#You do not know me nor do you know what happened to me and what I chose to talk about online

[syggwolf]

Not to hijack this post or anything, and I'm gonna share some seriously depressing stuff here, along with talk of injuries and blood, just as a warning, but I can easily pinpoint the (And I cannot stress this enough.) SINGLE most traumatic thing that ever happened to me in a long, long, long line of catastrophically traumatic things: It was a very specific incident of being told not to cry. And it wasn't like I wasn't already told not to cry already or anything because, you know, you have a dick, you're not allowed to cry past the age of six and all that. And I was about thirteen so, way beyond that point. But this time, I mean, it was sort of a big deal. You see, unfortunately for me, a very heavy falling object had split my forehead open, and the amount of blood pouring down my face had convinced me that I was pretty for sure probably maybe going to die. Also it really hurt. But because I went into shock, I started laughing instead. I want to stress: the laughing was a panic reaction, not conscious, nor on purpose. Then I proceeded to leave an unbroken trail of blood all the way up to the front door of my house, about a half a block away. All the other kids fled as soon as it happened, except for one; another boy who was a friend of mine, only slightly older than me, who walked with me up to my house and came inside. Well, my mom shrieked and put an icepack on it, which, if you've never had burning cold shoved against exposed skull, it kinda really hurts even more than getting your skull exposed in the first place. And so I'm sitting there on the couch next to my friend, who's still staring in horror at my head and the blood all over my face. By this point I have definitely stopped laughing or doing much of anything, and the sheer amount of "I am so fucked." is starting to sink in because they are calling a fucking ambulance. My dad is sitting there, yelling at my friend to explain what the fuck happened and my friend gets to the part where I started laughing and my dad looks at me, and no bullshit, at this exact moment, there's a spike of pain from my head, and I'm miserable and it's sinking in that I'm going to the fucking HOSPITAL in an AMBULANCE and I am definitely in trouble. (Which is another fun thing that happens in an abusive household. Imagine thinking you're in trouble for getting hurt. Spoilers, I did in fact get yelled at, excessively. My intelligence, character, moral fiber, strength, and foresight were all called into question.) So right there, with all of that hitting at once and my father staring straight at me, my chest hitches and I fuck up and I let out a voice cracking little whimper. My father looked at me with an absolutely haunting combination of anger, disappointment, and some kind of disgust, and he said in this very rough, clipped tone that was more threat than anything else, "Don't you dare. You will NOT cry." And that broke something inside of me that to this day I've never been able to fix. If the role of a "man" was not to cry even under circumstances as extreme as that, than I clearly was broken in some way and I would endeavor to never cry again. And even Now? I simply cannot cry until I fully and completely lose control of every aspect of myself and snap, and even then it never lasts longer than a few moments. I can't make noise while I'm doing it either. It's a silent affair that can only happen in the most extreme circumstances when I am alone. His reasoning for saying that to me? For looking at his wounded child, blood covered face and pain and misery and all, and saying those words? He wanted the story to get around the neighborhood that I laughed at having my head split open because he thought it would make me look cool and really badass. He literally told me that to my face a few hours later, and said it was for my own good because none of the kids would fuck with me if I looked manly. He also chewed me out for possibly ruining it for having the gall to break while my friend was still next to me. The patriarchy is fucking evil and must be destroyed.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[narnian-neverlander]

What Could’ve Been [Viktor x GN!Reader]

Plot Summary: In which you find yourself in a world so similar yet so different to your own and are simply too tired of life knocking you down again and again to still play the selfless hero.

Word Count: 3,9k

Warnings: spoilers for Arcane Season 2, talk about character death and illness, suicidal thoughts, slightly suggestive at the end

A/N: I saw that alternate timeline and went ‘Ekko’s a stronger man than I am’ and went with that; actually wanted to write sth fluffy and happy, and this is wholesome-ish, but with some very bleak undertones so I might have to write some actual fluff to compensate. Also, the religious imagery wasn’t planned from the get go but it kinda happened and it is on brand for this man, I just decided to turn it on its head a little 🤷

“Interesting. When I told you about this last, you advised the exact opposite.”

You freeze mid movement, plate hovering an inch or so over the table you were setting. “Well I… I suppose I’ve changed my mind.”

The soft tap of a cane against the floor alerts you to him crossing the room, appearing in your peripheral as you put down the porcelain with shaky fingers. “A rather… hm, siginificant change in such a short time, wouldn’t you agree? Not to mention you acted like I was telling you for the first time.” He doesn’t receive an answer, so he keeps going. “I’ve had a theory for a while. I don’t believe I’ve told you about it, because really, it’s only a pipe dream at this point, but entertaining for the duller moments nonetheless: alternate timelines. The possibility of several different realities, all co-existing with each other simultaneously. Some would call the mere idea preposterous, I’m fully aware, but then again, how would we know for certain? How could we know? Unless one or more of said timelines happened to… overlap.” The silence that follows is deafening and heavy; a precursor of what’s to come. “You’re not originally from this world, are you?”

While he knows this is a conversation that needs to be had, the way you curl into yourself and seem to wither and grow small before his eyes makes him wish he could take it all back. He tries to catch your gaze, but you purposely avoid his as you drag yourself over to the couch. Body heavy and tired, you all but slump down into worn cushions, blankly staring into space as you weakly reply with “No. I’m not.”

He doesn’t move, nor does he speak, cause while he’d been expecting your answer to a degree, now that it’s out in the open he’s… unsure what to even do with it. It isn’t a worry for long, though, as you continue speaking, slow and weary. Like you had been expecting, dreading, this moment just as much as him.

“It wasn’t a… conscious choice. To come here, I mean. It was an accident really, I didn’t even know what had happened at first.” A weak chuckle. “This was a shock to me as much as it must’ve been for you.”

And what a shock it had been for you. To have been standing with your friends in the bowels of the Hexgates one minute and to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the next. Dizzily traipsing through a space that had felt familiar yet foreign all at once; pictures and mementos from times you couldn’t remember staring at you from every surface. And to have had Viktor come through the door, bag of baked goods under one arm, to find you in the living room of what should’ve been your home, looking every bit as lost as you felt. It had been a miracle you’d stayed standing then and there, with the way he’d looked: same lanky figure supported by a cane, same messy chestnut locks, same two beauty marks against the pale skin of his sharp face, same concern in his honey colored irises when he took in your state. But no dark circles borderlining bruises under his eyes, no hollowed, sunken in cheeks, no blood on his lips to betray another attack. And no Hexcore devouring him whole. Your downfall had come in the form of slender fingers gingerly wrapping around your forearm to try and steady you; a silent question and a gentle offer of help. One of those fingers wearing the very same ring you usually kept on a chain around your neck, because you’d always been too busy or too in your own head to just ask him. To offer him your heart, your life, your everything, if only he wanted it. Always too terrified of rejection, of losing him to his illness; too scared of fucking something until it was too late. And when your hand had come up in search for said necklace, a nervous habit that had developed at some point, and you’d found a matching ring on your own finger instead, you’d finally dissolved into a wailing, sobbing mess against his chest, never wanting to let go again.

And what a shock it had been for him. To have talked to you, not twenty minutes prior, an exchange of sleepy, lazy kisses and quiet murmurs, telling you he’d go get breakfast and be right back, watching as you’d curled back up under the blankets with a content sigh. To come through the door, expecting you still in bed and instead finding you in the middle of your living room, looking utterly lost and misplaced in your own home, an almost manic look in your eyes, staring at him like you’d seen a ghost. He’d approached you, carefully, like one would a wild caged animal, and then a simple touch of his had sent you into a meltdown. And at an absolute loss, he’d simply held you. Let you cry yourself to utter exhaustion in his arms, the both of you a heap on the floor, propped up against the back of the sofa. When you had finally, finally calmed down, you’d played it off as the aftershocks of a nightmare. The kind that makes you believe they’re real and keeps you trapped in them for what could feel like a lifetime. And Gods you’d looked like you had aged a lifetime while he was gone. And ever since that night you’d been… different. Getting lost in your own head more often than not. Suffering from nightmares almost every night. Migraines and something akin to epileptic seizures every once in a good while. He had let it go on, assuring you that if you needed anything he would be there for you, and in the following months, you’d seemed to settle and things had gone back to normal. Relatively. But it had been the memory loss that had made him suspicious. Or more so the fact that while some things remained, others seemed to have happened differently for you and some had never happened at all. Never having been able to leave well enough alone, he’d started digging for explanations. And now, at the end of his research, his most impossible theory proven right - he’s yet again at a loss of what to do. How to help you.

“I didn’t know how I got here, much less how to get back. From what I do understand about all of this, and it ain’t much, the thing that sent me to this world doesn’t even exist here. So at first I didn’t have much of a choice but to just… live. To pretend like everything was normal and I belonged here. But eventually I realized that even if I got the chance to go back, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be selfish, I wanted—“ Your voice cracks, thick with emotion and he watches your head drop forward like a doll’s whose strings have been cut, eyes downcast at your trembling hands. “I wanted to be happy again. And for once in my damn life I wanted it to last. It just never fucking lasts…”

Stride over to you and hold you tight, kiss you and tell you that everything would be alright, that you would figure this out together, like always. That’s what he should be doing. Every bone in his body tells him to, but just like so many other times in the past, his oh so brilliant mind prevents him. Tells him that there is no ‘together, like always’ because the person in front of him isn’t the person he’s known his whole life. Isn’t the person he married. Everything’s an ugly mess and he doesn’t mean for his next words to come across as cruel, doesn’t perceive them that way; blissfully unaware of the implications, he’s simply, truly curious.

“What would you do if you were to go back home?”

An inelegant snort leaves you and you wipe the back of your hand over your eyes in a desperate and vain attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

23 seconds.

You were counting, just to give you something to occupy your spiraling mind with, really.

23 seconds.

That’s how long it had taken him to no longer refer to this world, this apartment, him as your home. To prioritize whatever might be going in your other life. And you know it’s not fair, to be this upset with him, this version of him that you’ve been deceiving from the start; even though he has never wronged you. But you can’t help it. Guilt and regret would soon be all you’d have left again, so might as well leave him with some, too.

“Well��� if I hadn’t gotten sucked into this mess, I would’ve killed myself by now. I guess I’d be getting back to that.”

The breath that escapes him sounds like you actually just sucker punched him in the gut and immediately makes you feel terrible about how casual and bitter you’d made it sound, but he’d wanted the truth and that was it. Limbs heavy und unsteady, you rise from your position on the couch and make your way over to the front door. “I’ll go take a walk or… you know, go do… whatever. Give you some space, time to think.” Your hand’s already on the door handle, but you pause and somehow find it in yourself to turn around and at least give him the courtesy of looking at him for what you’re about to say. “For what it’s worth, I never meant to let it go this far. It just became so… easy to pretend like things had always been like this. You made it easy. And while I’m sorry that I lied to you, tricked you, intentional or not, I got the chance to fall in love with you all over again. And I could never be sorry about that.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve never seen him move as fast as he does now and before you know it, you’re wrapped in a hug almost too tight, his cane landing on the carpeted floor next to you with a dull thump. “You cannot say things like that and expect me to just let you walk out of that door, I-“

Readjusting his hold on you, he cradles your head against his shoulder and loops his other arm around your middle, continuing in a hushed, gentle tone. “I can’t bear the thought of harm befalling you. Even worse, you harming yourself. In any timeline. Please, just stay. No matter what might happen in the future, just… stay with me. Right here.”

He means for it to be reassuring, comforting, loving, you know that. It’s not his fault that it has the exact opposite effect.

Wincing, a new wave of tears springs to your eyes and you remove yourself from his hold, but can’t bring yourself to let go completely; hands now linked between the two of you. “Viktor, I stole the body and life of a person you actually love. I don’t want you to force yourself to try and love me out of pity.”

“And why are you so certain that’s what this is?!” It surprises you, how genuinely upset he sounds, and a gasp is forced out of your throat when he wrenches his hands out of your grasp and his palms find your face, to force your gaze onto him and keep it there, wether you want to or not. The expression he’s wearing almost scares you; thick brows furrowed in anger and lips curled back in what could nearly be a snarl, but as soon as gold eyes find yours, red and puffy and so very desperate and grieving, whatever fire seemed to have been burning him up inside goes out all at once.

His shoulders drop and he rests his forehead against yours with a sigh, warm breath fanning over your face. “I’m sorry, moje láska, please forgive me. I’m not angry with you, I just… I can not comprehend why you are so ready and willing to accept rejection, but will not even entertain the possibility that loving you comes as easy to me as your affections for me do to you. Why can you love every version of me, but I’m not allowed the same with every version of you?” He watches you blink owlishly, your mouth opening and closing several times and he’s not sure wether it’s endearing or heartbreaking, how clear it is that this possibility never even crossed your mind. “You act like this entire situation only penalizes me, when in reality, I’m not actually your Viktor, either, am I?”

He expects this to help, to give you a new perspective. To make it clear to you that you are both the same; you are not a villain in his story. And there is a smile on your lips, but it’s so small and sad that his stomach drops at the sight. “No, you’re not. You couldn’t be. My Viktor is gone.”

And all of a sudden, it makes so much sense. How sometimes you’d stare at him with the most haunted look in your eyes, like he was a dead man walking, ready to collapse at any given moment. How you’d grow frantic when he came back late from the academy. How you’d insisted on tagging along on the most mundane of tasks, always under the guise of wanting to spend more time with him, but really just keeping a close eye on him at all times. Though he suspects the former to be true; the chance to spend even a few more precious hours with a loved one you’d thought lost, who wouldn’t jump at that chance?

His world would simply seize spinning if you were no longer in it, he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel. How tormenting it must’ve been to see him everyday, a second chance dangling right in front of you, but never certain if you were to wake up back in a world where he was gone.

You’re in his arms again in a heartbeat, one hand carding through your hair, the other rubbing soothing patterns into your back; whispering sweet little nothings into your ear as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and sob. All so much like the day you arrived and saw him for the first time, and yet… softer. More intimate.

You stay like this until your bawling dies down to whimpers and sniffles at which point he gingerly coaxes you to look at him.

“Miláček, listen to me. As it stands now, you have no way of going back to your original world.” He doesn’t call it your home anymore, you notice. “You did not ask for this, you did not choose this; you had it thrust upon you while going through enough pain and grief you considered taking your own life. For the love of everything, you needn’t feel guilty for wanting to use this chance to find happiness again. And you shouldn’t feel guilty if you continue to do so.” Still sniffling you gently caress his face, thumbs running over his chiseled cheekbones and heart stuttering when he leans into your touch. But then you catch sight of the ring on your finger again.

“I’m not… I’m not the person you married, Vik.” Unknowingly, you parrot his own thoughts back to him, but surprisingly enough, he finds he doesn’t much care anymore. He’s flabbergasted how he could ever even doubt for a second that it would matter which timeline you were originally from. Because it’s still you. Damn it all, it’s still you. “Maybe so. But I’ve seen the same kindness in you in those past few months that I’ve always known. The same wit. The same ambition and passion. All the things that made me love you in the first place. You said this gave you the chance to fall in love with me again; would you allow me the chance to do the same?”

The truth is, while you want to try and build a life here, you feel guilty. Guilty about the friends you left fighting a war. Guilty about taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. Guilty about forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. All these months, you’d only ever reciprocated his affections, never initiated them, had barely let him touch you at all, because you’d always felt like somehow you were coercing him into cheating on someone he actually loved. But here he is now, telling you that he wants you, this version of you, all of you. Could you really do it? Leave behind everything and everyone you’ve ever known, for a chance at happiness, a fresh start? You had no guarantee that things would go smoothly in this universe either, after all. Wouldn’t you just be playing pretend for the rest of your life?

“So what, we’ll just… pretend like it’s the first time then?” you ask, a quiet breathless laugh accompanying your question. He shrugs and smiles at you. “Something like that. Falling in love with you again and again and again? I could imagine a worse fate.”

So could you. Much, much worse, in fact.

Your expression shifts somewhat without you even realizing and he immediately recognizes that he must’ve triggered some form of painful memory. He places tiny little kisses all over your face, murmuring apologies all the while and when you sigh in contentment it finally dawns on him that this is very much the first time you’ve let yourself enjoy being close with him since you got here. He doesn’t blame you; the moral dilemma that was forced on you would put anyone on edge and make them anxious about what they could allow themselves to experience without some form of consequences. He would prove to you that there would be none, he’d make sure of that; singlehandedly destroy them if they did decide to raise their ugly heads. That you didn’t always need to give and give and ask for nothing in return. That you could take what you wanted and not be punished for it. You’d taught him that after all.

“Moje světlo…?”

Gods have mercy on your soul, you never could say no to him when he used those damn pet names on you.

You crash your lips to his, desperate and practically starved; in direct contrast to all the sweet promises and gentle reassurances you just shared, there’s nothing romantic about it. It’s all tongues and teeth and absolutely filthy and it’s exactly what you need right now. Your back makes contact with the door you’d been oh so insistent on walking out of not even fifteen minutes ago, that thought now the furthest thing from your mind as his hands are already under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Your head falls back against the worn wood with a thump as his lips find your neck, leaving marks and bruises for everyone to see and maybe the moan that escapes your throat with a broken version of his name coupled with how weak your knees already feel could’ve been embarrassing, but you don’t have it in yourself to care; it feels like it’s been years since he last kissed you like this. Touched you like this. The whine of protest as he pulls back is cut short when he drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your hips to keep you in place and placing on last kiss on your stomach before he puts some distance between you both, not more than a few inches really, but still too much for your liking. One hand goes to cover his own, while the other cups his face, trying to tug him closer again, but he refuses. Brows knitting together in confusion and frustration, you’re about to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but he beats you to it.

“I won’t go further unless you tell me you want this.” You almost laugh, because he can not be serious. How much more obvious could you be? Your own body is doing half the talking for you, really. But of course that’s not exactly what he means. “I want you to admit to me, and more importantly to yourself, that you want this life. I want you to realize that it is perfectly alright for you to be selfish every now and again.”

His words trigger a memory from long ago, when you’d found him passed out on the desk in the lab one too many times. After you’d been done yelling at him, you’d told him that he couldn’t just always give and give and give until there was barely anything left of himself. That it was okay to be a little selfish and take things for himself every once in a while.

Take your own advice, liar.

A voice somewhere in the back of your head purrs bewitchingly and it’s right. You are still lying. Not to him though - to yourself. Telling yourself that you feel guilty for wanting to stay here, when in reality that’s how you should be feeling. But the truth, the real truth, is that you’re scared.

Scared of how little you actually care. About the friends you left fighting a war. About taking over the life and joy of someone else, even if they are a different version of you. About forcing the man you love into a relationship with a person he technically doesn’t even know. You haven’t truly cared about any of it from the get go; always too self righteous to admit it to yourself, though.

Practiced fingers slip from his cheek to the hair at the nape his neck and pull; he goes along willingly this time, head forced back and his eyes lock onto yours, right as fresh, hot tears start to travel down your face. But you’re done grieving; you are livid, plain and simple. “I want this…” you breathe out, so quiet he almost misses it. You don’t stay quiet, though, you can’t anymore, and your voice rises in volume with every sentence spoken. “I want to stay. I want a life with you. All blissful boredom and domesticity. It’s all I ever wanted. Why…? Why was even that too much to ask?!”

He doesn’t have the answer, but he does have the solution, delivered with a slight turn of his head and a kiss to your wrist.

“It wasn’t. It isn’t.”

Breaths heavy and irregular, you simply take in the sight of him: all disheveled hair and kiss swollen lips, pretty blush all the way down to his neck, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, only a thin ring of gold left, looking at you so longingly, on his knees for you and you alone; like a worshipper ready to commit any atrocity for the sake and love of their god.

“You can take what you want, anděl. No one will punish you for it. I won’t let them.”

Angel. Oh, the irony. Irony turned certainty. Certainty turned reality.

So take you would. And you wouldn’t bother looking back at the things you’d left behind.

[irisintheafterglow]

when touya's comfortable with you, i think he will just....lay his entire body weight on you at any given moment.

it doesn't matter if you're lying down (though he does prefer it so he can just trap you against the couch or bed), nor does it matter if you're anticipating it or not. he likes to transfer all of his weight from his feet to you, becoming a human weighted blanket that also comes with a certain degree of attitude. when you're standing? it's a bit of a nuisance.

touya, i'm making dinner.

i don't see how i'm stopping you from doing that.

wanna grab me the salt and pepper from the high cabinet?

'm busy. lemme bother you for a while.

his arms are lanky and it became too awkward to drape them over your shoulders, so he settled with securing them around your torso and resting his head next to your neck instead. it's a tossup if he's looking up or not; he'd never admit that his favorite past time is hiding in the space where your neck meets your shoulder and letting you drag him from place to place. you're used to the way his hair tickles the side of your cheek and carefully steer him around any countertop corners or protruding pan handles on the stove.

you're like a cat, you know that?

what, dark and mysterious and graceful?

no, clingy and moody.

it's worse when missions go wrong or someone gives him a tough time, to the point where he needs you to lay on him rather than the other way around.

touya?

here, babe. he's hiding his face and sprawled out on the living room couch, an arm draped over his eyes while his brain tries to recount whatever the hell just happened. hey, baby.

bad mission?

don't wanna talk about it. any other member of the team would leave him to his suffering, but you know him better than that. right now, he needs someone to pull him out of the dark. c'mere, please.

what do you need me to do?

jus' need you.

okay.

you become his weighted blanket and physically push him into the ground, reassuring him that this is the reality he exists in and not wherever his mind wants him to wander. his heartbeat races under your ear and his breath hitches in his throat when your thumb absentmindedly grazes his pulse point right below his chin. lifeline. the inevitable slowing of your breathing as you drift off to sleep forces his own chest to match the fall and rise of your rhythm, never too fast or too slow.

you assume touya moved you to his bed after you'd slipped into unconsciousness, depositing you gently onto the sheets that smelled like him and faintly like your body wash. you don't remember how you ended up in a different location, but your position against his body remains the same.

snug like puzzle pieces, fit together like two halves of the same soul.

[cosmicdahlias]

And They Were Roommates

Logan Howlett x Reader

MINORS DNI

Your roommate, Wade Wilson, brings home an alcoholic Canadian bastard with knifes in his knuckles. After a month of putting up with him, an argument between you two goes in an unexpected direction.

tags: hard drugs mention, marijuana mention, alcohol usage, age difference, enemies to lovers, slapping, claws, hate fucking, mdom/fsub, breeding, degradation, praise kink, belt usage, choking, p in v, knifeplay (counting claw usage as knifeplay lmao), blood, creampie, possible impreg, aftercare, oral, multiple orgasms (emphasis on multiple), overstimulation

i’ve recently started watching the xcu movies after deadpool and wolverine dropped on disney+ and MY GODDDDDD have i been missing out!!! i’ve been an mcu girlie for so long (plus deadpool). the x-men movies are so fun but alsoooooo uhhhh hugh jackman as logan??? HELLO??? i need this man biblically like it’s not even funny. i have yet to watch logan (2017) but i’ve seen edits on tiktok and WHOA MAMA talk about a silver fox!!! also fun fact male wolverines bite down on the female’s neck during mating and i couldn’t resist including that in this fic. animalistic logan is THE BEST logan 👌

You were Wade Wilson’s friend turned roommate. You first knew each other through your other roommate, Althea, a blind woman who went by Al. At one point in time you were Al’s dealer before giving up that life once you got your degree and found steady employment. You never dabbled in the devil’s dandruff like Al did, as with the rest of gen Z, your drug of choice was weed. Your friends often asked why you chose an old woman and a mutant in his forties as roommates, but honestly rent was cheap and that was all you cared about.

You hadn’t seen Wade in a few days, he mysteriously disappeared during his birthday party. Neither you, nor any of his friends had any idea what had happened to him. You knew he’d kinda hit a rough’ish point in his life, giving up his assassin alter ego by the name of Deadpool for becoming a car salesman. You wondered if he had gone off on some sort of bender, but you honestly didn’t know.

You had just gotten off of work and opened the door to your apartment. Getting home took longer than expected, half of your street was cordoned off, from the damage looked like a bombing was the cause. You sat on the couch and pulled out your phone, trying to see if the local news had covered what had happened when door unlocked and swung open.

Wade walked in, sporting the iconic red suit you hadn’t seen him wear in six years. He was carrying the most… unique looking dog you’d ever seen and he was accompanied by a man with a rugged appearance who was wearing pants of similar material as Wade’s suit and nothing else. The stench of blood permeated the room.

“Al, I’m back.” Wade said.

“She’s out. Dude, where the hell have you been?” You asked.

“Oh no big deal, just saved the entire multiverse from total annihilation. I’m Marvel Jesus now.” Wade answered.

You elected to ignore his explanation. You never knew why you asked what he’d gotten up to whenever he wore that suit, none of it ever made a lick of sense to you.

“Who’s the dog?”

“Her? This four legged scrotum is Mary Puppins, or as I like to call her, Dogpool. Something… unfortunate happened to her last owner, so I’m her papà now.” Wade said cheerfully.

Knowing him, he definitely had something to do with whatever happened to her previous owner, but that wasn’t what you were asking about.

“Cute, but I was talking about the washed up Abercrombie & Fitch greeter next to you.”

The man rolled his eyes.

“Ohhhh, yeah that’s Logan. He’s gonna be crashing here for a while.”

“Wait, hold the fuck up. You disappear for days and you just show up in the suit you haven’t worn in years, reeking of blood, telling me some shirtless dude who also smells like blood is gonna live here like it’s no big deal?”

“Well funny thing is he doesn’t exactly know anyone else around here, not really his fault since I had to pull him from his universe and bring him here to save ours. May or may not have done so to a choir rendition of Madonna. You know, typical multiverse stuff and whatnot. I mean we’re Disney property now and that’s the horse they’re beating to death at the moment.” Wade answered.

Once again ignoring the exposition dump, you continued to protest.

“You can’t be serious, Wade! This is a two bed apartment. You and Al already share a room, so where the fuck are you gonna put him?”

“Isn’t that a couch you’re sitting on?” Logan scoffed.

“Oh perfect, so I can’t even use the goddam living room anymore?” You asked, growing even more irritated by Logan’s input.

“Jesus, you’re just a fuckin’ princess, aren’t you?” Logan huffed.

You glared at him before turning your attention back to Wade.

“Do I literally not get a say in this like at all? Even though I live here and pay my share of the rent?”

“Look, I promise it’s temporary. Just until he gets his footing in this universe. It won’t be so bad, I mean look him, total eye candy.” Wade said, gripping Logan’s face and turning his head to you.

Logan gave him a look that could kill. Long metal claws sprung out from just below his knuckles. Your eyes widened.

“THE FUCK ARE THOSE?” You shouted.

“Riiiiiiiight, so those are adamantium claws. They ain’t vibranium, but hey, can’t always be the number one. He’s a bonafide animal, in more ways than one, maybe you’ll find out for yourself.” Wade said, you could tell he was winking underneath his mask.

“The fuck do you mean by that?” Logan growled.

“Yeah, what?” You asked.

“Hey, I know sexual tension when I see it.” Wade retorted.

“I literally just met him.” You said.

“Yeah and with Hugh Jackman’s face and body, the time between introduction and need for face riding is a matter of seconds.” Wade said.

You gave a quick glance at Logan. Sure, he was incredibly attractive, but you sensed a sort of emotional unavailability that put you off. You had standards.

“You know my type and he’s not it, Wade.” You insisted.

“Forget type, he’s THE Wolverine. You know how many fanfics people read about this guy? Lookin’ at you, reader.” Wade said.

“Whatever, I’m not getting into a debate over my preferences for men.” You said, walking to your room and slamming the door.

“I think that went well.” Wade said.

-

A month had passed and much to your dismay, you were still being forced to share the apartment with Logan. At the very least he’d upgraded to wearing a shirt instead of walking around with his top half exposed.

After getting home from an exhausting shift at work, you opened the fridge, looking for the bottle of wine you saved for those evenings after a particularly long day. It was nowhere to be seen and you immediately knew who the culprit was.

“For fuck’s sake, Logan!” You shouted.

You headed to the living room to confront what was supposed to be your temporary roommate who sat on the couch.

“Christ, what now?” He groaned.

“Where the fuck is my wine?”

“Hm? Oh that? Yeah, it’s gone.” He answered dismissively, almost like taking time to respond or even look at you was beneath him.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep your barely functional alcoholic ass away from my stuff?”

“Didn’t see your name on it.”

“I specifically told you not to touch that fucking bottle multiple times.”

“Must’ve not been able to distinguish what you said from your typical bitching, I usually just tune that shit out.” He said, still not making eye contact with you.

“Jesus you really have no respect for anyone.” You spat.

Logan stood, coming in way too close for your liking.

“Respect? That’s a really funny word coming from someone who doesn’t respect themselves enough to not wear short little skirts like the one you’re wearing, bending over all the time to show off that ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh you fuckin’ heard me. You think I don’t see what you’re doing with the clothes you wear, or when you come out in the morning in nothing but a shirt and panties because you think I’m asleep and won’t notice?”

“Back the fuck up, the hell do you mean by ‘think’ you’re asleep?”

“I barely sleep enough as it is, I’m awake the second I hear your door open. You have any idea what seeing you like that does to me?”

You blushed.

“You’re fucking disgusting.” You said through gritted teeth.

“Please, you do it because you hope I’m watching you. I see the way you look at me. You can say you hate me all you fuckin’ want, but I can smell your goddam pheromones from across the room. I’ve been around for over two centuries and have more than enough experience to know when someone wants me. Especially when they’re acting like as much of a slut as y-“

You slapped him hard across the face. Logan immediately responded by pushing you up against the wall, unsheathing his claws and holding them under your chin. Neither of you said anything, the only sounds being a mix of him and you panting in anger.

Fuck, you had really grown to hate him, but something about his claws so dangerously close to you was playing into your kinks. You stole a glance down under, holy shit he was hard. You grabbed him by the face, kissing him aggressively. His claws retracted and he let his hands travel to your waist, pulling you closer.

“Mmf- fuckin’ knew it.” He said between kisses.

Logan picked you up by the underside of your thighs and carried you to your bedroom, his lips never once leaving you. He threw you down onto the bed, pulling your shirt over your head and unhooking your bra, tossing it aside. He took in the sight of your exposed chest.

“You’re such a pretty little thing, babygirl.”

His rough, calloused hand cupped your breast. He leaned down and you gave a yelp as he bit and tugged your nipple.

Logan chuckled. “Sensitive, aren’t you?”

You kissed him as you pulled his shirt off and traced your fingers along the dip between his abs. He unbuckled his belt, unzipping his jeans and slipping them off. Your eyes widened at the size of his cock, he laughed at your reaction.

“Yeah, like it don’t you?” He smirked.

“How the hell am I supposed to enjoy this if you’re gonna tear me in half?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t want it like that, I can tell you like it rough.”

“That’s a bold assumption to make.”

“Yeah? Keep telling yourself that.”

Logan pulled off your skirt and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your panties, slipping them down your legs. He looked at your pussy with pure animalistic lust.

“Fuuuck babygirl, look how wet you already are for me. You got it that bad for older men, huh?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You retorted.

“Oh I don’t have to, the way you’re dripping says more than enough.”

“Just shut up and fuck me already.”

You laid back on the bed with your head against the pillow and Logan flipped you over on your stomach, pulling you up to your hands and knees.

“No, you don’t get missionary. You act like a bitch? You’re getting fucked like one.”

Logan reached for his belt, he raised it, bringing it down sharply on your ass, making you squeal.

“This is what you get for being such a fuckin’ brat. From now on you call me ‘sir’, understand?”

“Like hell I will.“

He lashed you again.

“Keep talking back and see what happens. Now, what do you say?”

“Y- yes sir.”

“There you go. I’ll be nicer if you listen to me… maybe.”

Logan looped the belt around your neck.

“I’m keeping you on a leash in case you continue making smart comments.” He smirked.

“As if that’s gonna shut m- hrrrk!”

He pulled it tight, the leather dug into your skin and constricted your throat. The most you could get out was a strained moan.

“Got nothin’ to say to me now, huh? C’mon, tell me how much you hate me.” Logan mocked as he pulled harder.

You looked back at him and mouthed “fuck you”.

He laughed. “Oh I will.”

He pressed the tip of his cock against your slit for a fraction of a second before sharply forcing his full length deep inside you, causing you to cry out as his intimidating girth stretched you wide. He began to fuck you at a ruthless pace, the sounds of your yelps and squeaks filling the room.

“Poor thing, am I hurting you? It’s okay, I’m only fucking you senseless.” He teased.

His free hand gripped your ass, nails digging into your skin.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight. It’s like your little pussy was made for my cock.” He grunted.

Logan leaned down, sucking your neck, leaving mark after mark, his hand letting the belt loosen.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all marked up by me.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you seriously giving me hickeys? Really? What are you thirtee- ngh!”

Logan pulled tight on his belt again, keeping you from finishing your snide remark.

His thrusts became more aggressive, and as much as your feelings about Logan confused you, his cock felt incredible. You moved yourself back on him and he growled in approval.

“Yeah that’s it, take this fat cock like a perfect little slut. So good for me.”

He let go of the belt, both hands moving to your hips. His pace became punishingly fast and brutal. Between his growls and the way he fucked you like a dog, he honestly seemed more animal than man.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ breed you, I don’t care if you’re on the pill or not.”

You whimpered and tightened around him at his words. He smirked.

“Oh you like that?”

You nodded.

“Yeah? You wanna get knocked up? Tell me you want it, babygirl. Lemme hear you say it.”

“I need you to cum in me, get me pregnant. Please.” You begged.

He stopped his thrusts with only his head remaining inside you. He grabbed you by the throat and pulled you up against him, pressing his chest to your back.

“Please, what?” He commanded.

“Please, sir.”

He shoved you down onto the mattress and slammed himself fully back inside you, immediately resuming his vicious pace.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl.”

He panted like a wild animal, his claws slowly extending as he grew close.

“S- shit, sorry. Happens sometimes.” He said.

You tightened around him.

“Use them on me, hurt me, sir. Please, I need it so bad.” You whined.

“Goddam, you’re a fuckin’ freak. Aren’t ya, babygirl?”

He raked his claws down your back, you moaned obscenely loud as pearls of blood formed from the long slits he’d created. The mere sensation of it all immediately caused you to cum on his cock. The feeling of you pulsing around his shaft pushed him over the edge. He grunted as he buried himself to the hilt and leaned over, biting down hard on your neck, capillaries breaking under your skin. His cock throbbed with every rope of cum he shot into you.

“Fuuuuckin’ Christ, it’s not often I find someone that’s as into the hardcore stuff as me.” He chuckled.

Your whole body shook and you collapsed onto the mattress on your stomach. Logan removed his belt from your neck and got off the bed.

“Stay there, don’t move.” He said, pulling on his jeans and leaving the room.

He returned five or so minutes later with gauze, a roll of medical tape, and a wet hand towel.

“Had to really dig around for some of this stuff, when two out of four roommates regenerate there’s not a real demand.“

Logan got back onto the bed, sitting next to you.

“So what’s it like? To not heal immediately?” He asked as he dabbed at the blood on your back.

“I dunno, I never really thought about it. I guess you just deal with the pain for a few days, weeks, or months depending on what it is until it’s fine again.”

Logan chuckled.

“Sometimes I forget just how fragile everyone else is, until the world reminds me of it again and then…” He trailed off.

You could tell there was a heaviness to the latter half of his words, you knew why. Wade had told you that in Logan’s universe (a concept which took weeks for you to fully grasp) every single one of his fellow mutants had been murdered. You didn’t know the details, but you didn’t need to for you to understand why he was the way that he was. You looked up at him.

“It wasn’t your fault.” You said softly.

“What do you-“ his brow furrowed. “What did Wade tell you?” He growled as he covered his claw marks with gauze.

“Don’t get mad, I just- I wanted to know why you act like-“

“A dick?” He scoffed, pulling out a few inches of medical tape from the roll.

“Like someone with severe trauma.”

He went silent and looked away from your gaze as he finished adding the last line of tape to secure the gauze.

“…You’re all patched up.”

You moved to get up and dress yourself, but Logan wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you back onto the mattress.

“No, c’mere. Lay back for me.”

“Do I still have to call you ‘sir’?

“It’s alright, you can call me ‘Logan’ again. This is about making you feel good, not me. I think I owe you one for being such a good girl.”

You laid with your head against the pillow and Logan began to kiss his way down the length of your body until his head was between your thighs. His lips were so close to your pussy that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“Didn’t peg you for the kinda guy that gives head.”

“You thought wrong. I’m eating this pussy until you’re shaking for me.”

His lips met your clit, his tongue rolling and circling it. You moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair.

“Fuckin’ Christ, your scent is addictive.” He growled against you, making you shudder as the deep vibrations went straight to your clit.

You bucked your hips and he moved his hands to them, keeping you in place.

“Eeeeasy there. I know it feels good, but you can’t move around like that if I’m gonna eat you out, babygirl.”

He slipped two fingers inside you, curling them at just the right spot to absolutely send you over the edge. Your breath shuddered as you tightened around him.

“That’s it. C’mon, be a good girl and cum for me.”

You gripped his hair harder as you came undone on his tongue, pulsing around his fingers.

“Fuuuuuck, Logan!”

Your back arched off the bed, he pressed a hand to your stomach, holding you down.

“No, I’m not done with you yet.”

He continued sucking and licking your clit, his fingers fucking you hard and fast. You shook, feeling a second orgasm build. Your head cocked back as all of the nerves in your body ignited in pleasure for a second time. You expected Logan to remove his mouth, but he kept going.

“Fuck, I can’t stop. You’re just too goddam perfect when you cum.”

You moaned loudly, your clit throbbing in his mouth as you came for a third time, cursing like a sailor and writhing against his tongue.

“You doing good there, babygirl?” Logan asked.

“Uh-huh.” You murmured.

At some point everything went hazy and you lost track of just how many times he’d made you cum. The more you had, the quicker the next one came, until it was one immediately after another. You were a shaking, stuttering mess.

“L- Logan, I ca- an’t keep going. I- it’s too m- much.”

“Shhh, you’re okay. Just one more time, I promise.”

He pumped his fingers relentlessly, his tongue working your clit at an equally vigorous pace. Every muscle in your body tensed as the most intense orgasm you had ever felt in your life rocked you to your very core and everything went white for a moment.

“Ohhhhh godddd, Logan. You’re gonna fucking kill meeee.” You groaned.

Logan moved himself to get on top of you, kissing you deeply.

“I’m sorry babygirl. I know I pushed you hard, but you did so well for me.” He whispered softly, holding your face in his hand and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He laid next to you, pulling you to him, his chest pressed against your back as your post orgasm haze finally subsided.

“Never saw you as the cuddling type.” You said.

“Depends on how I feel about whoever I’m fucking, and unfortunately for me I’m starting to actually like you.”

“And what did I do to deserve that?”

“Well, you’re still a total bitch, but you’re actually pretty sweet when you want to be. I like you that way though, makes things interesting. I’ll admit when you slapped me I got so fuckin’ hard.”

“So, you’re saying I should slap you more often?”

“I’m not saying no, but just expect to lose the ability to walk after I fuck it out of you.”

“You got yourself a deal.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of your neck.

“Good. Now, there’s something you should know. Regeneration doesn’t just mean that I heal quickly.” He said, pressing the hard bulge in his jeans against you.

“Holy shit, so… we could fuck all night without stopping?”

“Exactly.”

“Then what the hell are we doing just lying here?”

Logan turned you onto your back, getting on top of you.

“Attagirl, let’s fuckin’ go.”

-

The two of you spent the whole night fucking like rabbits nonstop. When morning came you made your way to the kitchen. Logan followed, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you from behind as you made yourself a cup of coffee. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, taking in your scent.

“I hope you know I’m never gonna get enough of you.” He said, his hands traveling underneath your shirt to your breasts.

“I swear, you’re hornier than a dog that hasn’t had his balls chopped off.” You teased.

“Yeah and you love it.”

“There you go with the assumptions again, you’re so right though.” You purred, turning to him.

“I know I am.”

His lips met yours and he lifted you onto the counter. You laced your fingers in his hair and wrapped your legs around him. Both of you were too focused on each other to notice the sound of a door opening. Wade walked out from the room he shared with Al carrying Mary Puppins.

“Judging by the NC-17 noises I heard all night I’m guessing you two had fun.” Wade said, causing you to jump and pull away from Logan.

“For fuck’s sake, do you not know when to leave people alone?” Logan huffed.

“Oh c’mon peanut, you know boundaries aren’t my forte. It’s my toxic trait.”

Logan glared at him.

“Alright alright, I can take a hint. Just try not to get any fluids on the appliances. I certainly don’t mind a little Wolvie in my coffee, but I don’t think Al would appreciate it.” Wade said, heading back to his room.

Logan turned his attention back to you, his lips brushing against yours.

“Now, babygirl, where were we?”

[burrowdarling]

"Don't act so innocent.."

Summary: As things get a little heated, you get the courage to ask for something new you want to try. Requested by @samanthamark5

Pairings: lsu!joe x shygf!reader

Warnings: oral (male receiving), praise, descriptions of sex, MDNI

Note: Hi! Here's the first request based off of this prompt list. It's very loosely LSU Joe if you squint, really just the fact that they're in college. I hope you all enjoy it! Requests for it are still open!

Word Count: 1.7k (this was meant to be a blurb, I might've gotten carried away..whoops)

Check out my Masterlist here!

Joe always had this presence about him, with him being the star quarterback of the football team for LSU. Everyone’s eyes were always drawn to him when he entered the room, in class or otherwise. That was especially not different when the two of you started dating. The spotlight was never really your thing, opting more for small groups of friends or staying in with your books. Being with Joe has started to push you out of your comfort zone, but that didn’t mean it was going to happen overnight. A prime example was the party that was happening tonight, which you were pleading to stay home from.

“C’mon baby, I wanna have my girl there with me” Joe pleaded.

“You know parties aren’t really my thing Joey, can’t I just wait here till you get back?” you pleaded back, just as whiney as he was being.

He didn’t give you an answer, just stared at you with a look that said ‘does it look like I want that as an option?’ Joe pushed off the door frame to his room and walked over to where you were sitting on his bed, your current read opened in front of you. He climbed onto it, crawling up to you until you were underneath him, tossing the book to the side in the process. 

“Joe! I was in the middle of that, I didn’t even get to mark my page” you exclaimed, feeling overwhelmed with all of the attention he was giving you.

You and Joe had been dating for a few months, but he had significantly more experience than you. Only having one real boyfriend before him, he wasn’t the most giving in the head department, nor did he ever really want anything from you. That relationship didn’t last long before he broke things off with you, proceeding to get with some cheerleader shortly after.

Joe has been tender with you, taking things at your pace and knowing when to test your limitations within reason. He knew your body better than you did, knowing how to get any type of reaction from you that he desired. He was extremely giving in bed, always making sure you were the first to finish. One thing you had yet to try together was you taking control for a change: giving Joe a blow job.

With his arms caging you in on either side of your head, his body weight pressing you down into the mattress, you felt stuck in the best way possible. Joe always knew how to get a reaction from your body. Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling of his erection through his jeans, causing your cheeks to flush and your mind race.

“Can you feel what you do to me, at least let me make you feel good before I leave. That way I can leave with the taste of you on my tongue” Joe said, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline, making his way to your lips.

It felt like now was as good of a time as any, trying to block out any of the anxious thoughts about what his reaction could be to your request. You tentatively reached your hand between your bodies, palming his hard on which earned you a deep groan from above.

“I wanna try something tonight instead” you said, your voice slightly wavering as you looked into his eyes peering into yours above you. The blue of his eyes was something you had grown to find a sense of comfort in. 

“And what would that be, baby?��� Joe said with a sense of care lacing his voice, a knowing smirk gracing his lips.

“Are you really gonna make me say it?” you asked, feeling yourself wanting to abc out, to make the awkwardness go away.

“Mhm. If you wanna do it, I wanna hear you ask for what you want. It’s something we're working on, remember?”

You nodded shyly, remembering how Joe has made it his mission to bring up your self confidence. It started with some smaller tasks like asking for help when you needed it or not being scared to take charge of a situation. When you guys finally slept together, it’s since spread into the bedroom. Joe always makes sure you feel safe and secure, wanting you to always feel comfortable to tell him anything. He always wants you to ask for what you want and not be afraid to bring anything up.

“I’m not gonna say no sweetheart, I just wanna hear the words come out of your pretty mouth” Joe said, raising a hand to graze your cheek.

His words caused you to feel even more flustered, feeling the need for Joe growing by the second.

“I wanna try to blow you” you said, feeling the heat rise on your cheeks at your attempt to come off as confident as you could.

“Go right ahead, I won’t stop you” Joe said, moving off of you to lay back against the headboard next to you, slipping his shirt off in the process. 

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage and fighting down your insecure thoughts before exhaling and shifting closer to Joe. He helped you to work his pants down, leaving them at his ankles before kicking them off. You took his boxers with them knowing you needed to do it all in one go or you’d feel like you’d chicken out of the whole thing. The sight of Joe’s hard cock sent heat to your center, no matter how many times you’ve seen it before.

You took him in your hands, Feeling the nerves come across in your actions, Joe placed a reassuring hand on the back of your head as he directed you towards him for a kiss.

“No need to be nervous baby, it’s just me” Joe spoke gently, moving his hand to stroke your cheek lovingly.

WIth a nod of understanding, you took the leap and leaned down to place a kiss to the tip. You took him in your mouth the best you could, using your hand for what you couldn’t fit. 

“You’re doing such a good job, babe. Know how to make me feel so good” Joe moaned, head thrown back in pleasure.

The sounds Joe was making above you were egging you on, taking in all of the praises that were coming from him. You continued to take him, getting past the awkward feeling of having him in your mouth fairly quickly. You would occasionally pop off to lick a stripe from his base to the tip before taking him again.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that baby, I swear” Joe groaned.

You took that as your cue to keep going, knowing that you were bringing him pleasure. 

“Where do you want me to finish?” Joe rushed out, clearly feeling close to the edge,

You came off of him, continuing to stroke him as you spoke. You were taking the moment to use your last bit of courage to ask for what you wanted.

“Right here” you said gesturing to your chest with a glimmer of lust in your eyes, earning a deep groan from him in response. 

You knew how much Joe loved your boobs, mentioning in the past that this was something he’d love to do when the time felt right to do it. You slipped off the bed to the floor, getting on your knees ready to take what he would give you before he could give you a proper response. Joe took over then, giving you the opportunity to prepare yourself. You slipped your shirt off, trying to not feel so exposed in front of him in the position you were in. The sight of him standing above you stroking his cock drove you wild, it felt as if all of your insecurities had flown out the window in that moment. With a few more strokes, Joe was finishing with a loud moan, covering your chest.

Joe sat on the edge of the bed, taking a minute to compose himself. Before he could make any other moves towards you, you stood up in a hurry.

“I’ll be right back, i’m just gonna go to the bathroom” you rushed out and made your way quickly, attempting to fight off any other insecure thoughts before they could come up as you felt your shyness creeping back in. You heard a faint ‘okay’ as you shut his bathroom door.

You walked out of the bathroom after getting cleaned up, your cheeks hot showing the brightest shade of red from everything that had just happened. You stood timidly in the door of the bathroom while Joe sat on the edge of his bed on his phone. You didn’t know exactly where you stood at this moment, wondering if he would stay or go out. You secretly hoped he would opt to stay with you, but wouldn’t want to force him even after everything. You felt too tired after all of that to go out and be social with other people, especially ones you didn’t know. He had pulled his underwear back on, leaving him clothless otherwise. When he heard you, his eyes looked up and a smile crossed his face. 

“I hope you have fun. Can you let me know when you’re on your way, if you remember?” you spoke, unsure of where to put your eyes. 

Joe walked over to you, placing a hand under your chin to lift your eyes to meet his own. A shiver ran down your spine at the look in his eyes.

“Don’t act innocent when we both know where your mouth was two minutes ago” Joe said with a teasing smirk on his lips. 

He placed a kiss on your forehead, his other hand falling to your hip. You cheeks felt as if they were the brightest shade of red they had ever been, letting the images of the past few moments replay inside your head. You felt a shiver creep up your spine as your need for him came back full force.

“If you think I’m leaving after that and not giving you anything, we’ve got a lot more work to do with you”.

[mekakitsune]

mean!jinx x fem!reader - nsfw - minors dni

request from anon: "Hi love, I would like to request Jinx x Reader. The reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they are at the bar and a guy approaches the reader asking if the reader would like to go out with him and Jinx obviously doesn't like it, can this end with her fucking the reader to show everyone that the reader is hers? Please 😮‍💨"

dates in public really werent jinx's thing, or yours for that matter. she would always say something along the lines of "why go out when we have everything we need here?" by here, she meant her "workshop"– where it was cluttered with mechanical parts and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air constantly. it was more than enough, but sometimes, even you needed a break. had you not been so convincing, jinx would have not let you drag her out to the last drop. she didn't like drinking, nor did she like the usuals at the bar. they were loud, arrogant, and just plain gross.

she sat at the end of the bar, some fruity juice concoction in her cup as she swirled her straw around the glass looking less than interested in what was happening around her.

"i want another drink, ill be right back, kay?" you lean into her, and she nods, watching you hop off the stool and stroll (rather stumble) to the other end of the bar where the bartender stood. she watched as you smiled sweetly at the man, leaning against the bar as you recite your order. he nods and moves to make your drink, leaving you to stand waiting. without notice, a man slinks in beside you, with an unsettling smirk on his lips.

"put the lovely ladies drink on my tab, would ya?" he gruffed at the bartender, sending you a wink as he spoke. you smile politely, shaking your head as you speak up– "hey... im alright but thank yo-"

"nonsense, let me treat a pretty lady to a drink, yeah?" he cut you off. he reeked of booze, and was ultimately too close for comfort.

"okay...its a just a drink, but im a-" he cuts you off again.

"see, knew you'd want it. so hows about we getchu that drink and then ditch this place?" he smirks again, placing a hand on your shoulder, one eye brow cocked like he was waiting for you to agree. before you could utter a word, an arm wraps around your waist, and the mans hand drops from your shoulder immediately.

"sorry to interrupt whatever youre trying to do here, but shes taken."

jinxs sneers at the man, looking like she was ready to pounce any second. the man, stupidly, didnt budge– obviously not seeing your girlfriend as much of a threat. her fingers gripped your hip, hard.

"ohh so its like that? y'know, ive always wanted to see some girl on girl action in real time." the man stands, arrogant and overly confident. the smirk on his lips made your stomach twist. without thinking, per her style, jinx lunges at the man, slamming her fist into his nose.

your eyes go wide as the man stumbles back, hand gripping his now bloody nose. "you little bitch..."

the man moves quickly towards her, but a familiar metallic hand finds his shoulder first.

"you two. out. now."

it was sevika, of course she had been there. she had been watching the two of you since you walked in, knowing trouble was bound to come with you guys around, it seemed like it always did.

"i'll fuckin kill you..." the man spat, trying to remove himself from sevikas grip. she looked at you sternly, and you got the message from the expression on her face.

"pssh, you wish." jinx muttered mockingly, clearly not wanting to leave without finishing what she started, or rather, without killing this guy first. you grab her wrist and speak– "lets just go jinx, cmon.." you pull her towards you, and she follows as you drag her towards the door. shouts from the man can be heard from behind you, and jinx stops in her tracks to flip him off. you bite back a laugh as you tug her along into the cool air outside of the bar.

"what a creep..." she spoke low, eyes ahead of her as she walked, avoiding your gaze completely.

"im sorr–" suddenly she whips around to face you, brows furrowed. "i mean seriously? that perv was all over you, and you were gonna let him buy you a drink!? are you stupid?" she cuts you off to rant, making you shut your mouth.

"he could have done something bad, and you were just gonna let him? the hells wrong with you?" she continued, hands moving dramatically.

"i was just gonna empty his pockets when he wasnt looking, jinx... aren't you the one that always says "if you see an opening, take it?"– you quote her. "its clear he had money..."

this seems to make her head rush, anger and possessiveness rushing through her. before you can process it, shes grabbing your arm and dragging you into the alley on your right. with shocking force, she presses you against the wall, her face dangerously close to yours as her eyes bore into yours.

"that doesn't mean go around and act like some sort of slut." she squints, cocking her head to the side.

"are you kidding? fuck you, jinx. i-" she doesnt let you finish as she smashing her lips into yours, hard enough to bruise, surely. you gasp at her suddenness, and her hands find your hips again, pinning you to the wall behind you.

her tongue wins the easy battle for dominance, completely consuming you as if the two of you werent stood in an alley. the only light was a dingy street lamp, casting a warm glow onto the two of you. the kiss was hot, messy as she took control of every movement, hips pressing into yours. she pulls back from the kiss, chest heaving as her hands find your belt.

"what are you doing?" you pant, watching her as her skilled hands mess with your waistband.

"whats it look like, dollface." her tone is low, and you can tell shes serious about taking you right here in the alley.

"cmon...not here...people could see us." you shift your hips as much as you can, but theres little to no room between you and the wall, so your attempt are deemed useless. ignoring you, her fingers pop the button on your pants, and find their way into your underwear.

her lips are on you again, flush with your neck as she sucks marks into the skin.

"let em'. dont care." her words are muffled against your neck. you gasp quietly as her fingers find your slick folds, a low chuckle coming from her.

"see? slut. all worked up, and from what, hm? some creep sweet talkin you?" she rambles, her words making your skin flush. her fingers circle your clit, making you buck into her as she holds you steady with her other hand. the cool metal of her finger bleeds through the layer of fabric riding up your hips. soon enough, shes moving her fingers and sliding them into your cunt, making you whimper. you feel her smirk against your neck, lips leaving a trail of searing marks with the intention of claiming whats hers.

"or is it that you like the thought of being caught, hm?" her fingers pushed a relentless pace, making your knees shake. "y'like me fuckin you in public baby?" her words are making your head spin, along with her fingers inside of you. her breathing picks up again when she hears you whine, cunt tightening around her fingers.

"m'close, please..." you muttered helplessly, surely dripping down her wrist at this point. she presses a kiss to your lips as she pulls her hand away. you watch in awe, chest moving rapidly as her fingers come to her mouth, sucking them clean.

"what the fuck?" you pant, fingers wrapping around her wrist. she simply smiles, before slipping out of your grasp.

"s'one thing to act like you enjoy being flirted with, but im not about to make you cum where anyone could see." she shrugs, her grin sinister as she turns on her heel.

in disbelief, your shaky hands move to fix your pants and belt. she had it coming once you stepped back into the confines of her workshop, that was one thing for certain.

thank u for the yummy rq i hope u enjoy :3

[ot3]

here's my vision. i think something that happens is that ema wants to make weed brownies but her garbage apartment has a shit oven that can't bake anything evenly and so kay offers to let her into edgeworth's kitchen (she has a key) ((its stolen but also edgeworth knows she stole it and is just letting that happens because like whats he gonna do about it)) which is pristine and untouched because the man has neither the time nor the wherewithal to cook his own food. and emas like are you sure that ok i dont want mr edgeworth to be mad at me hes one of the only people i respect and kays like its fiiine its fine here ill text him. so she texts him can i bake brownies in your kitchen? you can have some btw. and edgeworths like yeah i guess if i can have some and you clean up after yourself and make sure pess doesn't eat anything while you're cooking its fine. and kay says ok we're in we just gotta make some without weed in it for mr edgeworth. and i think after they do this they choose to get high in his living room and watch shit on his big tv while he's at work under the assumption that they're totally gonna clear out by the time he's home because hes a workaholic freak who is never in his own house but he actually gets home at a reasonable time that day and is like. so can i have a brownie. and they just say yeah because they're super thrown at getting caught super high in his living room that they forget to tell him which of the brownies he should be eating and he just takes one from the tray that already has some missing like a normal person would. and by the time anyone realizes what's happened it's way too late and edgeworth just has a godawful time getting way too high and has to lock himself in his bedroom spooning his dog and watching tokusatsu clips on his phone for several hours to calm down. and kay and ema aren't allowed in his house unsupervised anymore.

[thetadispatcher]

Peter frowned a bit at Willow's remark, but he decided not to ask for an explanation of what she thought was so easy just in case it wasn't directed at him specifically.

"Deviants have the same issue, if they get too stressed they'll self destruct... Not like explode, but bash their own brains in on whatever they can find. So far Vincent is the only one I've seen hit one hundred percent stress and not self destruct, we theorize his fear of loud noises overrides the self destruct protocol." He still had yet to find what the cause of self destructing was, as it was hard to find out what goes on during the event when the android effectively destroys the one thing that would hold the answer. And he didn't want to trigger it in a monitored android, it was too risky as he had no way to stop it once it began.

"But I understand the importance of keeping this from getting out, so don't worry about that." He knew it wouldn't lead to anything good if other found out about the existence of human brains in a digital format, and he didn't want to be asked about it as he wouldn't be able to provide any kind of suitable answer.

"And I don't really care to know why you have digital copies of human brains, something tells me the reason isn't something I would like to know." If someone had felt the need to do such a thing, and if the people the scans belonged to were no longer around, he had a feeling something terrible had happened. And he really didn't want to know what that something was, as Strasky's appearance made it clear just how terrible whatever had happened had been, and he didn't want to randomly start thinking about it.

Nines turned to look at them again when he heard his model mentioned, he had been listening as Brent hardly ever spoke well he was working so there wasn't much for him to do well he waited. "It is not the first time I've heard a threat on Kamski's life, nor will it likely be the last. Gavin makes them regularly, and I have heard androids say such things as well." He commented, hearing the creator of Cyberlife be issued death threats wasn't new to him, in fact he felt it was just a common thing to hear at that point in time.

"But if you must, try to not make it obvious it was you. I am a detective unit, so it would likely fall on me or my predecessor to solve it." Nines knew he shouldn't say such a thing, but after hearing stories from humans and androids alike of their experiences with the man he could care less what happened to him.

Peter looked away from Nines once he realized he was being spoken to again, answering with a small shrug. "He just kinda showed up and made himself at home. He hasn't done anything worth kicking him out for, and he seems to be friends with Vincent even if he refuses to admit it." Sure the android was rather odd and strange, but so were quite a few who also lived in the house, so it wasn't anything too surprising for Peter. And it was nice to see Vincent socializing with anyone that he wasn't initially forced to acclimate to, which felt like a good step in the right direction for the AP700 and he didn't want to risk compromising that. "Sure, he makes demands of me, but I promised never to make another android like Dan." And that wasn't a promise he planned to ever break as he trusted Dan to never hurt someone just because he had the ability to do so, and Dan would get upset if he broke it which he really didn't want.

Dan glanced at Peter before some movement out in the hall caught his attention, the movement being Sixty and a Jerry messing around with something he knew they shouldn't be. He carefully removed Peter from him before getting up and approaching the two, who quickly noticed him and took off. Dan gave chase as he saw they were still holding something they likely shouldn't have.

Nines watched the scene looking mildly amused to witness the PL600 have to chase down androids behaving like children. Peter seemed indifferent as it was a very normal occurrence to him, he was already looking at the pictures Strasky was showing to him on the Omnitool well listening to him explain the role of each person so he'd know how to build the custom units.

"That would be the RK800 that was mentioned earlier and a EM400, a hivemind android. EM400 are naturally child-like as they are used at amusement parks, and now some are finding other ways to entertain themselves like what was just seen." Nines explained as Peter was busy jotting down notes and getting the photos he needed from Strasky to explain the function of an EM400, and why one would be following around Sixty. "They call themselves Jerry, and as of right now there are only two present on the property. The other is likely with Ralph, a damaged WR600, to keep him from getting into any danger."

Whatever joke Rook had planned to make was set aside as she eyed the two. She obviously saw nothing wrong with hanging out with alternative versions of herself. It was kind of like meeting a distant cousin, expect they were unlikely to disappoint like most relatives do. Even Bishop had little to complain about his. They both acted the way one would expect from the likes of him.

Really, it was his fault for being an asshole. She glanced at the agent, then turned to Nines. It didn't seem like a smart idea to make android cops, but that world didn't exactly shine for its bright ideas.

"Oh, you have it so easy around here." Willow scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Those engrams have a tendency to destabilize. I'd prefer to resolve any compatibility issues myself. Whatever funding you may need, consider it covered. Again, feel free not to question the source. Not every corner of the world is as content with the existence of digital beings, it'd save me some extra work."

"You should consider moving here." Bishop suggested, a faint grin on his face. He found the concept of adopting androids amusing. Some people truly went through great lengths to find humanity in everything.

Not that he cared to understand it when he hardly contemplated showing basic decency towards the aliens he had captured.

"Having to share the planet with Kamski is miserable enough. I have no intention of moving any closer."

"What about your plans to murder him?"

"Please, do not quote me in the presence of the RK900."

"Oh, he really wants a katana up his ass." Rook mused, before turning to Peter, "I think it's cool that you've got brothers. What I don't get is why you're keeping the Bishop shaped one around."

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐃𝐘

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ how the bats ( bruce and jason ) leave you ᵎᵎ

⸝⸝⸝ ࿔ disclaimer !! these are not accurate depictions of the characters. please do not let this influence your view on the selected characters written and/or mentioned.

BRUCE WAYNE ᵎᵎ

the newspaper rolled up at your feet gifted you a present you feared. the picture of bruce and selina walking out of a fancy restaurant made your swell up. but what was worse was the headline.

'POTENTIAL MRS. WAYNE ?!'

you drop the paper, gasping.

a tear slips through your water line, rolling down the apple of your cheek. the memories of bruce and you sharing intimate moments rolls in your mind as your body stands still in shock. the possibility that he could've been with her the day before and after baffles you. the sweet promises he whispered in your ears were now recycled and given to her.

that's why he kept you a secret...he didn't want any controversies.

maybe it was your fault. maybe you were at fault for thinking that bruce wayne, the prince of gotham would actually stoop to your level of notoriety and become a 'normal person'. someone of his stature shouldn't be caught dead with you, you told yourself.

for the next few days, you brainstormed your next move. you also took into consideration how you'd be in the aftermath. you'd be lying to yourself if you said bruce wasn't your love. you poured yourself into him. the detachment process would be a battle.

move from gotham? no, you're not that much of a loser to run away from your problems. but could you bare seeing his face everywhere after this? what if you got word that she was pregnant? or the extravagant wedding he hosted just for her. seeing her dolled up like a princess on the day you dreamed of with him.

you made your plan.

bruce was out doing his duties at Wayne Enterprises and wasn't expected to return back to the Manor for a few hours. you could buy plenty of time.

JASON TODD ᵎᵎ

"do you not understand how your words contradict the shit you do?" you argue, trying to get him to look at you. every time you moved into his line of sight, he turned away; like he was ashamed to see you.

his anger from being revived grew and grew. it was taking a toll on your relationship. the benign robin you knew from your teenage years was gone. his face was always contorted into a scowl at any given moment. he was never happy.

his eyes screwed shut as he heard the same words he heard every single time. yes, he did feel pain every time you cried due to his lack of compassion and his absence of love. but could he change? he didn’t know. nor did he try.

“you keep stay after it happens again and again. just fucking leave. you keep wasting your breath on the thing you don’t like knowing i won’t change. i’m not changing so you can experience your little fantasy you want with me.”

his blunt words make the crease in your brows relax. your jaws goes slack in…shock? pain? realization?

you didn’t know. but his words made your cheeks burn and your eyes gloss.

“it’s your fault that you keep staying. i don’t have to change.” he sneers, finally turning to you. for the first time since this conversation started again, his first look at you is in anger.

“that’s it?” you manage to choke out.

“that’s it.”

happy thanksgiving, y’all! my inbox is open for requests and i’m on a dc high rn ( especially for adrian chase! ) and if you want a follow up or add characters, ask! so send em ! request forum.

[therealmylesmorales]

Loser!Vi Headcannons pt 2

Y’all gave so much love, I feel like I had to reward you guys ☺️

Warnings: uhhh same as last time, I guess. I’m too lazy to check what it was, masc4masc relationship

WC: 700

⭒ Vi is a chronic biter. You learned that pretty early in your relationship. And yet, you never know when it’s coming until it’s too late. She would act like she would be leaning in for a kiss…until she bit the closest part of your body; your cheeks, your arm, your ass

“OW— fuck Vi!”

”That didn’t hurt, you're being dramatic.”

⭒ Another cute but annoying thing Vi does is that she fake boxes you. Her fists will never come in contact with your face or body but she still finds it funny. She’ll even make sound effects while doing so. But the second you lightly punch her stomach to get her to stop, it’s the end of the world.

⭒ She cried like a baby when she got her nose pierced. You were with her and by how hard she clutched your hand, you would’ve thought she got shot. You made fun of her the entire time.

”Not only do you have a big ass back tattoo, you also have one on your face.”

“That’s DIFFERENT!”

⭒ Vi’s major changes every few months. She just loves doing new things and will get obsessed with it and unfortunately be bored with it in not too long after. However, she would probably get a degree in business so she could take over Vander’s bar once he decided to retire.

⭒ Sticking with the college theme for a second; you’re known around campus for being chill and somewhat friendly to others. Vi, on the other hand…people think she’s brash and her temper definitely doesn’t help. But people have noticed that when she’s around you, she’ll siphon off your energy and is a lot more pleasant to be around.

⭒ Vi likes kissing you more than actual sex. She’ll still never turn down the offer, but kissing you feels calming to her. After a day of classes or dealing with whatever, it is her favorite way to unwind.

⭒ Vi loves horror movies, and loves when you watch them with her (even if you hate them/are scared easily). Her favorite franchise is probably Friday the 13th but Ghostface is her favorite slasher. The only problem with her watching horror movies is her inability to easily fall asleep afterwards. Normally, it takes her five minutes to be knocked out.

”Cupcake, are you awake?”

”Vi, PLEASE go to sleep.”

⭒ Surprise to no one, she cuts her hair on her own. Every few weeks you’ll find her in the bathroom with scissors and a shaver in hand, trying her best to get her hair looking good. You help her with the back of her head and she appreciates you for that.

⭒ Vi is literally obsessed with you. Her entire camera roll is filled with pictures of you both or just you; pictures she took on dates or just candid ones. Her wallpaper is even one of you, a rare selfie you took and she cherished it as soon as you sent it. Vi even gave you a special ringtone and whenever you text or call her, she can’t help but kick her feet.

⭒ Like everyone, Vi has red flags. But her most noticeable one is that she’s hardheaded. She doesn’t like to listen, especially when she knows thinks she’s right. She will stand on business until she can’t…and when that happens, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs, hoping you’re not too mad at her.

“Hey…are you mad at me?”

”Did you learn your lesson?”

”I did. I’m sorry.”

A little something extra for my black!readers 🫶🏾

⭒ No matter how hard both you and Mel tried to teach her, she nor Jayce still understand Spades. Viktor got it down within thirty minutes, but those two were still clueless. So, you all decided on a more easier game, Uno!

Uno was banned that same night after you two almost broke up and she and Jayce almost got into a fist fight.

⭒ And someone said that Vi would take the fuchsia bonnet with the black headband, and that was totally the one I was talking about (cause I have the same one). She refused to give it back at that point so the only logical solution was to buy another.

[elegantgardenrunaway]

If it's with you

Curly (mouthwashing) x reader

A/N: AAAAAAH FINALLY I FINISHED IT. Sorry for the delay, to be honest it was quite challenging for me to write this one. I hope I did Curly good enough for you.

This is the second (and last) part of this. But if you want to keep with the fluff then I would recommend skipping this.

Warnings: Jimmy (ofc), violence, mild gore(?), death, no happy ending (sorry guys not really), very hinted about what happened with Anya, but not explicit.

And bad grammar, probably. Sorry, English is not my first language.

He wishes he had kept his mouth shut.

Just for a day or two more, so at least the decorations wouldn't have been put to waste.

Such a birthday celebration. They must have put a lot of effort into it and he had to go and ruin everything.

Their reactions are still burning in his mind, like burning coal scorching his brain; Anya's worried voice, Swansea sarcastic remarks, Daisuke’s silence, Jimmy's accusations, your blank expression looking at the plate while you gripped the fork with white knuckles. No matter what, they are always there.

He sighs heavily, he needs to get to work soon.

He doesn't know how he will face the others now.

Yet he doesn't move, doesn't even hear that someone has entered the lounge. He later hears the shuffle of the couch as someone sits besides. He doesn't bother to look up nor start a conversation, too drained to give an explanation or even a half joke to break the ice.

They stand up again. He thinks they are going to leave him alone.

Then he hears the radio being turned on, followed by the sound of music, banishing the silence in the air.

He turns up, surprised and confused, finding you walking back to him with a nervous smile on your face.

For some reason, he's relieved that you are not Jimmy.

I mean, he definitely wouldn't do something like this.

You took his hands, lightly pulling him up. His hands had brushed against yours more than one time, on accident that is, due to your jobs or as a playful row during game nights. Now he realizes how warm and comforting your hands are to the point he hardly notices that he went up on his own, following you.

“Do you like to dance, Captain?” Your voice takes him out of his trance.

He blinks “... What?”

“... Um… Do you… do you like to dance? We can dance if you want. It's still your birthday party and it shouldn't end like this. Please, at least one dance”

He looked at them, dance… Dance? In a moment like this?

“We still have work to do,” he said, trying to give an excuse to get out of this.

“To hell with work,” you responded as you guided him “Forget the work, the company, everything. Tomorrow we'll drown. Today? Today we dance”

… That doesn't sound so bad.

He looks at your eyes. They hold such determination even if you look nervous. Your hands, your hands were holding him, he felt grounded. He repeated your words in his mind:

Today we dance. Ha, he isn't very good at it. He doesn't dance a lot, never had the time in a work like this.

He didn't refuse your proposal, didn't have the heart to tell you no, but he warned you about his lack of skill on the dance floor.

You laughed, he didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or offended or both, but your later reassurance lifted a weight from his shoulders. Soon he's holding you in his arms, bodies close, his head resting on you as you sway with the melody. His body is relaxed and the worries about the future are temporarily forgotten from his mind.

You don't judge him nor think less of him. Instead, you go at his pace and encourage him to try something different, something new, even if he's not really good at it, he can still learn.

Especially if it's with you.

Time seemed to disappear for both of you. A song became two, became three, became four until you had to let each other go, you had to go back to work.

But he didn’t want to do that. He wished he could stay with you, just a little bit longer.

But when you accepted that the time was up, you agreed to meet again for your next class the following day in the morning before work.

He was the first one to arrive. Entering the lounge way before your agreement. The holographic screen still shows the night sky. He didn't sleep, he couldn't. His friend has been giving him the cold shoulder and the rest of his crew is still shaken up from the news. Even though you tried to hide it, he still noticed.

And then, there is him. With a good reference secured. Which is good, but then again he still needs to figure out what he wants to do once he steps down for good.

What was life before the Tulpar? Who was Curly before the captain?

“Good morning” you yawned, trying to fix your appearance and open your eyes a little bit more “I see you're early, how long have you been here?”

“Uh?” He quickly turned upon hearing you, looking at you for a few seconds with a mixture of guilt and gratitude, he knew you were giving up some of the few hours of sleep you had in favor of this and he appreciates that. If the coffee machine wasn't empty, he would've made some for you.

“Oh, no… I just arrived, you have nothing to worry about” he lied and walked to your side “Thank you for doing this”

“Uh, don't mention it” you mumbled, yawning once more.

“Can I offer you something? Well, anything that is not coffee that is…”

“Heh, I'm alright, don't worry about it. Shall we start?”

How fast can someone get interested in another person?

Not to say he didn't pay attention to you before. It's just that now he does it in a different way, another eyes, another heart.

Suddenly he sees your expression when you smile, the wrinkles on your face when you laugh at Daisuke's bad jokes or the sudden energy boost you get with him and Anya, ; the way you listen to Swansea's rants or roll your eyes at Jimmy. Which he doesn't really like.

For six days you had taught Curly the basics of dance.

For six mornings Curly had felt excitement of waiting for a new day. He wanted to learn about dancing, learn about you.

And then …

System Failure

System Failure

System Failure

"…"

He wished he wasn't so stupid. That he was a better man and stopped Jimmy, gave him a better punishment for his actions. But then again, his options weren't very promising, especially if it involved everyone's last pay.

But maybe he's just making excuses.

He wants to scream, to apologize, to Anya, to Swansea, Daisuke and you.

Maybe he wasn't the one who set up the ship towards the asteroid, but practically served the option for Jimmy in a silver plate. So it was the same, at least in his mind, as if he was the one in the seat.

It kills him, it kills him to be a prisoner in his own, decaying body that refused to die or at least that the other refused to let die. He now has to depend on Anya —as if things weren't nightmarish enough — to even breathe properly.

You started to help Anya a little bit after he got stabilized. Seeing how she was struggling with him, you wanted to relieve some of the burden from her shoulders. The first thing you did was try to give him his pills. He will never forget the look on your eyes, the shine of betrayal and uncertainty, you seemed to be observing a bizarre creature, a monster.

That made him feel he was burning all over again.

And despite that, you did it again. You continued to give him his pills and learn from Anya how to take care of him the best you could with the little equipment you had, the fearful and horrified expression you desperately tried to conceal for his sake turned to a resigned, yet kind one. You get used to the bandages, the smell of burned fresh he still emits and soon replace Anya on the duty of giving him his pills, giving the woman a little peace of mind.

You talk to him, more often than not, you tell him about your day, the plans to have to ensure your survival, what would you do once you get back to earth, the ideas you have to get another job and one of two comments about redoing the dance lessons once he recovers from his injuries, though clarifying that it was only if he was interested. As if you would survive this.

For him, that was what was keeping him alive. He could only dream of that future you were telling him, the things you were telling yourself to give both of you hope, to desperately keep the shine in your eyes to keep shining.

Though that could only work for so long. Especially after you and the rest of the remaining crew discovered the contents of the cargo.

Mouthwash.

So that's what he was dedicating his own life for, the reason he was climbing ladders for…

He couldn't help but let out a pained chuckle, surprising you, making you look as if he just performed a miracle.

Well, he supposes that if is his suffering all it takes to impress you, then he'll gladly give it to you. Anything that could give you some hope.

Things started spiraling, you had told him and sometimes he could even hear it from his spot in the infirmary. How Swansea broke his sobriety after all these years, how Daisuke started to drink too, how Anya and you tried to keep the situation at float, but what he was most scared of was how Jimmy seemed to start to act more… aggressive. If that was even possible. He was more demanding, more prone to outburst and you and him had had rows more often.

He would be lying if he was afraid that he would do something to you. You, who still tries to hold some hope and share it with him. You are a balm that manages to soothe at least some of the despair that crushes his chest and the electric torture his own muscles give him.

He promises himself, that if you two get out of here alive and manages to at least become a somewhat functional living being, even if it meant having some kind of shitty prosthetics, even if he had to learn to walk again, he would take you to a nice place, get you some nice clothes and dance with you all night.

Yes, yes he would. And for that, he needs to keep himself alive. To take responsibility for what happened, to have a life with you.

Then suddenly, one day you came, with a look of shock. You didn't say too much that day, only a few words.

“I know... I-I know what he did”

And you didn't need to say anything else.

And you stopped talking to him for what felt like an eternity. It was a week and a half, but with the silence of the room and Anya and Jimmy being the only ones coming here, it was torture for him.

He never thought he would feel more relieved when you started talking to him again. He cried, it hurted, it hurted like hell. You shushed him gently.

But you never talked about the future again. Sometimes you still didn't talk at all, the shine in your eyes replaced by a resignation that gave him chills.

And then, everything fell apart the moment Anya locked herself in the nursery, asking if you could look after Daisuke to make sure he was doing okay, she could give him his medicines, assuring you that she was capable and that you didn't need to worry about it.

She didn't give him his medicines.

Instead, he was forced to witness how she twitched and withered on the floor until her body no longer moved.

He heard Daisuke's screams before he appeared from that vent. The young boy saw Anya, eyes glossy and horrified and tried to beg for her to talk, hoping that she was still somewhat alive, to tell him everything would be okay. And between guilty sobs, he mentioned Jimmy's name and that you were gravely injured too.

His heart stopped at that moment.

What happened to you? What did he do? Are you okay? Will you make it? Or is it too late for you too?

It couldn't be, it couldn't.

Then everything seemed to happen in a blur, he barely remembers what came next. Jimmy and Swansea were in the infirmary, the latter betaring the first one for his foolishness, for what he did to you and Daisuke. When they inevitably found nothing that would help them, they left. An hour or so later, Daisuke's screams echoed through the hall. The door was upon, but the position they were on didn't allow him to see much. But he did see how Swansea held the ax above Daisuke. Then, Daisuke's breathing stopped echoing in the halls, then Jimmy came and grabbed the gun….

The fucking gun that was under him all along.

The gun Anya hid because she was afraid of him. And he couldn't understand why at that time.

And now that he does, he can't help but laugh, as strong as his body allows him. He can't do anything anymore, he's fucking useless, he can't do a damn thing. He can't be a good captain, a good friend.

A fucking decent human being in general.

Then there came the struggling, the echo of the gunshots.

He knew he was next.

He thought he was next.

He wished he was next.

How? How could he not see the type of creature that it was Jimmy?

His crew, what once was his crew, their bodies, crudely slumped against the chairs around the table. A party, for the death and the damned, a judgment for the two sinners left in this godforsaken coffin.

Your body was on the left, next to Anya's corpse. The way blood seeped from your face told a horrifying story of your last moments on this world, at the mercy of the monster that now held him. How he wished he could have been there, to protect you, to protect all of them.

How he wished this was nothing but a nightmare, that he could wake up at any moment, go to the lounge and wait for you to appear in your groggy state, still having droll on your cheek and your uniform all messy. He would give you something to drink, maybe not coffee. The machine would always be empty.

But once again, his illusions were shattered with the piercing pain of the knife sawing his flesh.

He screamed, from the pain of his flesh being slayed and his bone being broken, from the sight of his crew rotting around a table, reduce as nothing put twisted puppets for Jimmy's entertainment, for the person he cherished and gave him a reason to keep going, the one who gave him a future, gave him bliss even if they were on the bottom of the deeps of hell and made him feel that his dreams were true, motionless in front of him, and he wasn't able to even say goodbye.

He wasn't even granted the mercy of death. The demon didn't allow it. His twisted conscience believed he could somehow redeem himself if he managed to keep him alive.

Even if it means feeding him his own leg.

Even if it means putting him in the last cryopod while the coward escaped by the least painful way.

He didn't even have the strength to curse him one last time.

As the cold ice burned his exposed flesh, he couldn't help but wonder if things could have been different somehow. If he had the strength to oppose Jimmy, to at the very least stop him from crashing the ship. Would it be different?

It probably doesn't matter anymore. Not when he is going to spend the next twenty years or so frozen in time. He doesn't want anyone to come, a captain must go down with the ship after all.

Death sounds better if you are waiting for him on the other side.

[hardgum]

Alright, I'm gonna rant one last time and repost this because it actually explains most of my issues with season 2. This is what I mean when I say that stuff gets too weird and suddenly anything is possible.

On one side you have magic, weapons, the environment, I don't know what to call it. This is important, because it sets the stakes. If that stuff doesn't get established to a point where I can roughly guess how powerful things are and how they can be used, then anything is possible. Viktor could've sent a gigantic skybeam down on Piltover and Mel could've ridden a magical unicorn to fly up and stop him and it would've been reasonable within the given lor because there wasn't any. An example that done better was actually Ekko's Z-Drive. It can rewind four seconds, nothing more, nothing less. There's no weird stuff where e.g. Ekko suddenly appears twice, and you're never left wondering "Why didn't he just go back further?" Because the boundaries were clear.

On the other side you have character motivation. This is what lets me connect to a character. This has been missing on so many parts! Just like the other post mentions, in season 1 even the most minor character like Huck had his motivation established. If he helps Vi first, why does he betray her later? Because he's shown to be weak and timid and shimmer makes him strong, so he's addicted to it! Now compare that to Maddie's betrayal. Maddie did it because she was... Evil? Heartless? I guess? Apparently she was just a tool for Ambessa just as she was a tool for the story.

Talking about Ambessa: What even was her goal? Weaponization of Hextech to use it against the Black Rose I suppose? She clearly wanted to protect Mel, but when Mel disappeared we didn't even get to see Ambessa's reaction! Ambessa generally felt like she was just there to cause conflict, like she just wanted to murder everyone in her way to take over Piltover... and then what? Fight the Black Rose? Who are they even? Honestly, up until the end I wasn't sure if they're actually bad, or just a resistance group that has resorted to dark magic and deception to take down Noxian warlords! It's still unclear actually...

Honestly, I liked act2 mostly for reuniting Vi, Jinx and Vander, and even that happened too quickly, but it still worked for me because of the build-up (you kow, for character motivation) in season 1. Isha also has no character, but at least we got to see Jinx connect with her like a sister.

And then there's Ekko, who's an interesting case. I didn't get disconnected from him, HE got disconnected from the plot! I understood his character for ep7, but when her returned in ep9 he was suddenly able to connect with Jinx despite not having seen her since their fight on the bridge only because he met an entirely different version of her that he liked in the almost perfect universe? And it's not even properly shown?! I get that it would move him to give Jinx another chance, but this made it seem like he suddenly understood her, even though AU!Powder has nothing to do with her. He just reappeared after months of being gone, he has no idea what happened and what state she's in! And then he says one proper line and it just cuts away.

Many people praised season 1 for often going the "Show, don't tell"-route, but season 2 was neither show nor tell...

Anyway, like I said, last rant to put my frustration into words, I'm tired...

what made season 1 so stunningly good was that every scene could be explained with stuff that happened on screen.

Why did Vi know where to find Vander after Silco took him? well of course because of Ekko who was established in the first few minutes of the first episode to be the character to be on look out.

Why did Powder follow the others to the abandoned building? why because she wanted to feel useful, she wanted for her stuff to work and she wanted to help. She wanted to not be the Jinx. This was all established through character moments that were natural and normal human interactions.

Why did Mel invest in Jayce? Why because first of all her own mother sent her away so seeing Jayce's mother stand up for her son must've hit her. And we see her talking about having to find new investments. Of course she would. He sounds interesting enough. Why not try it? If it doesn't work banishment is still on the table.

Why did Viktor help Jayce? Because he didn't want to stand in Heimerdingers shadow as just an assistant anymore. He was sick and knew the problems of the undercity first hand, he wanted to help. Of course he would, if there was a chance hextech could do it.

Why did Marcus continue to help Silco even after Graysons death? Why, because of his daughter or course. He could be threatened, molded and used. He wanted to establish big things, and was hasty in his youth, and we see 1. Silco exploit that and 2. Marcus regret that.

Why did a shimmer induced Huck help Caitlyn out? Why because as early as the very first episode in Vanders first speaking scene he gets help from Vander and well why wouldn't he then show that help for Vi, knowing he can?

literally every scene makes sense, everything can be explained with stuff that we SEE in the show. There isn't anything "off screen" or just not there.

Now tell me

Why did Caitlyn suddenly switch sides again in season 2 act 2? Why and how did Mel know that her brother wasn't actually her brother? Why did she know how to solve the puzzle? Why is Viktor suddenly floating in the universe? Why does Ambessa just ignore her daughter being abscent outside of that one throw away line? Why do Maddie, Loris and Isha exist? Every chatacter existed for a reason that wasn't just Plot even if they sometimes were just for Plot in season 1. But Maddie, Loris and even ISHA for gods sake, really are just Plot. Isha not as much as Maddie and Loris and thank god for that but still, her character, while I still hope it isn't true, existed to die and further Jinx's pain.

it's just so ugh

Edit: A lot (and I mean a LOT) of people have told me how Kino did make sense and I agree with that now. Though I stand firm with my opinion that we should've gotten to know him before so we could have figured it out even easier with Mel, there were actually signs I didn't notice myself before. Thank's for that.

Plus I will not back down on the fact that Mel just knowing the solution to the puzzle "makes sense cause sHe WaS ShOwn TO Be gOoD WiTh PuZZLes" is stupid. Yes, I know she is smart and good with that. But that's like a whole different thing. It's such a leap I don't know how some of you don't see it.

[theflashjaygarrick]

It's so funny to me that DC sleepwalked into writing a fascinating story the cycle of abuse, the predatory nature of military-like structures, and the stifling nature of hegemonic masculinity with Hal Jordan and just pretended it never happened.

Like Hal's story is about how patriarchal authority figures punish 'boys' for failing to fit their standards of masculinity by hurting them or rejecting them. But if you play your cards right and model themselves after the patriarch then you can assume that role and access the power and freedom it brings. All you have to do is shut away any part of you that doesn't fit into the mould to be that man, and lie to yourself that this is who you have been all along.

Hal's story is about how well meaning young people can become tools to be used and discarded by authority. You are given the opportunity of power, of freedom, to help people so of course you take it. But remember what your father taught you, what failing to acquiesce to their rules means. So you make them unfalible Gods, and yourself their willing disciple, agreeing with them to the point that their oath becomes your own mantra. Sure they may break you, and dismiss you, and push you to ignore your gut feelings, but that doesn't matter. You're a hero and what you're doing is right. But that doesn't make it hurt any less when they push you past the limit you didn't believe you have, you have a taste of rebellion, and they cast you out as if you meant nothing to them.

Hal's story is one of being terrified of the cycle of abuse. You know your father was a cruel man. And yet you model yourself off him because what else could you do. He was a titan in your field, the sort of man people tell legends about. And more than that, despite everything, he was your father. you watched him die before you could even comprehend what abuse was, much process all that it meant. So you modelled yourself off of him, trying to take the good and leave the bad but unsure if that was ever possible. If your father was both a cruel man and a hero what does that make you? Is the monster there lying dormant as well? And how can you defeat it when you're scared of losing the things that made you a man.

Hal Jordan's story is one of growing past the masculinity forced upon you, of embracing your queer and feminine side as an act of radical healing. God has made you pay for your sins and in doing so gives you both boundless power and a role more harrowing then any you have had, with eons of history behind it. So you reject it. You make something new. Something kinder. Something that looks beyond the fire and brimstone and revenge and cruelty to find love and forgiveness and a brighter future. You search without yourself and find the feminine and the androgynous hidden without you and you begin to embrace them little by little.

You're not what your father wanted, nor the guardians, and maybe not even God (although maybe this is what they had planned all along?)

But there's a little girl in standing front of you with the fate of the universe resting on her shoulders. She calls you Auntie Hal. And with all the emotional walls you put up being brought down you can say you love her with an ease you never had before. And to her even now, the opposite of everything that your father and your society and your world said you should aspire to be, she thinks you are the most amazing person she has ever met.

[maudie-duan]

First Series!!!

Series Summary: For nearly two years, Harry has been fighting to keep his relationship with Olivia afloat. At what point does he make the choice to either endure or let the stain of the world defeat his ambitious hopes of a lasting relationship? Or will a single night and a fleeting encounter be enough to change the projection of Harry’s path? Maybe our ‘Mystery Girl,’ Shiloh, will just happen to be in the right place at the right time. 

A/N: You guys, this is my first series; bear with me. In no way, shape, or form is this meant to follow Harry’s actual life, nor are the facts or timelines real. This story will be from Harry and Shiloh’s POVs. I like switching between them. I’m nosy, and you get more details this way. So, if you like details, you’re in the right place. This story will be a slow burn, so hold tight. I’m glad you’re here!!! ENJOY!!!!

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Strong language, minor angst, eventual smut, emotional.

Harry’s (POV) Part 1- Mystery Girl

***

I don’t usually think of how my relationships will end, but I’ve been thinking about our ending—the consequence of our beginning looming over our heads as if it were a pleading prayer whispered into the night. When “I love you” no longer sufficed, the emptiness stretched between us and how fickle we were. How we continued seeking tiny moments, desperate to fill that void—A revolving door of new faces and places where we lay tucked away, pressing our bodies together like puzzle pieces, hoping that one day they would fit together—indefinitely.

Surely, we knew this wasn’t going to work, right? From the beginning, we’ve been on two different parallels, trying to make this work, trying to force a path through murky water when neither one of us knew when or how the tide would roll in—and here I am, miserable out of my fucking mind. In a shit headspace just waiting for this evening to end because there’s nothing worse than getting into a massive blowout right before an event. I can’t figure out what’s worse, the fight or the forced niceties. The last place I wanted to be was in public, but this is my life.

Olivia was on about something—actually, I don’t even remember what the fight was about this time, and that’s what it’s been lately. These bullshit fights about petty, senseless matters that take more energy to create than they do to fix. It’s just that she’s gotten so jealous and paranoid that I’m growing distant, that she’s the only one fighting to be in this relationship, and maybe she’s right.

—Side note: Before tonight, I really hadn’t been interested in anyone. Honest to god, I was truly in this wholeheartedly.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m constantly in the public eye, even if I think I’m lying low. There’s always a chance that someone will recognize me. The chances of someone taking a picture are even greater because everyone needs proof, or it didn’t happen, right? I personally don’t believe in this—but to each their own—If you know me and who I am, that’s precisely what you get. She knew this when we met, yet she insists that every move I make is for the world, like I can’t comprehend all of the sacrifices that she has made to be with me. Trust me, I know, and as of late, she’s taken every opportunity to throw it back in my face. 

In all honesty, I know that relationships take work, but isn’t there supposed to be balance? Somewhere along the way, we’ve lost that. We both jumped in feet first and now life seems to be catching up even faster—the constant push and pull in every direction is getting old. Everyone wants something, and she wants the most. It’s like she doesn’t understand the sacrifices that I’ve made. It’s not easy being the world’s biggest pop star and falling in love, but I felt she was worth it at the time.

And now she wants more—Roots that I can’t seem to give her. It’s like I’ve only just begun to find my own footing, stepping into the skin that finally feels right, that’s mine, and she wants nothing to do with it—She wants the control. She wants me to align with whatever she thinks our life should be.

I mean, I get it. I understand wanting the security of always knowing your next move or having a better grasp, but surely Olivia knew what she was getting herself into. It can’t be this big surprise that our life together isn’t panning out into what she had imagined, and the shittest part about it is that I don’t even want to try anymore. I don’t want the things that Olivia is trying to project onto me with every fight that ends with her begging me to choose her—is that not what I’ve been doing this whole time?

I’m lost in thought when Olivia whispers something into my ear. She had gone on and on about this Gucci Cruise show and was pissed when I decided I didn’t want to sit front row. I didn’t want to distract from the show or draw unwanted attention. Especially after that fight—God, that stupid fucking fight that left her in tears, her makeup a wet smear all over her face, almost making us late. 

Tonight was supposed to be memorable. How many people get the chance to attend a Gucci show? This was my first. It’s an honor that I wanted to appreciate and take in with the gratitude I feel not only for the brand but also for the friends I’ve grown quite close to.

“I just feel like the whole point of coming to a fashion show is to sit in with the audience and have a genuine experience of the clothes and the people—” Her comment is pointed and sets me off, so I do the asshole thing and walk toward someone I know leaving her alone with her underhanded comment.

Eventually, I walk over to the edge of the curtain, peering out into the crowd, trying to pinpoint faces I’ll see later, making a list of people I want to see or possibly avoid. As I skim the front row, my eyes land on a woman who looks vaguely familiar. Still, I can’t put a finger on it. She sticks out like a sore thumb. For instance, she is one of the few wearing dark sunglasses in a dimly lit room. Making her stand out in all black, except for the few accents that set her apart from everyone else around her, who are dripping with vibrant colors, something you would expect at a Gucci show—wild statement pieces, different patterns, and textures that ebb and flow amongst each other.

She was magnetic in a way that made it hard for me to look away. The light played off her features, creating a soft aura. A delicate ray of pink traced a faint glow around her. I couldn’t tell if it was an illusion or a trick of the mind in my rose-colored glasses. When I lowered my frames to get a clearer view, I found that she was just as stunning without them—and still, to this day, I can’t explain the feeling; it was like my soul took the lead, reaching out, hoping to find a tether. A single piece of thread that could tie me to her.

And there I stood, my mind spinning out of control. I don’t even know how long I stood there. How long I continued watching her, captivated by how the light seemed to dance with the shadows every time a model passed in front of her. Another thing I noticed was her ruby-red lip. How they spread into a shy smile, the light catching the gleam of her white teeth—a sight I imagined could be seen from anywhere in the room if you were fortunate enough to catch it. I observed her as she straightened upright and crossed her legs, almost as if she had suddenly become aware of her surroundings. Was she nervous? 

Her hair was slicked back into a sleek bun, tight against her scalp, making her features more pronounced and giving her a tidier appearance than everyone else. This timeless look could set anyone apart from the crowd, but what really caught my eye was the gilded chain dress that hugged her all-black attire underneath. I wanted to see her stand up. I wanted to know how the light played off the delicate beads draped from the woven metal. I wondered if it was uncomfortable for her or if she realized she stood out more than the celebrities around her. She had to be someone important, right? Not just anyone can sit front row at a Gucci show—Who is she?

As if she sensed my gaze, her head abruptly turned toward the curtains, causing me to jump back and bump into Olivia. “What the hell?” I hissed. 

Olivia stepped back, eyes wide, my words landing with a bite. I thought, “fuck is she about to make a scene?”—and yes, the bitterness was unnecessary, but it came more from defense than anger. I didn’t want to be found out. What was I doing anyway? How long had she been standing there? Could she see what I was looking at? Or could I pretend that I was trying to get a better view of the show, which was technically true, right?

“Can we please start over tonight?” she asks, almost pleading. “I know tonight is special for you.” Olivia runs her hands up my chest and cups my face.

“Okay…” I exhale. I want to have a good time, but a part of me knows I would enjoy myself more without her here, and it’s this very feeling that will haunt me all night, my thoughts like demons filling the room—unwanted guests that I’m no longer sure I want to keep at bay, and I know this isn’t fair. 

I couldn’t tell if it was the afterparty or the drinks that came with it, but eventually, the mind fog that plagued me throughout the evening began to lift. It was like a breath of fresh air, each drink diluting the pressure; the animosity threaded into every conversation Olivia and I had was evaporating. I could let go of the stress and relax into the theme of the night—and that was to have fun and fucking enjoy myself because I work hard, dammit.

It was getting easier to play into Olivia’s game of putting on for the coward. This was the part she liked; she loved putting on in a room full of people. She fucking thrived on the attention—she loved wearing me like a glove she could take on and off whenever she pleased. 

I was already three drinks in when I spotted my “mystery girl.” It surprised me—she was much shorter than I had imagined, but something was compelling about her presence. When she finally looked my way, I instinctively put my arm around Olivia, feeding into the lie, feeling like a fool when her eyes flitted over me with no recognition, piercing my ego in one swift look. I didn’t know what I thought would happen…actually, I’ll tell you exactly what I thought would happen. I thought my presence alone would be enough to garner her attention. Instead, I stood there stunned when her eyes lingered on Olivia, sending her a friendly smile as she mouthed the words, “I love your dress.” pulling at the strap of her dress to drive her compliment home.

Astonished, I stood by, holding my breath as the transaction morphed into Olivia mouthing a returned compliment, making ‘Mystery Girl’ beam and my chest swell with jealousy as she turned away, not even sparing me a second glance. She moved through the room effortlessly, like a hummingbird, moving from flower to flower fast yet graceful, donning that beautiful smile that had me begging her to look my way—just one more time. That’s all I would need. 

Was she a journalist? It seemed like everyone knew who she was. She spoke to everyone she encountered with such ease that each conversation I noticed flowed as if they were friends—though perhaps they were, but how was I to know? At some point, I lost her in the night, or maybe I knew I had to release her from my thoughts. I wanted to end the night on a high note, not go home with a suspecting partner to whom I would have to explain myself later. 

So, by drink five, I was being pulled onto the stage with Stevie, duetting a few songs, and as I closed my eyes, singing out the lines:

Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?

Can the child within my heart rise above? 

Can I sail through the changin’ ocean tides?

Can I handle the seasons of my life?

I opened my eyes as we swayed into the chorus, browsing the crowd. My gaze locked with Olivia’s, who was crying, tears streaming down her face, a pained look of grief stealing her features. We shared a look of understanding. Maybe even realization, but it hit me hard, the sadness creeping up my spine as she turned and moved away from the crowd, and I noticed her bump into Alessandro, who caught her by the arm with a concerned look on his face. I pulled away from the microphone, my voice choking up, and I let Stevie take over. We both knew that our world was crumbling right before our eyes and when I glanced back over, searching for Olivia, she was gone. 

A/N: Ya'll let me know in the comments what you think. I'd love to get your feedback. If you think I should continue?? Hope you guys enjoyed!

[millieisawriter]

La redención de un tonto

javier escuella x reader

summary: the fall of the van der linde gang was the thing that doomed what had been between you and javier. you loved each other, you truly did, but after he chose dutch's side, and you stood by arthur, you knew this is the end. however, a few years later the fate had led you right back to javier.

wc: 2.7k

all pics taken from pinterest

!!!rdr2 spoilers!! rdr1 spoilers too i guess?

♡this was requested!♡

a/n: okay so i have never played rdr1 nor have i watched any gameplays, but i conciously spoiled it to myself after having finished rdr2, so i know what happens in rdr1, but forgive me if i have missed some details from the game

You never had the intention of heading to Mexico. Well, back when you and Javier were a thing, he always talked about how he was someday going to take you there. But due to what happened to the gang, it never happened, so you buried the memories six feet deep.

Long story short, Javier sided with Dutch and his ideas that got crazier each day, one worse than the other. On one hand you understood his loyalty, but you looked at the problem more objectively. Dutch's brilliant ideas were dangerous, leading the gang into a dead end, from where there was no saving.

"Loyalty is the only thing that can save us." Javier would often remind you.

By then, the gang had moved somewhere near Annesburg. The damn cave you had cleared of its previous tenants was making the camp feel cold, unfamiliar, even scary. Or maybe it wasn't the cave's fault. So much had changed the past few months since that failed job in Blackwater.

"Look, I love Dutch like a father, he practically raised me," you had replied, "but right now he's leading us all into a grave!"

"So what, you're going to side with Arthur? With John? Turn your back on everything we've built?"

"I can't be with you if you support ideas of a man who doesn't give a shit about none of us anymore!"

In that moment, you had been ready to leave. If only Javier wanted to, you two would have left the gang, keep your head low for some time, and eventually leave a happy ever after.

But that never happened. Javier had been blinded by his loyalty to Dutch, and you saw it even without Arthur pointing it out. Because Dutch saved Javier's life a few years before, Javier was now willing to give it up for plans that were doomed from the start.

After you had left, you had no idea what happened to any of the others. You've heard a whisper here and there in saloons, talking of the great fall of the Van Der Linde gang, some people that died, but never any details.

"I guess this is where we part ways." You had stated the last time you ever saw Javier. It were as if you needed to say it for yourself, because it still didn't feel real.

Old you never thought a breakup with Javier would ever have to happen. But then, the old Javier wouldn't put Dutch over the love of his life. Maybe it just wasn't what you were to him, after all.

He knew you still loved him, even if you hated you were on separate edges of the war within your gang. "You don't mean that."

Did he say that because he still loved you too? Or was he just so full of himself? In that moment it hit you, the memory of how John had called Javier a cynic that tried so hard to be a romantic. Maybe the fall of the gang caused Javier's true colors to show.

"I do." Tears appeared in your eyes when you thought about how you'd often imagine saying these words to Javier, but in slightly different circumstances.

For a moment, you thought he might argue, that he would try to convince you one last time. But instead, he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. There was sorrow, and regret. And the sign of an internal struggle within him.

"Then go," his final words pierced your heart, "just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart."

Like a prophecy, everything did fall apart. The next few years were so difficult for you. You couldn't get a job, you had practically nothing left. You left the gang, but you never left the life of crime. It was the only way of living you knew.

The price on your head grew, at some point you stopped keeping track of how much it was. You had no way to redeem yourself, but there wasn't a thing you'd regret. You did what you had to in the order to survive. Regret wouldn't feed you, and it sure as hell wouldn't protect you from the men who wanted your head.

The next job was supposed to be simple. You were going to deliver a shipment of rifles to a small band of people like yourself near the border. But nothing ever went according to plan and you were ambushed. You ran, and all you knew was that now you were in Mexico, the place you were supposed to someday visit with the man you once had loved.

Coming back to America would be too risky, maybe fate just wanted for you to end up in Mexico, so after weeks of travel you thought you finally found a safer place to rest. The building looked like an abandoned house, falling apart, but it was better than the lack of any roof over your head.

You woke up one night to a group of unfamiliar male voices talking to each other outside. In Spanish, so you didn't even understand a single word. Before you could silently flee, the door opened, and you had been found by a group of Mexican bounty hunters.

Maybe it was the dehydration, the hunger, the lack of good sleep, but you could swear one man looked way too familiar.

"Javier..?" You asked quietly, to shocked to be scared by the three other men pointing their guns at you.

"¿La conoces?" One of the men asked, as Javier's shocked expression didn't go unnoticed.

["Do you know her?"]

Javier quickly recomposed himself, as if slipping into a role. "Es mía." It was a gamble, but Javier had always been good at those.

["She's mine."]

"¿De qué carajos estás hablando, Escuella?"

["What the fuck are you talking about?"]

"Vale más viva. Y no pienso compartir la recompensa. Váyanse ahora o ninguno de ustedes se va a ir caminando."

["She's worth more alive. And I'm not going to share the reward. Leave now, or none of you will walk away walking."]

The other bounty hunters passed knowing looks among each other. "Bien," one of them nudged Javier, you reckoned it was a playful gesture, "es tu problema."

["Fine, she's your problem."]

The other men left, and you were confused. How the hell were you having a reunion with Javier in such circumstances? As if out of habit, your reached for your gun, resting your hand on the holster at your hip.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, standing up.

"I could ask you the same thing, querida." He raised his hands to show you he doesn't mean bad. "I'm not going to hurt you." He's always had an accent when he spoke in English, which you had always adored. Now, the accent was even more prominent.

You pointed the gun at him, unlocking it. "Yeah, just hand me over so I can swing." You snapped. "That's the great Javier Escuella! Bounty hunting, of all things! That's ridiculous!"

"At least it's honest work. Continuing the way you chose... did you think the law will never catch up to you?"

"That's rich coming from you."

Javier's jaw muscles twitched, betraying the calmness was just a mask he put on. He lowered his hands slowly, but didn't reach for his weapon. "You don't know what I've been through. I lost everything."

"Just as I did! I've lost the gang, the life we had... you..." you paused before you seethed at him, "don't you dare act like you're the only one who's suffered. Nothing justifies selling people out for a few... whatever currency you have here."

Javier's gaze softened, you could swear you saw his lips twitch into a smirk momentarily. "I didn't sell you out, did I?"

Suddenly, the words 'then go, just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart,' rang in your mind again. Truth be told, those words were said in anger, and right now... Javier was far from angry.

He hadn't seen you in years, but he still loved you. Maybe even more than before. After the gang fell appart, he quickly came to the conclusion you were the love of his life. There was no one better before, nor after. Meeting you again was felt like life giving him another chance.

"Why don't you sell me out, then?" You asked, lowering your weapon.

Javier smirked, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious to you. "Because I don't want you to swing, querida." He took a few steps closer, carefully as if approaching a wild animal.

"You don't get to suddenly act as if you care." Your voice was aggressive, but it sounded forced, almost cracking. "Let me go, and tell your... friends that I ran away."

"I couldn't let you go for all these years. You think I haven't thought about you every day since we parted? You think I don't regret the choices I made?"

You knew Javier has always had a way with words. In the charming way, not in the brash way Sean used to. Javier's words were like quiet, seductive whispers whenever he wanted or needed them to be. And maybe right now he just needed to sweet-talk you into giving in.

"Regret doesn't mean shit," you tried to snap at him, "you chose Dutch over me. We could leave the gang, leave a good life—"

Javier interrupted you, "Dutch knew how to get inside our heads."

"Just help me get out of here."

Javier took a deep breath, glancing outside the broken window momentarily. He could see the other bounty hunters leaving, the road's dust raising at their horses' hooves. They were far enough.

"Fine." Javier said finally, his voice disappointed.

The man grabbed your wirst, sternly but without hurting you. Now that he had you again, he was supposed to let you go. That wasn't what he wanted.

After he led you outside, you felt his grip loosen up to eventually let go of your wrist completely. Contrary to what it should make you feel, you were... disappointed? As if at some point you thought he would fight harder to win you back.

Then you realized. Javier didn't want to part ways again, but neither did you. And just when you thought there was no more hope, the man spoke up.

"You don't know this place," he said, "you're hungry, exhausted, don't know the language. Let me help you."

Your stomach had been empty for a long time, your legs ached, and the pounding in your head was getting unbearable. There were more reasons not to trust Javier, than to trust him, but you needed help. Maybe you could just sneak away after he helps you.

"And what do you get out of this?" You asked.

"I get to make up for my mistakes." He replied. "I'll show you I'm not the same man that let you go. Maybe I'll even get to keep you safe this time."

"I don't need saving. I can survive on my own."

"Not here, querida. This isn't the United States. How are you going to survive if you don't know how to even buy a damn apple in Spanish?"

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. "Don't need talking to steal."

"And make your bounty grow?" He sighed. "Admit it, you need help. Let me to that, please."

You replied after a moment of silence, "Fine. But don't think it makes up for what you did."

Javier nodded, smiling faintly. He led you to his horse, offering his hand to help you mount. Hesitantly, you took it. You pride didn't want to, but you were too exhaused.

Before climbing up himself, Javier reached for his sombrero and handed it to you. "Here."

It wasn't much, but it was better than leaving your face fully exposed, so you accepted it. You hoped wearing a man's hat didn't mean the same thing in Mexico as it did in the United States, but you tried to push that thought away regardless.

Then, you pulled the bandana from around your neck up over your face, completing the makeshift disguise. It was better than nothing, but what you really needed, were new clothes. Maybe something that wouldn't scream wanted criminal.

Some time later, a time that felt like enternity to you, Javier's horse came to a stop at a saloon. It looked as if it was about to collapse, but apparently the interior was full of life.

"Don't worry," Javier reassued you, dismounting, "most of them got a bounty on their heads. No one will care."

You reluctantly followed Javier inside. The saloon was dimly lit, and no one even seemed to care when you two walked inside. Despite the location being rather safe, Javier paid for a room, and that was where you ate your meal.

The meal wasn't fancy, but it tasted like heaven after weeks of surviving on whatever you could find. Either the saloon's cook was wasting his talent working in a place like this, or the fact that you hadn't had a proper meal in so long made it seem that way.

Javier leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. "Good?" He asked.

You nodded, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah."

Javier watched you for a moment longer before looking away. For all the tension between you, there was something in his gaze that you recognized well. Inside the man he was now, was still the man you once loved.

He was different. Older, worn by life and everything that had happened the past few years, but so were you. Thinking about what to say next, you moved from the tiny table to the bed.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, making Javier's eyes shift back to you.

"Because..." he hesitated, "I never stopped thinking about you, about what happened. I didn't even know if you were alive. I was a fool, querida. I thought loyalty was everything, that Dutch had all the answers. Turns out he didn't, and it cost me the only thing that ever really mattered."

You didn't know what to reply. Of course, years of anger wouldn't disappear after a bunch of nice words. But it definitely cracked the surface of your shell. Part of you wanted to push him away, to protect yourself. But another part wanted to believe him, the part that saw in him your former lover.

When you didn't answer, Javier continued talking, making a bold move by sitting down on the bed. Right next to you. What it made you feel was so familiar yet so distant, you had to shift in spot, attempting to make the distance between the two of you a bit bigger. It barely worked.

Javier leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He wasn't looking at you when he spoke. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness," he couldn't look at you when he said this, "but I need you to know I never stopped loving you."

His words were an arrow that pierced right through your heart. As painful as it was, his feelings for you never faded. Even back when he made that choice to stand by Dutch. Especially then.

You took a breath to reply, but you couldn't come up with any words. So it just sounded as if you let out a sigh. That didn't make Javier feel any better.

He turned to look at you. "I'd take it all back if I could. I'd leave it all behind for you, right here, right now. Just say the word."

It was the way he said it that finally broke your shell completely. The way his voice was vulnerable. It proved to you that he wasn't trying to manipulate you.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand. He didn't know what to do, but he surely didn't want you to let go.

"You're an idiot." You said, but your voice was soft, without malice. "But so am I for what I still feel for you."

Judgning by how he's been acting, you thought he'll catch a hint this is the moment where he kisses you. It seemed as if he was too stunned to react immediately, so you took the matters in your own hands and leaned in.

It started hesitantly. He kissed you back, but the both of you were carefully walking along the thin thread of any trust that there was left. It took Javier a moment, but his hands eventually pulled you closer. He used to think he had lost you forever, so when he finally found you again... he didn't want to let go.

[owlcafe]

Socialisation, I think, is similataneously much broader and narrower than what it's given credit for. Broader in the sense that, as noted, we recieve messaging about every available social role, not just the ones we are presumed to inhabit, but also narrower in that it responds to much more textured individualised factors than just assigned gender.

In my case, have left manhood behind but not truly taken up femininity either, I find it easier to speak and relate to women than to men (on a very general level). In this way, I am "typical", insofar as such a thing exists - my current position doesn't align with the binary gender category I left behind, so it doesn't appear to be well-explained by "male socialisation".

But when you put it under a magnifying glass, it's in fact almost the opposite. As a young child, I grew up rurally, where men were supposed to. I don't know fix tractors and kill rattlesnakes with their bare hands or something? None of the men in life actually did that, but they all insisted that they could. When I was 11, I started attending an all-boys boarding school - the real stick-up-the-ass kind that envisions itself (not inaccurately) as a cultivator of the next generation of leaders and high-flyers. To be clear, this is not because it's a good school, it's because the fees are so high that, without scholarships or financial support, the only people who can afford to attend are the social classes that were born into that level of power and privilege. The school's dumbass Latin motto is "do the manly thing" - so suffice to say they were very concerned with what masculinity is and should be.

This was an essential part of my whole non-binary awakening. Being in this place - literally living 24/7 - in this absurd culture unstable, hormonal teenagers, most of whom were so rich they'd never been told no, constantly policing and forcing their own developing sense of masculinity on each other, my experience of "male socialisation" was explicitly coercive. As a result, many of my most unpleasant memories, and the experiences that encouraged me to abandon manhood in the first place, were being treated like a man by other men. It was "manning up", giving away feminised interests, not feeling and, most upsetting to me, a degrading and pervasive sexualisation of women (although, there's this other weird thing that happens - the only women around in an all-boys school are teachers, and they have the institutional power of the school. So sometimes, the desire to create their sense of self as "a man" who is superior to "women" gets displaced onto the nearest thing to a woman they can find. That's a different topic, but suffice to say some of them detected that I was not a man).

All this to say, when I look at my life in the abstract, being male was, at most, a secondary aspect of my socialisation. My relative warmth with women as opposed to men derives from these painful experiences of coercive masculinisation from other men, and my interactions with men in the present are tinted by those memories. Interestingly, I recently moved countries, and I'm finding this is starting to break down. Perhaps because I'm already demarcated as a foreigner, and because I first came into this culture as an adult, men are much less interested in my masculinity and more amenable to the idea of taking me as I am, so I'm not finding the same difficulties interacting with men here that I sometimes had back home. None of this is particular to all "males" , nor all people who transition away from manhood. There's no one category that conveniently explains my social experience and the way it influences me now en grosse. If such a category exists, it would have to be so detailed and contain so many specific identifiers that, while it likely wouldn't contain only me, would probably only contain a handful of people, at which point it fails to be a useful category for broad social analysis.

In general, I would invite anon and anyone reading to the idea that your gender might not matter in the way we've been raised to think it does. It certainly matters - what you identify as deserves respect and can bring you joy - but it is not determinative. Large-scale social theories have to streamline things to make sense for swathes of people that may only share surface-level similarities at best, so even good ones don't always telescope down well to explaining your personal experiences. Bad ones, like the theory of gendered socialisation, will almost always fail in this regard. So, I would try and divest your experiences from your identity. There's no wrong way to be transfemme, or things you have to do to qualify. There will be ways in which your life as a transfemme is typical, and ways in which it is atypical. The only thing that matters is that is the life that you want to live at this moment. It can be painful to feel as if you don't fit the flow of The Grand Narrative TM, but it can also be freeing to realise that it was never written for one person to live out. In short, value yourself beyond the identity. When you strip everything away, you are a person, and that person deserves to live happily and freely.

I keep seeing the posts about male socialization and idk it makes me feel weird because I identify as transfem and I *do* believe I had male socialization. I find it easier to identify with and understand male groups and to feel involved in the while I feel less at ease understanding how women feel and think even though my personal view of myself leans more towards a feminine identity. All these posts make me doubt that I am truly "transfem" and that even if I am, that I am fundamentally transfem in a different way than most other transfems I run into. Is there any sources or writing out there that either provides a counter-perspective or at the very least points to nuance on this subject from a transfem lens? I wish I didn't feel so alone with these feelings.

Your feelings and experience do not make you any less legitimate as a transfeminine person. A lot of trans women rightfully and understandably need to counteract the notion that they're oppressive privileged males or whatever by asserting, as clearly as they can, the many ways in which their socialization was a female socialization, with all the double-standards, demanded emotional labor, sexual predation, etc that entails -- but the very need to assert these things is due to the culture's twisted misconceptions about what gender even is and how it operates.

It's not as though a young person only gets the socialization of the binary gender to which they were assigned -- they get mandatory cishet socialization, and they see what is expected of the "other" gender, and that impacts them, and the standards for that other gender also influence how they are interpreted and seen.

And so I do think, to a certain extent, that when trans people assert that we actually didn't get socialized as our assigned gender at birth, we got socialized as the correct gender, actually, we are unfortunately ceding ground to the transphobes on a couple of key points. One, we're conceeding that there is a singular binary socialization that the two genders each get, which are separate from one another and always exhibit specific features, and two, that a person's socialization as a young person is a key determinant of their gendered experience, privilege, and identity forever, no matter what happens after they are young.

And you know, both those things are totally wrong. There is no one female socialization. I've written about this before, but I wasn't raised to be feminine. I was raised the way working-class girls are raised, which is to be no-nonsense, unfrivolous, serious, sporty, and capable -- a wife and mother, but the kind that never wears a skirt or cries in front of people. And there is no singular "male" socialization either -- I cite a few trans femme people in this piece who experienced themselves as having some male privilege before they transitioned, and some more typically "male" experiences, while also quoting a number of trans women whose lives went the exact opposite way. I assert in the piece that their experiences are theirs to name, and that there's a number of different ways we might each understand and categorize them personally -- especially when we take into account how much gendered socialization is dependent upon class, race, immigration status, diasporic status, and much more.

My view is that however you think your live played out, and whoever you find community alongside, you're right. I'm about to answer a similar ask about this from a trans masc perspective, but I'm a guy who has a ton of women friends and always have. I grew up mostly with girls as my closest buddies and we did things like playing pretend and having slumber parties and doing makeovers. I could chalk this up as a "female socialization" experience I guess if I wanted to. But I also grew up with a lot of gay boys, and I am a gay man, and guess what -- a lot of us grow up with predominately female friends. I don't think I have some essential feminine quality because my friends kept insisting on putting eyeshadow on me when I was ten. The fact I was bad at sports and couldn't be the tough, no-nonsense person that my culture expected me to be was gonna affect me whether I was a boy or a girl. And my upbringing was significantly different from that of one of my very best, oldest friends, whose family owned a successful business and were able to buy her a car and a horse and shit.

You're not betraying anything or lessening your own transfemininity by resonating with some typically "male" experiences or for having close male connections. Lots of queer women do! Just like I have plenty in common with lots of women! We don't say that cis women aren't women because they grew up tomboys, or had a ton of brothers, and the same is true of you. Even if you don't think of your younger self as "a tomboy" or even as a girl. You don't have to ascribe to the narrative that you were always one gender and always moved through the world with that identity. To demand that all trans people do so is respectability politics -- we cannot and should not require that all people be trans in the same ways. I have written before that transition to me feels at once both pre-ordained AND a choice that I made. You can say that you lived as a boy for some years or were a boy if that feels right to you, or that you had certain privileges while also suffering from dysphoria and disconnection; it's your life and you know it best and what serves you.

I wish I had narratives from trans women writers to direct you to, but for the most part the trans women who I've heard express feelings like yours have been in the support and discussion groups I've been in, and in private conversation -- I think because the socialization experiences of trans femmes are so unfairly politicized. I hope if any trans femme people see this have anything to share or any words to say that they will!