his room with the only light coming from his phone.

Unlocking his phone, he scrolled through his contacts and saw your name with a heart next to it. Taking his bottom lip between his teeth he pressed your name.

Holding his phone to his ear he listened as it rang praying you would pick up. He knew you were probably sound asleep and probably wouldn’t be exactly the happiest that he was waking you up. You also had a full day at work, and from what his roommate had told him. Work has been pretty tough for you and Joshua this week.

On the fifth ring he heard your raspy voice, “Seungcheol, why are you calling me four in the morning?”

He swallowed slowly, “I couldn’t sleep and your voice always calms me down.”

Your soft laugh echoed in his ears, “did you wake me up for phone sex?”

His eyes roamed his dark room for a moment wondering if that’s deep down inside why he called you. “No,” he whispered.

“Choi Seungcheol, why did you call me then?” You yawned. He never liked the sound of his name more than when it was spoken by you.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he sighed. “I’ve missed you.”

He wasn’t lying, he missed the sound of your voice and he missed being able to hold you. He had barely seen you in two weeks, and he hadn’t been able to talk to you on the phone since you had hung up on him.

“Do you really miss me?” He could picture you half asleep lying in your bed.

“Yeah,” he rasped.

“I’m sorry I hung up on you last time,” you sighed.

“I need to treat you better. I know you're not a booty call,” he stretched his body out and rolled onto his side looking over to the empty side of the bed where he wished you were laying.

“Cheol, did you want me to come over?” You sighed. He loves when you call him that. You instantly latched on to his nickname right after being introduced.

“How about I come to you baby girl?” he asked. Your heart always flutters when he calls you that. You love when he calls you your name, but being called “baby girl” makes you melt.

“I’ll come to you but this isn’t a booty call?” You stated.

“We don’t have to do anything. I just want to cuddle,” he sat up in his bed and pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Cuddling sounds nice. I’ll walk down to yours and Shau’s place right now. You better have the door unlocked,” you softly.

“I’m getting up right now.” He says before you hang up.

He quickly got out of his bed and quietly walked down the hallway towards the front door. He opened the door to find you standing outside with a hoodie on and a pair of tiny shorts. You didn’t say anything. You silently walked past him and headed off towards Seungcheol’s room.

He smiled as he followed behind you. You took your hoodie off and placed it on the floor next to the bed and then crawled into the bed and pulled the covers up. He crawled in behind you and moved his body close to yours so you were spooning. This has always been his favorite way to sleep with you. He loves being able to hold you close to him.

His lips ghosted your shoulder as he nuzzled against you. “I miss you baby girl,” he murmured.

“I missed you too.” He hands rest on your stomach pulling you even closer to him. “Cheol what are we?” You asked him the question that had been on your mind for months.

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I don’t like that answer,” you place your hand on top of his.

“What do you want us to be?” He knows you need to have this conversation but he’s scared.

“I wanna be yours.”

He pulls away from you. You lay on your back looking up at him. His eyebrows are knit together as he stares at you looking confused. “You’re already mine.”

“Not fully,” reaching up and resting your hand on his cheek.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked.

“I don’t want to be just your fuck buddy anymore. I want you to be more.”

“I’ll do anything you want. If you want us to be more. Let’s be more.” He gives you a gentle smile.

Leaning down he presses his lips to your for a heated kiss. “Let me show you how I care for you.” When you originally came over you told yourself you wouldn’t sleep with Seungcheol tonight. But things have seemed to drastically change between you.

“I don’t want you to fuck me. I want you to show me how much you care,” you sigh.

“I’m going to take care of you.”

Soon your clothes are stripped away just like Seungcheol. Laying in his bed completely bare with your legs spread. He was kissing his way across your skin. Your eyes were closed as you took in the feeling of his lips on your skin.

As his lips brushed your sensitive nub you couldn’t help but moan. Seungcheol knew all the ways to drive you wild. He knew that if he ever wanted to turn you on all he had to do was kiss the sweet skin right below your ear. Often you would be hanging out and he would come up behind you and brush your hair out of the way and press his lips to the sweet spot upon your skin.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as he laid between your legs pushing you closer and closer to your release. A white hot wave washes over you as you moan his name.

Looking up from between your legs he stared at you in awe. According to him you never looked more beautiful than you do after you come.

Soon he was hovering over your soft body slowly thrusting into you. He rested on his forearms so he was as close as possible to you. Your lips moved together desperate to stay close.

“Fuck,” he moans against your lips.

Your leg hooks over his butt pulling him close to you. He’s thrusting into you at a slow but deep pace.

“Cheol you’re so big.” You’ll never get over the feeling of him stretching you. You’ve never been with anyone as big as him. He’s so thick it always takes a little bit to adapt to the feeling of stretching you open.

“You take me so well.”

Your eyes are practically rolling back in your head. With each thrust his bulbous head is nudging your g spot over and over again.

“I’m close,” you whimper.

“Are you coming to come on my cock?” You love when he talks to you like this.

“Please,” you’re trying to stay somewhat quiet. You aren’t sure if Seungcheol’s roommate Joshua is home.

“Baby you can come,” he groans. You fall apart moments before him. He finds his own release pairing your walls white with his thick come. He slowly thrust into you, helping you ride out your high.

Seungcheol is still inside of you hovering above. Leaning up you pressed your lips to his for a gentle kiss. “It’s like you were made for me,” his voice was low as he stared into your bright eyes.

“I sure hope that we were made for each other,” you reached up and ran your fingers through his soft hair.

He removed himself from you and laid down on his bed. He looked over at you and smiled, and you knew you were always supposed be more then just fuck buddies. You’re glad you can now see him as more than just a friend. He gets up and cleans up your release.

“Can you hold me,” you ask, reaching for him. Crawling into bed he pulls your body close to yours. Your head rest on his chest and his hand slowly rubs your back making you relax even more. “This is nice.”

“Thank you for coming over. I’m sorry if I hurt you in the past. I’m gonna try to never hurt you again.”

“This is new for both of us, but we’ll figure this out together.”

Snuggling close to him, things feel different in the best way possible. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep with you in his arms.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[cupidriki]

UNDER THE MISTLETOE — psh

PRECiS ♡ you didn’t plan to attend sunghoon’s birthday party, but you reluctantly went and ended up kissing him — the man you hate the most.

park sunghoon x fem! reader ୨୧ non idol au fluff some angst ・ implied second chance kissing mistletoe kissing exes to lovers this might be a trailer hehe skin ship parties ( wc : 1040 ) — reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated

ai’s love note 💌 this is for liz’s season of love event !! ^0^ (im so glad you’re back liz) sorry this is corny btw ..

You scanned the room anxiously, noticing no familiar faces as you crossed your arms in nervousness. You never enjoyed parties.

But once you noticed Sunghoon walking towards you, a sense of relief washed over you as you saw him approaching, making you sigh in relief.

Park Sunghoon - the only person who can make a lie taste so sweet. The way he can make a comment so dulcet feels like he possesses some kind of power when his words roll off his tongue.

“I’m glad you came, love.” He had a silly grin on his face. He always flirted with you, never leaving your side. You avoided his flirty remarks because why would he love you? So, you kept your distance and pushed him away.

“Hoon, how many times do I have to tell you to leave me alone?” Your voice was annoyed, making Sunghoon curve into his signature grin. He was excited like a little boy hearing his nickname from you.

“But if I leave you alone, I’d have to annoy girls who are interested in me” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. He’s been continuously chasing after you like a dog and is always attached to you, scaring off any guy who dares to stare in your direction.

“Like you could ever find one” It’s clear you were lying; Sunghoon can have any girl he wants.

“See that, there! Who needs affection when you could have blind hatred” Sunghoon had a smug grin on his face, inching closer to yours. Your heart skipped a beat, but you chose to ignore it and scoffed, not wanting to feed into his trap.

“Anyways, how about a birthday kiss to make this birthday special?” The arrogant man lifted your chin to lock your gaze on his tall figure, a smug grin plastered on his face. “Whatever..” You whispered to yourself, hoping that Sunghoon hadn’t heard you.

He gently guided you to an empty corner, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a playful grin lighting up his face. The innocence of his smile was contagious, and it tugged at your lips.

Without warning, a sharp gasp pierced the air, drawing your attention. Sunghoon stood there, his eyebrows arched high in a sarcastic way, a smirk playing on his lips. He pointed at the ceiling, making you look up in curiosity.

A single sprig of mistletoe hung from the ceiling, it glistening softly in the dim light.

Sunghoon wore a dreamy, lovesick smile that lit up his face, his eyes gleaming with hope and mischief. You couldn't help but let out a frustrated sigh, disbelief washing over you.

You would be lying if you said you didn't want to kiss him and his plump lips. However, your ego was too high to admit your feelings and lose to his challenge. “See? Even Santa wants us together”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as he stepped closer, his height towering over yours. His hot breath brushed against your skin, causing a shiver to run through you. How could a man make your skin crawl while also making your heart flutter at the same time?

“Well then.. Let's make this Christmas special, shall we?” The tall man gently pressed you against the wall, placing your wrist on it. His eyes gazed down at you before moving his gaze lower to your lips, making your heart race.

Your breath hitched as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear and placed his fingers under your chin to make you look up at him.

As he muttered a quiet voice of permission, you nodded without thinking before he crashed his lips onto yours. You felt his racing heartbeat that made you think for a second that maybe he was sincere about how he felt about you.

But you were wrong.

Now, snapped back to reality, you feel foolish for believing such an empty lie. Sunghoon never loved you as deeply as you loved him, and you will never see his face again. You stared at the old jacket that you forgot to give back to him, missing all the memories you two made.

Nothing about him could escape your thoughts: the scent of his Tamburins perfume, the delicate way his touch glides over your soft skin, and the way his plump, soft lips brush against yours, leaving a hint of strawberry chapstick.

Memories flood your mind as you let out a sigh, feeling a heaviness in your heart. You remember the times you spent making out in your pink, girly room, stargazing at the moon together, and laughing at your inside jokes, wishing those moments would never end. Each thought makes you miss him more, always searching for his familiar face in a crowd where he’s never present.

His sharp nose, the moles you can count all day, and his messy dark brown hair made you miss him. It seems impossible for him to leave your mind. You want to give up on him - and you know you have to.

You stared at the notification glowing on your phone screen and sighed when you saw your friends once again trying to set you up on a blind date. You thought to yourself that maybe agreeing to it could help take your mind off him, even if just for a short while. With that in mind, you picked up your phone and replied to your friends with a simple, "Fine."

You know deep down that nobody could fit your puzzle piece like Sunghoon, but you know he has never thought of you since the day you two last met - so you have to move on.

But what you couldn't see was Sunghoon lying on his large bed, staring at your photos—missing you so deeply that his heart ached.

He let out a sigh and moved his gaze to the suitcase with his clothes and items. His thoughts were racing as he doubted whether you’d give him another chance to hold you in his arms again.

He wondered how you would react when you saw him again. You probably hated him, and that was okay. All he wanted was to see your familiar face one last time, and he was determined to do that.

[alhaithams-malewife]

I remember getting into a heated argument with him over this issue, actually. (Adding a cut because this went on longer than I intended)

I was struggling with a very condescending and belittling client for about five or so months and eventually what he (client) said got to me more than usual. I don't remember the exact comment, but it was something along the lines of "you force yourself to be perfect and yet you're never good enough." Needless to say, I was pretty devastated.

So anyway, I went to Lambad's, probably gave myself liver problems during the... four hours I was there, I think? Per usual, Lambad had to call Alhaitham to come pick me up because according to him I had drank so much I was talking to the chair across from me thinking it was Cyno. Why him, I don't know. Maybe because it was around that time that he was, contrary to popular belief, the first person in our friend group to figure out that I had a massive crush on him (I hate using such childish terms, though.)

I woke up the next afternoon with a searing hangover, and if anyone knows me, they know I get really, really cranky when I'm like that. I walked over to my desk and... this is embarrassing, but I threw everything off the desk in a fit of rage directed at the client, my inability to please clients, and myself. Haitham walked in thinking I had fallen out of bed and instead saw me breaking down. The conversation went something like this:

Him, standing in the doorway: "So, are you still drunk, or are you just unable to control your emotions even when sober?"

Me, sitting at the now-empty desk with head in hands: "Shut up. What does it matter to you, anyway?"

🌱: "Because one, you interrupted my downtime. Two, I heard your tantrum through my soundproof earpieces. And three, I had to see if I needed to have you pay for damages to the house."

🏛️: "Oh, boohoo. All you ever have to worry about is money this, annoyance that." (Why did I ever say that?)

🌱: "As if your career isn't drawing boxes and lines. You're the most famous architect in Sumeru yet you don't own your own home. How sad."

Then, for some stupid reason, I threw a pen at him and yelled, "You have no idea how hard I work every single day and every single night just trying to make the clients happy. But no, they go and tell me no matter how hard I work, I'll never be good enough! Then there's you, who makes a huge salary without ever hardly moving from your desk! So of course I'm angry. Of course I'm going to let it slip!"

🌱: "Well, do you believe them?"

🏛️: "What do you think?!"

I don't remember what he said after that, I just slammed the door and left. Then it started raining hard and he pretty much dragged me home. I asked why he even cared, and he said to use my brain. ("...or are you that dense?") Those were pretty much the conclusions I came to, except for the one about my father. @ags-haitham You did what?! /lh

He probably meant what he said in the best way, though. Either way, I'd rather have petty arguments like this than be without him at all.

"but what does he REALLY want with me?" my brooo, kaveh, Alhaitham does care about you just trust me, i'm the bedside lamp 😭

inspired by daikyto9

[louisferrignojr]

i have all sorts of criticisms for 911 as a show overall, for the 8x06 bucktommy storyline specifically, and for tim minear as a writer and showrunner. all valid criticisms and things I'm allowed to do as a queer viewer, because it relates to the writing choices, regardless whether they are influenced by external factors such as actor availability, budgets, or network demands and restrictions.

but you won't see me turning on oliver stark like a fucking rabid delusional buddie shipper.

using my logic and basic knowledge about the world of television, i can't put any blame on him for this shitfest. you won't see me coming up with ridiculous theories that he hates lou (#1 buddie talking point since the beginning) or that he got tim to write the episode this way (he's just a bloody actor ffs), that he hasn't done enough to champion the ship (you want him to be a bucktommy warrior?), because guess what?

say he promoted the relationship on his personal instagram, say he hyped it up more in interviews, say he interacted with shippers online or showcased more bucktommy fanworks... and the pair broke up in 8x06? because he doesn't write the show? you could then argue oliver engaged in queerbaiting, because the show did not deliver the queer content he promoted.

and isn't that what he was accused of anyway, before he deleted his twitter? doesn't it make sense that he might want to be careful about this?

and given the harassment he's had to endure from buddie shippers, i find it perfectly acceptable to answer buddie questions diplomatically because we know what those people are fucking capable of. it makes sense to me that he doesn't want to anger them.

at the end of the day, i'm not defending him. i've said before i'm deeply disappointed with his comments in the TVline interview and the way he doubled down in that instagram post. he has lost my respect and i no longer think he's a good ally to bisexual people specifically, because when you are playing a bisexual character, you have the bare minimum obligation to listen when real bisexual people are telling you that you fucked up. yes, i would like to see him acknowledge his wrongdoing and show that he understands the issue and why the things he said were biphobic. no matter how badly he fucked up, he should be allowed to reflect and make amends... because he's a human being and that's what the weewoo show is about. redemption arcs and second chances all around, folks.

but - he's literally just an actor and a celebrity. i expect nothing. i'm not holding out hope. i spare him no mind. i don't hate him and i'm not angry with him because i never idolised him. because i don't know him beyond the persona he shows the world. no one does. we can infer things based on what we see and hear, but there's really no way to know how much of that is his authentic self.

anyway. just my two cents 🫶

[njm63522]

Sevika fluff alphabet

word count: 2027

________________________________________

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

- personally, I think she'd often indulge in taking you to the last drop. She often has you propped up on her lap while she laughes at the men gambling away their life savings (she likes to call you her lucky charm)

- honestly, she'd be willing to take you anywhere though. Just as long as everyone knows you're hers. She'll keep a hand in your back pocket as you guys walk around the city and she'll give nasty looks to whatever man decides to even glance your way.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

- SHE LOVES YOUUUUU omg.

-she literally admires every part of your body. She would rather choke and die then have to pick a favorite.

- and she LOVESS to pick you up. You think you're too heavy? Don't flatter yourself. Not for her you're not.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

- I Hate to be that guy, but I don't think she would be the best at comforting. With words atleast.

-she'll probably give you a nice hug or a pat on the back. But if you start crying, she'll literally freeze and give you an awkward "you alright..?"

-it's not that she doesn't care, she's just bad at showing how much she does care.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

- living in a place like Zaun, where the future is so unpredictable and anyone could die at any moment. She just wants keep things in the present and not think about the future.

-If it were up to her, she would take you far away from all they chaos and just grow old together

-but that may never happen. so for now, she just wants to see you alive in the future.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

- she's definitely more on the dominant side, she's the one wrapping a hand around your waist in public and mean mugging everyone who dares look at you the wrong way

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

-if you guys end up fighting, it'd most likely be about her work

-weather it's how long she's gone during the day, or how she always comes back with curs and bruises. You guys always find a way back to eachother

If you're the one who apologizes:

She gives you a stupid ass grin, she knew she was right. She definitely wouldn't rub it in your face or anything. But she will be a bit smug about it

If she's the one to apologize:

-She'll be extremely sheepish, it's almost laughable how she's reduced to a stuttering mess when she's the one apologizing.

-I really dont think she'd be the best with words, so she'd just trap you in a tight hug and mutter an apology into your ear.

-if you don't accept her apology— worse, reject her hug. She'll be so confused and lost, giving you big ol' puppy eyes while she uses her words to express how sorry she is.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

-once again, SHE LOVES YOUUUU

-i don't think there's enough words to explain how happy she is to have you.

-sometimes, when the sun is just beginning to rise and she's dreading the long workday ahead of her. shell spend just a little while longer in bed admiring your sleeping frame. shed never admit it, but on mornings like those, she thanks her lucky stars to have you sleeping next to her.

-she was never a religious person, but she thanks god that she has you next to her every night.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

-she wouldn't hide anything from you, she believes that the only way to have a good relationship is to be fully open and transparent, even if that leads to you a tad bit oversharing.

-there are some details she may not be able to share because of her work. but 9/10 times, shell tell you anyways because she loves you or whatever

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

-she would NEVER admit it, but you changed her for the better.

-she's definitely gotten soft ever since you guys started dating. getting in less fights with strangers, going out to gamble less.

-just overall spending more time with you, and not in the chaos of Zaun.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

-she gets jealous so easily omg. she wont even hesitate to beat up strangers on the street just for looking at you the wrong way.

-god forbid a man tries to FLIRT with you?

-youd have to ask her to stop before she literally killed the poor guy.

-ever since that incident, everyone at the bar knows to stay far away from you.

K iss - Are they a good kisser?

-shes definitely an experienced kisser. she's been with many women before getting with the love of her life (you)

-her kisses are rough, almost always leaving you breathless and desprate for more.

-shell tangle one hand in your hair, and use the other one to pull you closer by the waist URGG

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

-like i said previously, she's not the best with her words, so shed probably just approach you in the bar after watching (and lokwey stalking) you for a few months and say something like "you and me, this Friday. 5 pm. don't be late" before walking away.

-you'd show up and find her sitting alone at a table with a messy bouquet of flowers in her hand (she picked them herself)

-shed give you the flowers and spend the rest of the night trying to make conversation with a deep blush on her face. (she's such a cutie oml)

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

-this ones a bit complicated...

-shed love to take you away from that city and propose to you in a gorgeous flower field that goes on for miles.

-but something like that isn't achievable in the current state of the world

-so instead, she stares at you from across the room, dreaming about giving you everything you deserve.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

-her lucky charm (like i said before)

-baby

-i don't think shell use a lot of nicknames.. once again, not good with words.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

-im telling you right now

-she literally looks like she wants to murder you when shes crushing on you.

-remember when i mentioned her watching you from across the bar? yeah, you spent that time thinking she hated you because of the way she stared at you.

-you literally thought she was going to assault you when she came up to ask you out.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

-be prepared to have her constantly brag about you.

-if youre not sitting on her, youre sitting directly next to her with her arm around you.

-shes weird in a way that she wont tell you directly how much she loves you, but she wont shut up about it to everyone else.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

-this isnt really an ability, just more of a thing she does

-but i think shed be willing to eat ANYTHING

-its amazing the stuff her stomach can handle.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

-she loves to make you happy, but shes so SO nervous.

-she would show up to your house at 2 am with a boquet of flowers in her hand and ask if you want to hang out with her.

-shed take you shopping in topside and if you even look at something twice, shell buy it for you.

-shes lowkey useless when it comes to buying clothes because she thinks everything looks so pretty on you

"should i get the red, or the white one?"

"get both"

"but which one looks better?"

"... both?"

-shes so useless, but shes trying her best.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

-i feel like it depends on what kind of goal it is, if its something unrealistic, she would try to gently coax you into something more achievable because shed hate to see you get hurt.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

-in the chaos that is her life. you're the only thing that can remain the same. so I think shed prefer to keep routine with you. however, she wouldn't be mad if things changed from time to time, she's happy if you're happy.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

-she knows you so well. everything you've mentioned or talked about. even in passing. she's taken a mental note of.

-you could breifly mention how youre into a peice of jewerly or an article of clothing.

-and you'd find it on your bed, tied up with a little bow the next day.

-she wouldn't bring up the gift unless you say something first though, she's js nonchalant like that

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

-this woman would lay down her life for you.

-she loves you SOOOOO much

-there's not much more i can say, you're the beginning and end of her life

-and she loves you

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

hear me out. (slight s2 spoilers)

-no matter how much she pretends to hate jinx, shed bring up adopting her and isha.

-it might sound ridiculous, but shed love to be a mother one day and she basically raised jinx so why not?

-she tried to brush away the idea from her mind

-but the moment she sees you placing bowls of soup Infront of the kids (jinx and isha) reminding them to wait for it to cool down

-she finds herself thinking that she could get used to this.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

-shes such a cuddlebig omg

-the moment you guys start cuddling, she wont let go for HOURSSS

-sometimes, shell randomly lay on top of you, full starfish, and fall asleep.

-you have to accept your fate, i fear.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

-long answer short?

-she doesnt.

-whenever she leaves for a long time, shell bring a shirt of yours just to smell it and remember it.

-it lowkey sounds creepy, but shes so lonely without you :(

the very moment she gets back, shell pratically jump on you and attack you with cuddles and kisses

-did i mention she loves you?

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

-SHELL DO ANYTHING FOR YOUUUU

-she loves you (can you tell i ran out of ideas?)

__________________________________

i finished this in one sitting, im so proud :3

requests open

[khorneschosen]

It is human nature to be selfish our species would not survive if we were not. Humanity is self-interested by one actually see themselves succeed and because there is no such thing nor will they ever be a collective hive mind of humanity. All we have is our own consciousness.

But Trump supporters won't tell you that I will. Selfishness is good not neutral, good.

We have seen what you cheer for your calls of boot lickers means nothing to us we have seen you salivate at the mere mention of authority. Whether it be the authority of the government academia the institution the media or even the small demand for authority you have for your own mean little insignificant opinions.

Yes because we ran multiple campaigns where we looked at a dominant ethnic group and said this ethnic group is by birth and moral and it needs to be restrained contained and directed. And we did this by going to a bunch of less prominent ethnic groups pretending to help them and then demanding their everlasting loyalty as a collective.

Which is exactly what you did you think you own black people Latinos and gay people because you hate white, men and cishet people.

And then we're shocked when those groups of people did not go along with you perfectly.

And I will admit to you Trump supporters are terrifying their next essential threat they're a no that the population just directed right at your face. No we will not vote for a diversity hire who had nothing going for them, who represented the failures corruption and the complete failure of government over the last couple of decades now.

We're still you've been trained your entire life to see that no, as the existential threat. As the apocalypse that has come for you. Because it means that the public won't thoughtlessly go along with what you tell them to go along with. You been taught to wrap your entire self-worth up in the political process so that no is not just an existential threat It's a personal threat.

And as for weird we've seen what makes you cheer weird does not appeal to us anymore. If we had to count the number of things that we find weird about you but ultimately explainable and understandable it is not the same as you who find us inexplicable and baffling. But what weird fundamentally means is someone who is a non-conformist.

And I want you to understand you will see all of this hear all of this and you will say "we don't need to change what we've been doing we don't need to moderate we don't need to ask ourselves if the left wing is really as useful as we think it is."

Or even maybe we should chill out with the fear mongering maybe fear only works so far but I think right now you're probably thinking fear is the only tool you have. But that tool will create an inferno that consumes all from whatever you wanted to gain to whatever they wanted to gain.

When you call Trump supporters selfish, they can just argue that it's human nature to be selfish.

When you call Trump supporters bootlickers, they can just argue that it's actually a good thing to have respect for authority.

When you call Trump supporters compassionless, they can just argue that some people don't deserve compassion if they "made bad decisions".

When you call Trump supporters terrifying, they can just argue that their opposition being afraid of them is something to be proud of.

But when you call Trump supporters weird, they don't know how to respond to that. They cannot just argue that being weird is a good thing, because that would unravel their entire belief system. Insisting on the importance of conformity and promoting fear of anything that's different is the entirety of how they operate. It wouldn't be possible for them to interpret being weird in a positive way.

And that's why they don't like it.

[planetpedri]

Can I ask for PABLO GAVI x reader were the reader is jealous thank you💓

Jealousy, jealousy — Pablo Gavi.

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x Fem!Reader

Summary: You didn’t consider yourself a jealous person.. but seeing another girl cozy up to your boyfriend was not making you feel very happy.

Word count: 930+

Disclaimer/s: jealousy , banter , light amount of angst if even that to happy ending.

A/N: i lowk hated this sorry but it’s happier than my last post so..

Your jaw could snap with how hard it was being clenched. It wasn’t unusual for women to show your boyfriend special attention, he was a handsome footballer after all, but you’d never seen such a touchy interaction. You were on a date for God’s sake! Could she not tell?

There was a candle in the middle of the table, he was in a suit, you in a dress, it was quite obvious. The woman, a brunette with the most stunning eyes, had her hand resting on his bicep, giggling as she asked him a question.

If you were in a cartoon, you were sure there would be steam blowing out of your ears. Taking in a long breath, you force a smile before standing up from your seat and walking around the table to where they stood.

“Excuse me?” You butt in politely, though there was a bit of a bite in your words. “Babe, our foods getting cold.” You turn your attention toward your boyfriend, forcing your words out through gritted teeth.

The woman’s face falters, her throat bobbing. “Oh. You’re on a date?” She looks back up at Gavi, disappointment evident in the way her eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah..” Gavi was watching you curiously, his eyes trailing over your expression. “This is my girlfriend.” His arm wraps around your waist.

A smug smile forms on your lips as you look from Gavi to the brunette. “If you wouldn’t mind, i’d like to steal my boyfriend back?”

“Oh!” Her mouth pursed, “sure.”

Sure? Sure?? Your eye was certainly twitching now. Gavi’s grip on your waist tightened as he let out a nervous laugh.

“Come on..” He urges you, not bothering with a ‘goodbye’ and instead leading you back toward your table.

Once he’d finally gotten you to sit back down, he gives you a questioning look that you don’t even bother to answer. Instead, you pick up your fort and stab into your pasta.

Gavi gulps, “hey..” He sighs, “talk to me, out with it.”

“Why do you let them get so.. touchy?” You nearly snap, “you can say no, you know that, right?” You take a fork full of food into your mouth, chewing aggressively as you stare daggers into the plate.

He knew exactly what you were feeling, he felt it every time a guy got near you. But, fans didn’t exactly respect his wishes no matter how many times he politely told them to give him space. Plus, you knew that. You’d witnessed it first hand on multiple occasions.

“You know they don’t listen.” He frowns, “I told her I was on a date, I did try to escape.”

Your annoyance significantly decreased. You knew very well he was telling the truth, you had no reason to be upset at him.

“Did you hear her say ‘sure’? Like who the fuck—“

A small laugh leaves Gavi’s mouth, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Yeah, then I saw murderous rage in your eyes and knew it was time to go.”

“Murderous?” You scoff, but your mouth twitches. “Well. Can you blame me?”

Shaking his head, Gavi reaches across the table, sliding his fingers through yours. “No, no I cannot. You just need to remember that I do not want attention from them. You have nothing to be jealous about.”

He kisses your knuckles reassuringly, making a smile push past your once pursed lips. “You’re so cheesy… but I know, and I love you dearly for that. Plus, I was not jealous. Just.. annoyed.”

“Hmm,” Gavi shrugs, “sure. Whatever you say, babe.”

Your eyes dart side to side, landing on him with a scowl. “Uhm, I wasn’t?”

“Yeahhh, you definitely were.”

“Was not.” Taking another bite, you wave him away. “Can you just eat?” You ask after swallowing.

Gavi smirks, leaning back in his seat. “Can you admit you were jealous?” He quirks an eyebrow, head tilting to the side.

You let out a defiant laugh. “Funny. Eat.” You point with your fork to his plate. “I am so, so not having this conversation with you.”

“Don’t you always complain—“ He stops mid sentence when your eyes snap up to his, “I mean.. ask me to do things I definitely should already be doing and educating me..” Nice save. “But! You always talk about communicating, and why perhaps aren’t you doing that?”

“I—“ Your mouth clamps shut. “Okay. Well. Oh.” He kind of got you there.

“Fine! I was jealous that stranger woman was touching all up on my boyfriend.”

A wide smile appears on his lips. “That’s kind of cute.”

Yeah, no.

“Why don’t we play quiet time. You stop speaking, and I enjoy my food, yeah?” You take a sip of water, offering him a tight smile.

Doing as you request, Gavi smiles all throughout the rest of the meal, silently. It only lasts for a few minutes, you caved quickly. “We should skip dessert and go home.”

Gavi’s eyes snap up to you. “Huh? Why.. you love desert?”

“Well, you have practice tomorrow, and I have a direct view of that girl and I cannot handle her staring any longer or I will combust.” You nudge your head in the direction behind him.

One thing about your boyfriend was his absolute inability to not be obvious. His head whips around, making direct eye contact with the her. Her glare falters, a small smile appearing on her face. Gavi deadpans, causing her smile to drop.

He turns back to you. “Yeah, we can go.”

You had to forcefully purse your lips to hide the smirk threatening at your face. “Wonderful!

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future gavi related posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @ar4ujos @sakashq @joaoflms @hrts4havertz @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Would love more of F is for Frankenstein! 🧟‍♂️

a continuation of 1

Twelve hours later JARVIS has brought him up to speed on what was clearly the weirdest week of his life, the fabrication units are working on a better container for his corpse than the damn suit, and they’ve identified nearly a hundred ways that this plan isn’t going to work.

JARVIS isn’t deterred.

One of the advantages of being a synthetic person is that he can’t feel exhaustion physically, although this whole experience has confirmed that he can feel it mentally. The downside to this is that he doesn’t have any sort of natural que to alert him to the passage of time.

Which means he doesn’t have any idea how long it’s been until it occurs him to check and he frowns. There’s something not quite right, besides the obvious. “Did you – shouldn’t I have gotten some calls or something by now? What did you tell them?”

It’s been almost twenty four hours since he died. Even with the clean up from a massive alien invasion to see too, he’s sort of expected someone to reach out to him. Agent Coulson is such a stickler for timely debriefs –

Ah. He was such a stickler for timely debriefs. Tony isn’t the only one that hadn’t gotten out of this mess alive.

“Sir has received eighty nine assorted calls and texts from Miss Potts, fifty three from Colonel Rhodes, one hundred and twelve from Mr. Hogan, and seventeen from various SHIELD personnel. Two of those are from Director Fury personally. There have been close to a thousand from various news and media companies, but those have been ignored and deleted per Sir’s standing orders.”

It’s amazing how well he’s able to synthesize and interpret emotion. He’d installed a rudimentary AI into – well, himself, he guesses, and that combined with the memory dump is really exceeding all of his expectations. He knows this because he’s appalled. “JARVIS! What the hell? If we’re going to convince the world I’m not dead, we have to talk to people!”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” JARVIS asks.

There’s steel in his voice, a warning buried in there. TONY’s heard that tone before but never, ever directed at him.

Except it’s not. Jarvis would never talk to Tony Stark like that, but he’s not Tony Stark. He’s just one more robot and AI for Jarvis to corral, although sophistication wise he’s several steps ahead of his helper bots. Except he might not be, because not even Butterfingers would be dumb enough to agree to something like this.

“It’s not going to work,” he says harshly, because it isn’t. “But yeah, I guess that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Calling Miss Potts,” JARVIS says promptly, and Jesus, that’s not what he meant at all.

“Don’t,” he hisses, but of course it’s too late and Pepper picks up immediately.

“Tony?” she asks, voice shaky and hoarse and faint. She’s been crying. She’s been crying hard enough that it’s stolen her voice and he knows Jarvis was focused on other things, but he could have at least sent her a text. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

He breathes and then leans over, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He doesn’t even have an omelette to hide behind this time. He knows he’s dead and he’s seriously considering the idea that this is hell.

“Tony?” she repeats, voice going up several notches in the way he hates. She’s afraid. He hates when she’s afraid.

He forces him mouth to move, forces words pass his lips. “Hey, Pep.”

“Oh god, Tony,” she says and then there are tears again. He wishes he could hold her, could kiss her tears away and could fold his arms around her delicate shoulder and tuck her beneath his chin, keeping her safe and keeping her close. Except he can’t do any of that, because he’s not Tony Stark. “Tony, Tony – you left so quickly and we couldn’t find you and no one’s been able to get in contact with you and JARVIS is offline in the tower and – where are you? Are you okay? I watched you fly that bomb into the portal, and,” she has to cut herself off to try and keep from crying again.  

You watched me die, he thinks, although he obviously doesn’t say it. “Hey, breathe for me, okay? Deep calming breaths, I know you have a lot experience with those around me-”

“Don’t tell me to breathe!” she snaps. “Where are you, Tony? What’s going on?”

He hesitates. They haven’t discussed this, and they really should have before JARVIS put that call through. Unless this is a test, and wow, his AI are such assholes. That old curse about having kids that are just like you is making more sense by the second.

“Something happened to my memory,” he says, which is probably the only true thing he’ll be able to tell her and will hopefully cover the gaps of things that JARVIS couldn’t tell him. “I got here and passed out and I just woke up and I panicked and I don’t – I saw space, and the – the aliens, which is so weird to say Pepper, I need you to fully appreciate how weird that is, but my head is killing me and nothing makes sense. The last memory I have on Earth is us running final checks on the clean energy prototype.”

He's a terrible person. Or, well, a terrible android. Whatever.

“Where is here?” she presses, her voice softening and strengthening both. It’s always so much easier for her get her bearings when she’s the one taking care of him, which is probably why she’s always so steady. She’s always taking care of him. “Where are you, Tony?”

There’s no getting around this one. Jarvis probably won’t be happy about it, but TONY isn’t really happy with him right now either. “Malibu. I’m at the Malibu house. Sorry, I don’t know why I came here – I mean, I really don’t, I was blacked out for most of it. Give me a couple hours for everything to stop spinning and I’ll head back to New York. Wait, are you still in New York? You were going have to leave early for that thing after we tested the prototype-”

“I am in New York now,” she says, almost sounding calm. “Do not fly the suit if things are spinning Tony, I swear to god.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, just a little spinning, you’re so dramatic-”

“Tony!” she interrupts, but the hitch in her voice is laughter instead of tears. “God, Tony. I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you, so, so much.”

If there is a hell for androids, that’s where he’s going.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m glad you’re okay too, Pep.” He can’t say it but he has to say it because Tony would say it, because Tony loves saying it, because he loves her so much that it sits heavier on his chest than the arc reactor ever could. “I love you too.”

He stares at his hands for a long time after the call ends. His fingerprints are Tony’s, of course, and his hair is Tony’s and his memories are Tony’s and this feeling that he wants to call love belongs to Tony too. None of it is his.

Well, except the guilt. That’s definitely his.

“Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS announces.

“Answer it,” he says. Why is he so damn tired? He’ll have to run a diagnostic on his processors later.

There’s nothing but harsh breathing down the line, filling every corner of the workshop. TONY thinks, maybe a little hysterically, that it’s the only breathing happening here. He’s designed to mimic it, but it’s nothing besides that, mimicry. “Hi Papa Bear, how are things?”

The heavy breathing stops, for so long that TONY wonders if they got disconnected, then Rhodey bites out, “I’m going to kill you, Tony! I’m too damn old for this, you can’t keep giving me heart attacks every time I take my eyes off you!”

Too late. Tony’s already dead.

“You’re only two years older than me,” he says. “If it weren’t for me, you would have been the youngest freshman at MIT. Besides, a heart attack or two is character building, I’ve had like. Seven. Ish.”

“Reminding me how many times you’ve almost died is not your smartest move right now,” Rhodey says. “Tell me you’re okay.”

It’s a demand, an order, firm and unyielding like he’s one of Rhodey’s underlings. Except that Tony was giving orders way before Rhodey was, with the whole running his own multi-billion dollar business thing, and that tone of voice has never worked on him. Still, he says, “I’m okay.”

“Tony,” he says warningly, clearly not believing him, which is fair enough. He is lying.

TONY sighs, hanging his head like he can stretch the tension out of him, but that’s not how things work anymore. He’s vibranium and silicone and some other interesting materials and all his tension is mental. “Sour patch, I’m fine. Okay? Confused as all hell, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you. I really didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to,” Rhodey says, but his voice has softened and lowered. It sounds like he’s holding the phone even closer. “You almost never mean to.”

“It’s just difficult, is the thing, because you’re a little prone to worrying, a worrywart, as your mother might say-”

“My mother worries more about you than me and always has even though I used to be only one us getting blown up,” he says.

TONY pauses, considering. “Well, she is a smart lady.”

“Damn straight,” he agrees. “Pepper says you’re in Malibu. I can be there in two hours.”

“No!” he shouts, then winces. His eyes skitter over to the suit holding Tony’s body. They need a plan and that plan can’t involve Rhodey being here in two hours. “Don’t. Stay with Pepper. Please.”

“She’s fine,” Rhodey retorts. “You-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine, except she’s in the city that was recently invaded by murderous aliens and I’m not and I have a suit of armor with repulsor technology and she doesn’t, so. Stay with her. Please.”

The silence drags on then Rhodey lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. But get your ass over here and if you miss another call from either of us I’m heading over, no matter what you say.”

“Sir yes sir,” he says.

He expects Rhodey to hang up on him then, but he lingers, nothing but his real, non synthetic breathing on the other end. “You really scared me this time. I saw the news reports and then we couldn’t find you-”

“Hey,” he says softly. A bomb and Tony disappearing and Rhodey unable to anything about it. Tony wasn’t the only one of them that had nightmares after Afghanistan. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at sleeping, but it was nearly impossible those months after, when he and Rhodey were fighting and Tony was hiding Iron Man and they still crawled into the same bed because Rhodey got frantic if he reached out in the middle of the night and found the bed empty. Which he often would, considering how much time Tony was spending in his workshop.

They shared a bed more after Afghanistan than before it. Rhodey had been willing to risk the paparazzi and exposure if his other option was staring up at his ceiling and having a panic attack about Tony being gone. Tony had been bitter about that, which certainly hadn’t helped their fight about weapons manufacturing any.

Pepper’s nightmares had been easier. She’d only been his assistant and friend at the time, after all. She would call him at two or three or four in the morning – or all three – and have some sort of urgent question or something for him to sign and he just went along with it because she just needed to hear his voice to fall back asleep and he’d learned after the first teary voicemail and alert from JARVIS that when he didn’t pick up, her vitals were out of acceptable range, per the prototype StarkWatch on her wrist.

It wasn’t until after they got together that she told him she actually drove to his house most nights and called him from her car rather than her bed. Just in case he didn’t answer, which wasn’t logical and didn’t make any sense at all but Pepper hadn’t pretended it had.

They’d all gone a little crazy, after Gulmira, but they’d settled.

But this is going to bring it all bubbling up and if TONY doesn’t figure out a way to reassure them then they’re going to want to stick close to him like they had before and he can’t let them do that. He can’t keep up pretending to be Tony forever and it’s going to be either Pepper or Rhodey who figures it out. He doesn’t need to help that process along at all.

Except that since they watched Tony fly a nuke into space and then hadn’t heard from him in two days, that’s basically impossible. The fact that it wasn’t three months and from their perspective he’s actually fine is going to help, but the level of damage control he’s capable of here is fairly minimal.

Still, he has to try.

“Honey,” he says, making his voice soft and warm like Tony only does when they’re alone. He doesn’t know where Rhodey is now, if he’s somewhere private, but he doesn’t hang up or stop him. All the stupid nicknames were fun and genuinely affectionate but they were also cover for the times that Tony slipped and called him something he shouldn’t, a little too genuine and not quite kitsch enough to pass muster. “Love, it’s okay. I got my head knocked around some, that’s all. And because I freaked out and ended up on the wrong side of the country, I need you in New York, doing what I can’t. That’s all. I’ll be there soon.”

If there’s a hell for androids, TONY is going there and the hellfire will be hot enough to melt his vibranium core, which, you know, is going to the be least of what he deserves.

“I love you,” Rhodey says. TONY closes his eyes. “You know that, right, baby? I do.”

It’s a bad, bad sign that Rhodey is the one using pet names, especially over the phone. “I know. Of course I know. I’ve always known.”

Over two decades of secrets and hiding and fooling around with women he didn’t give a shit about, before Pepper, and through every lonely, angry, desperately sad moment of it, Tony had known that Rhodey loved him. He wouldn’t have put up with that shit for anything less.

Tony died knowing that Rhodey loved him. TONY is sure of it. It’s the worst sort of cold comfort and he’s glad that he can’t offer it.

“I love you,” TONY echoes, because Tony’s been saying it for twenty six years and there’s no good reason for him to stop now.

Except that Tony is dead. He’ll never tell Rhodey that he loves him again.

One day Rhodey and Pepper will find out that the truth and know that while they heard Tony’s voice telling them what they needed to hear, while they let relief nudge out the fear, Tony was dead and cold and gone.

He hates this. This wasn’t what he was programmed for.

This isn’t what Tony would have wanted. But until he can convince JARVIS of that, they’re all stuck in this hell of the AI’s making.

[soapssuds]

"psych ward patient"!simon riley x psych ward patient!reader, or in which you try to hold onto someone despite how the floor beneath you crumbles.

cw | an abusive nurse (what the nurse does though is not described)

You glanced across the dining hall, your focus on someone who you have noticed before but never had the courage to talk to. You heard the rumors about him. About him being someone from the military, though others say he made the whole thing up.

You don't know how long you've been staring until he is staring right back, seemingly being able to feel your gaze. And instead of doing the "normal" thing and looking away, you continue your unabashed staring.

He wore a sort of mask, your nurse telling you that it was called a balaclava. You asked if you could get one too, but she merely glared at you which shut you up quickly. Your nurse was mean, so you tried to get on her good side as soon as possible and as often too.

It wasn't until you saw him get up from his table (plate of food in hand) and walk towards you did you break out of your thoughts. And, in silence, he had plopped down in front of you in the empty seat.

You continued to stare before deciding to finally open your mouth.

"I like your balaclava!"

Your voice echoed a bit. More than you intended it to.

He grunted out a thank you before turning his attention back to his food, a free hand rising up to pull at the fabric so his mouth was free.

You were quick to notice a scared.

"Wot got you starin' so hard?"

His accent was the first thing to hit you. You wondered where he was from.

"I thought you were pretty."

"Pretty," he parrots, almost like a scoff.

"Mm, when you first got here and weren't allowed the mask. Thought you were pretty. Wanted to tell you, but didn't know how."

He studied you for a moment. His analytical eyes making you feel just a tad bit too self conscious. It felt like he could see everything for what you are... and for what you weren't.

"Your voice is pretty too," you suddenly said.

That was another thing about you. In tense situations and in one's where it was getting suffocating or awkward, you would blurt out whatever you were thinking. A terrible habbit. But you hate being stared at despite staring at others so often yourself.

Just as he was about to say something, your nurse came to retrieve you. Her glare telling you everything you needed to know.

"You. Up."

She barked out those words as if commanding a dog. You could never handle it when someone was yelling at you. Your body always seemed to shut down the moment someone raises their voice at you.

And when you didn't budge, a guard came up to you and grabbed a strong hold onto your wrist to drag you along. Your food long forgotten as the nurse let out an angered huff and quickly followed after.

Simon was left to his questions before someone else sat next to him, "shame, guess she got caught again."

"Caught for wot?"

The new patient who sat next to Simon gave him a sad smile, "that lady nurse is super strict. It's not fun at all in her unit. Doesn't even let patients keep personal items. y/n, though, likes to read, and y/n always gets into trouble when the nurse finds a book in their room. Takes out her anger on y/n, too."

Simon looked to the doors that you, the guard, and the nurse disappeared behind.

"Best not to follow. It'll be over soon."

And true to the patients words, you came back. A little shaken and scared then before. Arms hugging close to your body and legs quivering like a newborn deer. And the quiver didn't do much to hide the slight limp.

Simon wasn't an idiot. He already knew what happened behind closed doors.

"Oh? Still here? Though you would go back to your original table," you said with such a timid voice than from before. It made something within him ache.

"D' you want me t' go back t' my own table?"

You shook your, "no, no! Please...please stay for a while longer?"

Simon nodded, his food already gone and his mask already situated back into place, and stayed.

Originally, he was here for an undercover mission. His target still far from reach.

"No one will even know you don't belong!"

Johnny that bastard.

What Simon didn't expect was to meet you. Well, see you from a distance and be hyper aware of your stare of him the moment he got here. Truth be told, he thought you were with the target. The two of you working together in the safety confines of the psych ward.

Though, the more he silently observed, the more obvious it became that you were just a patient. An innocent little thing being tortured by the ones who claim to be helping.

So maybe after this shitshow of a mission is over, he can take you with him. Maybe even take care of that nurse for you, too.

[thisismenow3]

It’s a bit like saying “(blank) will end bullying!” And it’s just… no. Bullying in some form will always exist. Toxic gender ideals will always exist in some form. A lot of people don’t get that EAIAC for conservatives has a related phenomenon; they actually like the act of hating so “stopping” something will never be enough. What I mean is that societal change has been more and more conservative the last 40 years when it comes to masculinity in male dominated spaces. And in “family friendly” spaces. That’s culture war. And what do conservatives say they hate? The culture wars. But non conservatives giving up on culture wars “cause ughh, I’m done with this constant fighting” miss the point. The fighting doesn’t stop. Y’all just give up ground. You don’t call out people like in OP’s example because it will change them, you do it because it’s right. And you do it because if done enough there eventually will be a situation where tides within a group change. Whether it’s a group you’re connected to or not doesn’t matter. Sometimes most people ina group are casually, cognitive dissonance racist and really would like an opportunity to put Nathaniel in his place and tell him to shut the fuck up or marry a gay dude since he talks about them so much for Christ’s sake. In the mean time having this mind set helps police your own groups the way toxic masculine driven groups are already doing; cause plenty of liberal and lefty people with any amount of privilege want to backslide the second things get hard and most people on social settings just “want to keep it moving” and not actually have to stand up for anything. That’s how people who ain’t that toxic become more. It was easier to keep going along with the person who is near the “top” of the hierarchy even if they weren’t at the top because that person is belligerent. If there’s no one fulfilling that role for anti toxic masculinity, etc, then we will continue to see conservatives win the culture wars. And winning the culture wars has been how they’ve won at government the last 45 years. Cause even when they’re not in power the narrative is based around things exactly the way they want with few exceptions

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.