#and for some reason that makes me feel even worse

[lizziesangel]

AN ANGSTY ASS REQUEST, I wanna cry and I know you are gonna do amazing. Love your writing. Kind of backstory: So.....Reader is the love of Rafe’s life and the only person who has shown him kindness and given him affection. They are kidnapped for some reason, perhaps kept on a boat, and she falls overboard. Rafe escapes. A BODY (not hers, but can’t be certain) gets washed up at some point and she is determined to be dead. So just kind of as back story....you don't need to write that part if you don't want to <3 So present/and well....the request really: Funeral is held and everything. He is walking around for about 2 months, mourning her, being an ABSOLUTE WRECK. He has nightmares constantly about her and when he’s awake, she haunts him still. He is drinking all the time because he can’t cope. UNKNOWN……she survived but was still held captive. She manages to escape and breaks into his house. HE THINKS HE IS OUT OF HIS MIND, DRUNK but it’s such a teary felt reunion when he realizes that she’s real. Maybe he gives her a bath (cus lets be real) and takes care of her (and again, let's be real, she is probably really weak) and is just shaking with relief, happiness and is so soft with her :(

wow, this is such an amazing request, i absolutely love this!!

the salty air was sharp and cold, biting against your skin as the boat rocked beneath your feet. it wasn’t the gentle sway of a calm ocean—it was erratic, violent, as if the sea itself mirrored the chaos that had unfolded in the past few hours.

rafe’s face was bloodied, his lip split and bruises already blooming along his jaw. his wrists were bound behind his back, the ropes digging into his skin as he struggled against them. he was glaring at the men surrounding him, his usual cocky bravado barely masking the sheer terror in his eyes.

“look,” rafe growled, his voice low and dangerous, though it cracked with desperation, “you’ve got me. i’ll get you your money. just let her go. she doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

one of the men, a grizzled figure with a jagged scar running down his cheek, barked out a laugh. “you don’t get it, do you? you think you can screw us over and just walk away? nah.

“you’re gonna feel what it’s like to lose everything.”

the words sent a shiver down your spine. you’d known rafe’s life wasn’t clean—he carried the weight of bad decisions and even worse company—but you never thought it would come to this. the fear in his eyes, barely veiled beneath his fury, was enough to make your heart clench.

“please,” you interjected, your voice trembling as you stepped closer. “please, just let us go. we won’t—”

the sharp crack of a slap silenced you, the force of it sending you stumbling back. rafe surged forward, his shout of rage muffled by the gag they shoved into his mouth.

“enough talking,” the scarred man said coldly. “you want to play the hero, cameron? let’s see how much you care about her.”

before you could react, multiple strong hands grabbed your arms. you thrashed against them, your heart pounding as you looked back at rafe. his eyes were wild, his muffled cries growing frantic as the men dragged you toward the edge of the boat.

“no!” you screamed, your voice raw as the dark water loomed closer. the waves were fierce, crashing against the sides of the vessel, the moonlight glinting off their surface like shards of broken glass.

“rafe!” you cried, your voice breaking.

he was struggling so hard now that blood began to seep from where the ropes cut into his wrists. his muffled shouts were desperate, pleading.

“throw her over,” the scarred man commanded.

“no! please—” you begged, but it was too late.

the cold hit you like a thousand needles, stealing the air from your lungs as you plunged into the frigid ocean. the world above became muffled, the boat a distant silhouette against the black sky as you were swallowed by the waves. you fought to stay afloat, the current pulling at you like unseen hands.

above, rafe was a man undone. he thrashed violently, his screams muffled and his face twisted in agony. “let me go! i’ll kill you! i’ll kill you!” the men barely paid him any mind as they turned the boat, leaving the spot where you disappeared into the water.

“you better hope she’s a good swimmer, cameron,” the scarred man sneered. “and you’d better figure out how to pay us back.”

the funeral rafe held was a quiet affair, not because you deserved anything less, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of it being a spectacle. the small, secluded chapel was filled with the scent of lilies and a suffocating weight of sorrow. he sat in the front row, shoulders hunched, his trembling hands clutching the edge of the pew.

he couldn’t look at the casket, though it was empty.

the minister’s words were hollow, background noise to the storm raging inside him. “a kind soul, taken too soon…” “beloved by all who knew her…” every word made his chest ache. rafe clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, willing himself not to break down in front of the small group of mourners.

afterward, when the empty coffin was lowered into the ground, he stood motionless, staring at the fresh mound of earth. a few people offered condolences, their words shallow and meaningless. he didn’t respond, barely even acknowledged them. what could they say? no words could bring you back.

once everyone left, rafe stayed behind. minutes turned into hours as he sat on the damp grass, staring at the grave as though he could will it to undo itself. he whispered apologies to the air, his voice breaking. “i should’ve done something. i should’ve stopped them. i’m so sorry, my baby.”

the days that followed bled together into a haze of grief and self-loathing.

rafe couldn’t stand being at home. every corner of the house reminded him of you. the couch where you’d curled up with a blanket and a book, the kitchen where you’d danced with him to music only the two of you could hear—it was all too much. he turned to the only thing that numbed the pain: alcohol.

whiskey became his constant companion, the burn in his throat a welcome distraction from the ache in his heart. he barely ate, barely slept. the nightmares wouldn’t let him. every time he closed his eyes, he saw you falling, the cold water dragging you under while he screamed your name. he’d wake up drenched in sweat, his chest heaving, the echo of your voice fading into silence.

he stopped answering his phone. friends tried to check in on him, but he pushed them away. he couldn’t face their pity, couldn’t stand the thought of them telling him to “move on.”

how could he move on when the love of his life was gone?

the two-month mark came and went, and rafe was a shadow of the man he used to be. his once meticulously styled hair was unkempt, his clothes rumpled, his face hollow from lack of sleep and too many sleepless nights spent drowning in liquor.

he spent most of his days wandering aimlessly, haunted by memories of you. he would catch glimpses of you everywhere—in the stranger who had your laugh, in the perfume that smelled like yours. his heart would leap, only to crash when he realized it wasn’t you.

one evening, he found himself on the beach, the waves crashing against the shore. he sank into the sand, letting the cold wind whip against his face. he stared at the horizon, the sun dipping below the water in a blaze of gold and crimson.

“i don’t know how to do this without you,” he whispered to the empty expanse of ocean. his voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands, the weight of his grief crushing him.

for rafe, the world had stopped the moment you disappeared. time dragged on, but he remained frozen, lost in a limbo of regret and longing. he didn’t know if he could survive without you.

he wasn’t sure he even wanted to.

his nightmares were relentless. every second he closed his eyes, he was back on that boat, watching helplessly as you were thrown overboard. the icy waves swallowed you, your desperate cries for help echoing in his ears. he’d wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, his chest heaving as he reached out for you in the darkness—only to find cold sheets and empty space.

you weren’t there, and the realization gutted him every time.

the only way he knew how to cope was to drown himself in alcohol. bottles littered the floor of his house, their contents his only escape from the crushing weight of his grief. the whiskey blurred the edges of his pain, but it never truly numbed it. instead, it left him hollow, stumbling through a life that felt meaningless without you.

the storm outside was fierce, rain pelting against the windows and wind howling like a wounded animal. rafe sat slumped on the couch, a nearly empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. he stared blankly at the television, though he wasn’t watching it. the sound was muted, the images flickering across the screen as if mocking his apathy.

the sharp sound of glass shattering upstairs jolted him from his stupor. for a moment, he froze, his foggy mind struggling to process it. he shook his head, muttering to himself, “you’re losing it, rafe.”

but then he heard it again—a faint creak of floorboards. His heart began to race, adrenaline cutting through the haze of alcohol. grabbing a nearby lamp as a makeshift weapon, he stumbled toward the stairs, each step heavier than the last.

he pushed open the bedroom door, his breath hitching at what he saw.

you were there.

at first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind. you stood by the window, your body bruised, your clothes torn and soaked from the rain. your hair was a tangled mess, your face pale and gaunt, but it was you.

“rafe…” your voice cracked, barely more than a whisper.

“n... no,” he muttered, shaking his head. his grip on the lamp tightened. “you’re not real. you’re not—”

“i am,” you interrupted, taking a shaky step toward him. “i got away. i—i’m here.”

the lamp fell from his hands, clattering to the floor as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. when your knees buckled, he lunged forward, catching you before you could hit the ground.

the moment your weight fell into his arms, he knew. you were real.

a sob broke from his throat as he held you tightly, his fingers digging into your sides as if afraid you’d disappear again. “you’re alive,” he choked out, his voice raw. “oh, my God, you’re alive.”

“i am,” you murmured weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt. “i am.”

rafe carried you to the bathroom, his arms trembling with relief and adrenaline. he set you down on the edge of the tub, his hands shaking as he turned on the water, testing the temperature to make sure it wasn’t too hot.

“i... i need to—you need to get cleaned up,” he said, his voice unsteady. he avoided your eyes, his movements jerky and unsure. “you’re freezing. God, you’re so cold.”

you didn’t protest, too weak and tired to do much more than nod. he helped you out of your soaked clothes, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with guilt and tenderness.

once the tub was filled, he eased you into the warm water, his heart breaking at the way you winced. he knelt beside the tub, his sleeves rolled up as he carefully washed away the grime and salt from your skin. his hands trembled as they ran through your hair, untangling the knots with a tenderness that brought tears to your eyes.

“i thought i lost you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i thought—i thought you were gone forever.”

“i almost was,” you admitted, your voice barely audible.

tears streamed down his face as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your damp hair. “you’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m not letting you go again. i promise.”

after the bath, rafe wrapped you in the softest towel he could find and carried you to his bed. he brought you water, food, anything you might need, though you barely managed a few bites. he sat beside you, his hand never leaving yours, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

that night, for the first time in months, he didn’t have nightmares. Instead, he fell asleep with you in his arms, the steady rhythm of your breathing the only sound he needed to finally find peace.

CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚｡⋆

@maybankslover ⟢ @diorstarkey

[romantic-misty]

about this kind of posts... I finally have to say smth because I'm annoyed both ways:

(sorry OP, I don't wanna offend you - I wanna offend some sort of ppl)

you shouldn't tell people your (actually human's) basic needs, if you need to beg for bare minimum it's not your fault they don't show effort nor even ask anything because it doesn't cross their mind to do simplest things somehow, they're just egoistic non caring assholes and you repeating yourself won't help much

some ppl can't truly guess some stuff which means they also can not question you on the matter they have no idea about so sure! speak your mind - tell 'em what you like and hopefully they will understand and remember - nobody is a telepath and you should inform others about your thoughts from time to time instead of forcing them to always jump around you or else "they don't give a fuck about you" or smth as it's probably untrue

just because EVERYONE doesn't mean you also have to be like this - if someone is manipulating/forcing you to do things you don't wanna because it's "normal" - believe me, it's not and even if - you have a right to be "weird" so different

not everyone has to say YES forever to something, people have moods and change their mind, remember to explain or at least tell someone you aren't in the mood or changed your mind but also don't forget asking each other if someone is into smth at the current moment unless otherwise specified like "you always can hug me unless I tell you to stop" and such, mistakes and accidental crossing boundaries happen but most important thing are good intention and a lot of discussing, don't break someone's trust constantly proving it wasn't a one time thing

if you weren't assertive enough and someone took advantage of you - don't blame yourself for not saying NO (especially if they were constantly making you feel unsafe to actually stop them or brainwashed you into thinking you want this etc.) - they should check if you're fine with smth and not use the fact you froze and was unsure or didn't have time to set certain boundaries, topis should also continue after certain actions and you can go back to it anytime! no matter what others say - it's never too much for the right person <3

you doing something you hate or what even traumatises you to meet someone's needs because it's compromise... no, it's not - if you're not enough for someone doesn't mean smth is wrong with you - it's probably not a match and that is ok! you will be loved elsewhere by being yourself, if someone cares more about their needs than hurting you with them then they're not a good person (yes, it's mostly about sexual needs) - and no, cheating isn't a proof you didn't give them enough, they can always leave but they're cowards and want to have both :)

if you sh or have depression - don't assume no one gives a shit about you just because they don't question you when you say "I'm fine" - harsh truth - even tho I totally understand why you say that phrase still nobody has to do anything besides accepting it - they might feel like you don't wanna talk about it as it's either personal or you don't trust them enough and maybe just prefer to take your mind out of this as topic is triggering so they won't risk making you feel even worse, say the truth or tell them why you don't wanna talk about certain things because lying to people might make them truly believe you, they have their own issues too they can be occupied with, they can be simply tired and even feel hurt that you don't want to open up to them or show their respect in this way and let you have space - you don't know what's in their mind so if you assume smth about them then think how they feel when you decide to hide the truth from them - as I said, you still have reasons and maybe right to but it doesn't make them immediately evil for not doing more/what you want without you actually TELLING them, I know it's hard and scary and some don't even deserve to know but there are those who truly love you and will understand and will help/support you - you're not a burden! I am aware you don't wanna worry anyone but you can as it's part of being a friend/partner/family and if someone acts like an ass towards you by calling you an attention seeker - they are the problem, not you

silent treatment is manipulation and if you try to show you being offended by that instead of trying to talk things through first you are not good, sorry not sorry

balance is everything but ppl don't wanna meet half way EVER so...

your needs motherfucker do you speak them

[chdarling]

As we’re getting closer to a truly awful day for America, I just wanted to check in on you. Things are bleak and about to get so so much worse, I want you to know I’m here and many others are here too when you’re ready

This is very kind of you, thank you. Honestly, I have not been doing great. Watching my neighbors elect a racist, fascist, Nazi-loving rapist triggered a pretty bad depressive episode on top of what was already the worst period of professional and creative burnout of my life, so….I’m struggling. Still trying to claw my way out of the dark. I’m deeply appreciative of the kindness of this community and am sorry that I haven’t (and probably won’t for a little longer) been able to engage the way I once did. I will again one day, and I am so thankful to know all you wonderful people online. <3

On a note that is completely unrelated to this gentle ask, I’ve been getting a ton of messages lately asking for a date when TLE3 is coming out and I don’t feel up to answering them (sorry) so I’m just going to tack this on here since I buried my last post on the subject under a mountain of despair reblogs: TLE3 is going to take a while.

I’m still planning to continue with my writing projects (be they TLE or other things), but right now I’m focusing on securing my own oxygen mask, etc. When I finished posting TLE2, I said that I would be taking a break and also that I would not be posting TLE3 until I had written all of it (like I had for TLE1). Even if I had been writing diligently every single day since I posted the last chapter, I still wouldn’t be done, so please understand that it’s going to take a while. It certainly will not be coming in the next 6 months, very possibly not in 2025. I know some people won’t be happy to hear that, but just a fun statistic: OOTP has 257,045 words and took three years to write/publish after GOF. TLE2 has (and this makes me cringe a little) 407,079 words and took roughly 3 years to write as an unpaid side hobby on top of full time work, education, etc. I don’t say this to toot my own horn (frankly, it just makes me desperately want to retroactively edit the crap out of TLE2 lol), but rather to reiterate that writing a book-length work takes a lot of time, energy, and love. I don’t want it to take 3 years (and I don’t think it will, TLE3 will be a more reasonable length), but it’s certainly not going to be finished in a few months. That would be insanity and I am not that talented lmao.

I do know that the requests for updates come from a place of love and enthusiasm and excitement and I really, truly appreciate that. I also appreciate all of the kind words of the asks I haven’t been answering. Please know that I’ve read them, I love you, and I will be back eventually. I just have to focus on my health right now, and unfortunately these days being online is pretty bad for that, so I'm going to try to be logged off for a while.

And finally, on another completely unrelated but perhaps mildly tangential note: if anyone has any books recommendations or resources on processing climate grief, I, uh, could use them. 🫠

[revelboo]

reading Waspinator story reminds me of this for some reason

Pretty much 🤣

I like to think the Cybertronians with more animalistic alt modes are much more keyed into subtle differences in scents

Worker Bee Part 12

Waspinator x Reader

• Shivering and defeated, you don't resist as he tries to 'help.' When he finally grips your chin in his claws and tips it up, you lean away and fumble until you get the water off. And he follows you as your back hits the cold tile wall, his mandibles flexing to make your skin crawl. "Don't." At your hoarse growl, his antenna flatten back before he presses his face against your neck to force your chin up. Staring at the shower head as his arms curl around you and lift you off your feet to walk you backwards out of the stall and down the hallway. And you can't even care that you're both dripping all over the carpet, too exhausted to deal with him right now. Too exhausted to even cry anymore.

• Carrying you to your nest, he sets you on your feet to find something to dry you with and his wings flick when he hears the nest creak. Turning, he finds you laying sprawled face down across the sheets. Still wet. Whatever's wrong with you, he doesn't like it. "Little friend?" You don't acknowledge him at all, and he hisses softly, grabbing your legs hanging in the floor and moving you so you're fully in your nest. "Little friend?" Already recharging? Crawling up with you, he cages you with his body and brushes his mandibles against the back of your neck, but you don't fuss at him or resist. Recharging, he decides unhappily. Venting against you, he rubs his jaw against your shoulder, buzzing softly before pulling away. Hungry. Lingering in the doorway, his wings flick. Needs energon, but you'll be defenseless while he's gone. Needs to protect you. You're his.

• Face down on the bed, you feel it creak under you as Waspinator moves off of it. And you hear his peds going down the hall. Leaving you alone. You're afraid to hope that it's actually over. That he's finally bored of following you around all the time. Reaching for a pillow, you pull it over your head. No, he's probably just eating the rest of your damn silverware. He's never leaving. This is just your life now. A big, alien puppy invading your space. Destroying your stuff. Eyes closing, you let the stress and exhaustion pull you under.

• Tearing the thin plastic you'd sealed the hive with, his wings flick as he steps into the cold night. Anxiety humming through him as he lingers close to the entry. He'll be quick. Steal some energon and return before you wake. "Waspinator return," he whispers as he starts back toward the Decepticon base. You'll be safe without him to protect you and your hive for just a little bit. You have to be.

• It's the sunlight slanting through the blinds that wakes you and you squint and roll over and don't find yourself face to ugly face with your roomie for the first time since you'd found him. Shivering, you sit up and slide out of bed to get dressed. You're chilled to the bone, used to your alien space heater nearly smothering you in your sleep. Drifting through the house, your breath catches when you find the torn tarp over the door. He's gone? Really gone? It's over. Laughing out loud, you sweep into the kitchen to fix some breakfast and freeze looking out the window over the sink. Out in the yard half buried in snow, you catch a glimpse of a wing. An antenna. And you're shoving through the tear in the tarp, running barefoot through the snow as the cold bites you to the bone. "Waspinator?" Dropping to your knees beside him, you pull his head into your lap and those purple optics open, one flickering. Hurt. Much worse than when you'd originally found him. And he whines softly, an arm lifting and then falling again. Shivering, you hook an arm around him and pull. Movements slow, he drags himself after you, back to the house.

Previous

[uncle-fruity]

I've been the white person getting called racist and not understanding why, and I know how easy it is to feel defensive or flustered or guilty, but what the folks above are saying is 100% true. I've got an anecdote that I hope might be helpful for some fellow white folks to hear.

I was once at a house show and a black woman complimented my eyes, which are a very bright blue. I get that compliment a lot, and I get tired of hearing it but I also understand that people are just being nice, so I sought to amuse myself by responding with a joke. When this black woman complimented my eyes, I said, "Thank you! I'm borrowing them from a witch!" I'd only just started using this joke response in the last couple months. Just a little attempt at fantasy humor. Well, this woman got angry and called me racist in response. I was baffled, and she didn't really elaborate except to say something about witches and white people. I didn't understand, but I said sorry and let her be, as she did not seem interested in talking about it. I felt bad, and even worse that my gut reaction was, "How was that racist?"

Well, I never found out. I went home, I looked it up, I couldn't find anything. Google gave me nothing of use. I asked some friends I had, but they were just as confused as me. Even though nothing was coming up, I've more or less stopped using that joke just in case I'm missing something -- until I get more insight, at least. If anyone knows what she might have been reacting to, I would seriously appreciate a source for the information.

But I bring this up because this was one of those moments where I had to accept that I might just be the racist jerk at the house show in her mind forever, that she had a right to be mad about any perceived racism, and that I had to be okay with that. It isn't her job to unpack whether I'm actually a good person who's really trying my best. It isn't her job to get me up to speed, especially if she feels like I was trying to make a jab at her when she was just saying something nice. There are already a million and one white jerks who will ask black folks to defend their reasons for calling someone racist and demand an academic level contextualization, as if they're on trial and need proof, and not nearly enough of us who take the initiative to learn it ourselves.

There are academic papers. There are books. There are video essays. There are historical documents directly representing the sentiments & racist narratives of the time they came from. There are non-white people who have been writing and speaking about their experiences with racism for years and years and years and years. And there are people talking about it today, on this very website, and it's okay to just read & listen and to look things up if they confuse you or you need more context. A variety of sources will help you see the issue more fully.

Because the truth is that a lot of things that white people consider just part of "regular society" are baked in racism. The more you learn about racism and the history of racism and the ways racism has manifested over the years, the more you realize how much of that racism is embedded in our culture even in unassuming, casual ways. If you take time to learn about what racism really looks like, you can be more confident in your ability to avoid acts of racism. So if not wanting to be The Racist or not wanting to feel guilty about a Racist Action You Did is a real concern, the best remedy is to learn about it and try to see the ways you might be prone to perpetuating it. And when in doubt? Assume that a person of color knows more about what racism looks and feels like than you do. Reduce harm by resisting making defensive arguments to explain racism away, and just keep pursuing answers for your questions and discomfort by listening.

I highly recommend reading Ibram X. Kendi's work as a starting point, because he lays out the foundational stuff really well. I read How to Raise an Antiracist, but he also wrote a book targeted at adult learning called How to Be an Antiracist. One thing from his work that was helpful for me to internalize was that antiracism is an action, as is racism. No one is born A Racist -- it is not inherent to anyone. It is not an identity. It is learned and it is acted upon. Just so, antiracist is not an identity, but rather an action. If you care about being seen as One Of The Good White People, you will need to do the work to become one, and by the time you've done the work to become one, you will realize that that's not how it works. There is always work to do and how antiracist you are depends on what antiracist actions you take, not how antiracist your intentions were. You cannot simply say that you believe in racial equality without showing up for it. Racism is an action you take. Antiracism is an action you take. Doing nothing is still a choice, and it is a choice that tends to favor racism in practice. Learning more about racism as a topic and especially going out of your way to reflect when you've been called racist -- how you're going to better understand and better your actions -- are two very good antiracist actions that you can do for free.

And while you learn, just, know that it'll be uncomfortable and take some effort to unlearn everything. You might feel some kind of way about stuff -- parts of culture that you connected with and are only just now realize have racist tones. It's bad. It's really bad and a lot of our family members present & past do or did terribly racist things. You have probably done something racist. It's possible that you're going to do something racist in the future. It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but we will never change if we can't accept that we need to put in the effort and do better. And we can't know how to do better or look out for non-white folks if we don't actively learn.

Sorry this got so long. I hope it is a productive addition to the conversation.

listen. white people. LISTEN to me. if a person of color yells you that you did or said something racist the appropriate response is to go "oh shit, sorry" and maybe MAYBE a follow up of "can you elaborate" if you dont understand why and thats. IT. we do not need elaborate prose about how sorry you are or how grateful you are for us telling you or how youre working on unlearning it or whatever. JUST SAY SORRY AND DONT DO IT AGAIN THATS IT ❤️

[ladybirdswritings]

INVISIBLE STRING, AU — clark kent x reader.

DESCRIPTION: you lock eyes with a charming stranger at a party you’d rather not be at, and now he’s whisking you away on a date. NOTES - leave me all your thoughts and opinions. i love them <33 | prev part ; next part

three;

Your skin was drowned in amber and cashmere—rich, silken, and sparkling. Your hair was tied up in a bun, allowing a few mischievous ringlets to escape, highlighting the curve of your slender neck, and the pulse racing there.

Your dress was a deep violet, so deep that only under fluorescent lights could you see the purple hue—otherwise, it appeared black.

You looked gorgeous.

And nervous.

Entirely nervous, as you reapplied your gloss and paced the tile floor, where Kate and Axel eyed you suspiciously.

“Y/N, you really need to stop pacing. You’re making me anxious,” Kate snapped, having had enough of your shaky tirade. Axel nodded in agreement. “Calm down, you’re going to scare him away before he even gets here.” You scowled at that.

In the time since you and Clark had shared a quiet moment by the fire, when he trapped a ruby berry between your joined palms and blurted his desire to take you out, you’d texted sporadically and awaited a jolt to snap you from this dream.

“He’s definitely a serial killer,” you decided, and Kate pinched the space between her brows, shaking her head.

“Y/N, if he was a serial killer, don’t you think he would have killed you when you were alone at the bonfire?”

You huffed. “Ted Bundy had a girlfriend he adored. He didn’t chop her up into tiny pieces.”

“Oh my God…” your brother sighed, and Kate snorted.

Vera, Kate’s strawberry-blonde bombshell of a sister, stood and pressed warm palms against your shoulders. “Or maybe… you’re a really pretty girl, and he wants to take you on a date because he likes you. Duh.”

You gazed into the sincerity swimming behind her cyan eyes, nodding hesitantly. No, she was right. Your doubt, your pacing—it was just self-deprecation that had burrowed into your bones over the years. It had been so long.

Your ex was a jerk. Beyond that, he was cruel. His words still echoed in your mind.

You won’t find anyone else like me…

No one can deal with your baggage like I can…

No one else would want you like I do…

When you first dumped him, you were confident—until that confidence slowly evaporated, as time passed. Two years, in fact, with no strong man to keep you warm. All the boys you looked at were either taken or vile creatures who only wanted in your pants. Or worse—they didn’t want you back.

Vance was a great example.

Flirty, but noncommittal.

Yet for some reason, you still pined, and it made you feel pathetic.

The hum of the doorbell made your eyes widen to saucers. A cold chill kissed your skin.

“Do I look okay?” you nearly shouted in a whisper, anxious.

“You look great,” Vera promised, and you nodded, dragging your kitten-heel-clad feet toward the door.

The scent of pine from January’s chill lingered with honeyed whiskey, chai, and… flowers.

Flowers? Oh, you were definitely dreaming.

His glasses were lopsided and fogged, and he bumped them up with his wrist before offering the bouquet of creams, mauves, and navies toward you.

“Hi,” he breathed, furrowing his brows in frustration as the fog filtered his perfect view of his date. But he could smell you, and hummed a low, satisfied sound in his throat that you just missed.

“Hi.” You offered back, glancing anxiously at Vera and Kate, who hid their smiles behind their palms. You gently grabbed the flowers, fingertips grazing his, and brought them to your nose, inhaling their lovespelled scent.

“They’re… lovely. So lovely. Thank you, Clark.” He grinned, less lopsided than usual, and you handed them to Kate, who promised she’d find a vase before waving goodbye as you stepped outside.

A chill ran across your skin, and though Clark couldn’t see you clearly through his foggy lenses—too big for his face—he felt the ice linger on you. Without a word, he draped his suede blazer over your shoulders. It smelled of him, just like the bonfire, and you inhaled deeply, wrapping it closer.

Who taught him to be so… bookish?

“Come on,” he urged gently, his hand at the small of your back, guiding you to his sparkling navy truck.

You felt every bit the Miss Bennett to his Mr. Darcy as he offered you a warm, far larger than yours, palm and helped you into the elevated truck. Once inside, he quickly rounded to sit beside you. After buckling, he cleaned his glasses with the cloth of his navy shirt before tucking it back into his onyx pants.

Then he faced you and grinned again.

“Well, don’t you look purdy.” He teased, amplifying that Kansas twang, making a flush kiss your cheeks.

He was handsome. So handsome behind those glasses and his books and—well, everything. And here he was, on a date with you, one he initiated.

You’d been anticipating the night to go horribly wrong.

But it hadn’t just yet.

“So, I was thinking, I want to give you options. Mellow, casual—or fancy and… schmancy? Trust me, I don’t mind either. Especially not with you looking like that… uh—not that you don’t always look like that, I just mean—”

You arched a brow, watching the pinch return between his own chocolate brows. He met your eyes, catching the glint of mirth there. He huffed a laugh at his own expense. “I’m bombing this already, aren’t I?”

He tilted his head, his lazy grin making your head spin. You pursed your lips.

“Just a little,” you whispered, grateful that the moonlight cast enough of a shadow over your lips to show him you were joking. He laughed softly. A moment passed, and you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Is this another test of yours?”

His brows shifted upwards, and he smirked.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm…” Fancy schmancy restaurant sounded… exhausting. As pretty as you were, you knew very well you couldn’t keep up a tiresome charade for the entirety of the date. It wasn’t you. His pretty car and his Pinterest-worthy face made him seem like the type to prefer that option. But you decided that after you spoke your next words, he’d likely kick you out of his truck— and maybe that was okay.

“Mellow. Casual,” you whispered, and your heart dropped when his mouth turned into a thin line.

There it was.

Too good to be true.

Your palm itched for your seatbelt before that lopsided grin slid back onto his face.

“You’re trying to steal my heart, huh?” he whispered, perhaps more to himself, eyes roaming over your glossed lips. He offered a satisfied nod. “Okay, Y/N, hot chocolate or chai?”

•••

By the time you reached your destination, your eyes widened in awe at the glowing fluorescent letters.

THE WANDERING QUILL;

A bookstore.

You blinked, glancing toward Clark, who flexed his palm in an anxious manner whilst stepping out of the truck. Before shutting the door, he ducked back through it.

“Stay there,” he ordered, and you had to purse your lips together to stifle the giggle bubbling in your throat when he circled to open your door and offer you a veined hand.

Maybe this was a trap. Maybe this perfect stranger was leading you into a slaughterhouse, ready to slice your skin and pick his teeth with your bones.

“C’mon, purdie,” he whispered as you hesitated, grabbing his hand. He led you down with ease, his fingers twitching in your grasp, but he let go, not wanting to push you before he even had you.

“I’m taking you book shopping,” he said, his hand on the small of your back as he guided you through the doors. You were admittedly overdressed, but his suede jacket hid that from view.

It didn’t matter, though. The moment the scent of aged parchment and spiced chai kissed your nostrils, you almost melted in contentment.

“This is my favorite place,” he said, his voice snapping you back to your senses. You looked up, and he was already peering down at you with an anticipatory expression.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, and his lips twitched as he turned you sharply right and led you to a quaint café beside all the books. He was amused, perhaps because it was maybe the third word you’d spoken all evening. A flush spread across your skin at that realization. You were being too shy. He’d undoubtedly grow bored of you, tire of your muteness, and—

“What’re you thinking about?”

Your eyes snapped to attention, and his expression softened when you spoke.

“No one’s ever taken me to a bookstore,” you said, catching yourself. The barista handed him two warm cups of molten chocolate that made your mouth water. Goosebumps erupted as you wrapped your hands around it.

“Do you like it?” His voice carried hope, and you were far too naive to catch it. Your beaming face melted something in him—like a puppet freed from its strings.

“I do,” you promised, and his lips twitched again. He blew on his drink and led you to a corner behind the café, surrounded by gold-dusted pages and crimson and violet-bound books, like something straight out of a storybook. He swapped your cups, less scorching than before, and then grabbed his own. He tilted his chin, signaling you to take a sip.

You did, and when the molten chocolate coated your tongue, you nearly melted too.

Christ.

If he dumped you on the side of the road after this, at least you’d die with a stomach full of this delicacy.

He laughed—a subtle, joyful sound. “That’s good, right?”

You could only nod, sipping again in tandem with him. His eyes wandered over the books around you. Then you blinked when you read the cursive sign that displayed “romance” in bold letters.

“Okay,” he began, taking your cup gently from your hands, making you pout. As if afraid to wilt you, he guided you forward. And god, if your neck wasn’t so close—so suckable—he might have stopped there. “Um…”

You tensed, wondering if maybe your amber-and-cashmere scent was off, if you’d forgotten deodorant. Christ, your stomach dropped.

Then you felt it—his hand at your hip, warm and firm, much firmer than you expected from his sweaters and flannels. Slowly, it snaked around your waist. He was asking permission, not demanding anything.

“Is this okay?” he whispered, so low you almost missed it. His touch wasn’t sexual; it was exploratory, as if seeing just how the pretty, shy girl—who he’d seen in ridiculous hedgehog pajamas before this—could feel in his arms. You exhaled shakily and nodded.

“And this?” he whispered again, guiding you a step back, treating you like the delicate flower you were. You were back to chest with the bookish stranger you’d met just a week ago. Held. Wanted.

And though your paranoid, self-saboteur mind screamed that this would be disastrous, The gentle thrum of your heart told you this was exactly where you needed to be.

A breathy giggle escaped you as he tested a gentle squeeze on your hip.

He felt almost barbaric, on the verge of losing control as he buried his nose into your honeyed locks with a not-so-subtle inhale, followed by a grin. You smelled like fresh linens and gourmands, and if he were a lesser man, he’d tilt your chin up so to taste you with his starved tongue.

But you were shy, and he wasn’t a lesser man. Raised well by his parents, he only swayed you slightly, loosening the tension in your sharp bones.

“Alright,” he whispered, amusement in his voice, dipping his head low as if to shut out the noise of the world around you— as if to trap you both in this moment. He handed you your cup back, warm, though his body was warmer, and it took all your strength not to shiver and melt into him.

“How about this: you pick a book for me, and I pick one for you. We’ll read them, then when I take you out again, we’ll talk about them.”

When.

Already… when.

You swallowed hard, wondering for a moment if he was seducing you or if he was just a little mad. You were shy, quiet, and painfully awkward, yet he was planning a second date already.

Despite your racing mind, how you felt in that moment told an entirely different story. Maybe playing along wouldn’t be so bad.

“Deal,” you murmured, a mirrored grin tugging at the corner of your mouth. He swayed you again.

“Yeah? Okay. Romance only.” You nodded, “Romance only. Got it… close your eyes.”

And he did. His lashes brushed against your silvered ear as he lowered his head to steal another inhale. It took all his restraint not to pull you closer, not to lazily lick at the vanilla coating your skin.

Your fingers skimmed over the book spines for a long moment before settling on the first one that came to mind— Book Lovers by Emily Henry. Fitting, the title alone was enough, but beyond it— the meaning. Girl doesn’t believe in love, boy changes it… maybe this little game he had you playing could be more than just fun— maybe it could tell him something deeper.

For a moment, you considered playing it safer, but in the end, you decided against it, tucking the book to your chest. “Okay, your turn.”

His grin grazed the place just below your ear as he tilted his head up again, moving his hand from your hip to cover your eyes. You giggled, the sound light and sweet.

“No cheating, y/n,” he murmured, waiting patiently as he plucked a gold-trimmed book from the rattan shelf.

“I’m sure you know this one,” he added, tucking it to his side as you turned to face him, free from his warm grasp. You felt cold again.

“On three?” you offered, and the corner of his mouth lifted, a lazy grin spreading.

“Three,” he said, and your eyes widened as you quickly turned your book to him— and he did the same.

The Notebook.

“Oh, Clark.” His gaze shifted from your chosen book to his own, brows furrowing. “You’ve read it,” he concluded, but you shook your head. “Never even seen the movie.”

His brows lifted, blue-gray eyes widening slightly as he processed your words. A ringlet of onyx hair fell across his forehead as he checked his watch.

“Can I steal you for another… two hours?”

You just didn’t have it in you to say no…

[jiinxswife]

Jinx x fem!reader - how would jinx react to your additions?

Trigger warnings: self harm, drinking, depression, smoking, jinx acting toxic because she doesn’t knows better. Self harm is the longest one for personal reasons

Autor note: I wrote and posted this yesterday, but apparently, due to a mistake, it got deleted, so I’m posting this again

Self harm

•oh your girl is pissed and worried when she finds out about your addiction

•100% chased down everyone who ever made/influenced you to hurt yourself

•tries to help you, but ends up guilt tripping you. “You’re hurting yourself? You know how badly I had it? And even so I didn’t hurt myself”

•”if you cut yourself again, I will cut myself too” she says once she starts to get desperate

•”you drew stars around my scars” yeah, but it isn’t stars but random doodles and phrases that comes into jinx’s mind

•always caress your scars, always having a thumb gently caressing/tracing over them

•if you’re insecure about your scars, she will kiss them while whispering that she loves you how you are, if even so you still feel really insecure about them, she will offer to get you a tattoo would definitely be a matching one or her name

•if your depression/self harm addiction gets worse, her hideout is becoming child-proof, guns, grenades and everything dangerous is hidden and safety nets are installed everywhere you could jump off

•keeps an eye on you for every new cut

•Will try everything she can to help you, even buy some self help books, even if she finds most of them to be bullshit

•praises you a hell lot when you’re clean, makes sure to tell you how proud she is

•if you have a kink like knife play, she won’t accomplish to it, she doesn’t wants you to get mental health and pleasure mixed

•called you her “fruit ninja champion” at least once-

Drinking/alcoholism

•the addiction that most annoys her

•when you come home wasted, on the first times at least, she takes care of you, once it becomes an habit, she starts to get annoyed

•jinx is really clingy and possessive, and it annoys her that you’re prioritizing alcohol over her

•tries to go to bars with you, if you won’t stop drinking, maybe you could drink together? But you get drunk way too soon

•starts to make your drinks, but changes the alcohol for water or something, in an attempt to detoxify with the placebo effect

•if you persist in your addiction, she will start to saying things like “it’s me or the alcohol”

•Will try to get you addicted to something else so you leave the drinks addicted to her

•if you get clean, she’s praising you a lot. And also threatening every single bar owner to never sell you anything alcoholic

Smoking

•the addiction that she’s most used to

•grew up seeing Sevika and Silco smoking

•shows you the best brands of cigarettes her princess deserves the best

•doesn’t really tries to stop your addiction, at the start at least

•if you start to get sick due to the smoking, she will definitely make you stop. There ain’t hospitals in zaun; and due to her reputation, none of you could ever enter piltover

•if you’re trying to stop, she starts to always walk with popsicles on her pockets

•Lollipops that leave the tongue blue, do I have to say anything more?

Ahhhh this was my second time writing it, first post got deleted for some reason. I’m sorry it’s short, I just don’t know what else to write , anyways, I’m posting this before I hate it way too much

[twopoppies]

Gina, I want to tell you I have been reading your blog for a couple years now. I’ve never sent an ask to anyone. I first came into the fandom when I watched Harrychella and I thought hmm this man isn’t just flagging he is screaming at the top of his lungs. Then I watched the Cosmic Leeds videos and I fell down a rabbit hole. I am not someone who believes “conspiracy theories”. I am however old enough to know closeting has been proven to exist in the entertainment industry. I’m also from a rural area of the U.S. where homophobia is the norm, so unfortunately I had no trouble believing closeting still exists. I went into full information gathering mode about Larry Stylinson, but it was more than that too. I fell in love with 1D and all the boys’ solo work, especially Louis. I loved his voice, his songwriting, and his ‘real’ personality (when he allowed it to shine through all the media training). I read through every tumblr I could, you and Daisie provided a wealth of information that can not be ignored. I feel certain that Larry was real and I hope they are still together. I’m not one of those people who never doubted. It would be hard not to second guess things in this fandom with all the gaslighting that goes on. I write all of this to say that I’ve never felt so sad and like there is no hope for change as I do right now. It feels like Louis’ fandom is falling apart. There is so much division, hate, and intolerance of any idea that doesn’t conform to someone’s own. Louis pr strategy honestly baffles me. A divided fandom is so tiring. It seems less like pr and more like intentional sabatoge, which I guess it could be. I just don’t see any way out for him or Harry. I think Harry’s extended break is partly because of this too. I think he was overworked and emotionally drained for many reasons, but closeting most of all is exhausting. If I’m feeling this way as a fan I can’t imagine how they must be feeling. It breaks my heart. Sometimes I hope I am crazy and Larry was never real because the story is just too sad. Don’t even get me started on bbg because it is the shittiest situation ever. I think I need to take a step back from the fandom for a bit. But this brings me to my point. I’m pretty resilient, I can not be the only person feeling this way. It makes me so worried for Louis’ career and for both Louis and Harry’s mental health. I guess I don’t really have an ask. I just wanted to say thank you for all the information you have provided over the years. And, I needed to get this off my chest. If I posted this on twitter I would be roasted and I’m not strong enough for that right now. I meant it when I said I fell in love with their music, so I will continue to support all the boys. I’m hoping there is a master plan that will eventually set them free. But, I just keep coming back to the line

‘Said I had a plan for us Time had came and changed it all We had to disappear 'Cause nothing gets through here’

I will add one more thing. I believe there are more Larries than people think, but we are tired of the gaslighting and the hate, so many of us step back or hide. This is why the industry wins most of the time. 😥

Hi, sweetheart. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. I'm sorry it feels so overwhelming right now. I do think taking a step back is probably really healthy for most of us. I've actually never seen the fandom in such shambles.

I don't know what Louis' plan is in terms of his fandom or his future plans. But I have dozens and dozens of sad, confused, and angry messages in my inbox, and that fucking sucks. I really don't see a way forward at the moment. I will say, though, that some of the upset stems from some people's tendency to lean into worst-case scenarios and amplify their own worries by jumping to conclusions. Then there are the shit-stirrers who try to make things worse by sending in fake receipts or theories. It's hard to stay grounded when there's insanity whirling around you.

As for Harry and Louis, I do tend to believe they're still together. I don't think their relationship has been as easy as many of us would like to believe – I don't think it could be, given their ages when they met and the conditions they've had to live with. I do think they're soulmates... soulmates don't always end up together, but I tend to think these two will make it. I certainly hope they do.

Our fandom never does well when the boys aren't active. I think if you want to get your sanity back, now is as good a time as any.

[buckets-and-trees]

Stella.

Stella.

This response is such an incredible gift! I can hardly begin to express how much it affected me to relive this chapter with you, and with such thought and insight! 🥹

Are we harboring perhaps a little crush here? + she’s not just starstruck or someone easily swooned by celebrity status.

Right on both counts! How could one not harbor a bit of a crush on America's golden "boy" but who is so clearly grown into being a man?! Especially after his nomad period and aging up like fine wine after. BUT she also has a level head on her shoulders.

I immensely enjoy writers working with all the things that the Blip would cause...

I would say that while it wasn't the first thing I knew about the Reader, it was in the first ten percent of things that I mapped out. There are a couple of major plot points that it will tie into later in the story, so I won't say anything about those, but one of the reasons it really felt like something I wanted for this Reader's backstory is that it gave a balance to Steve's other half if HE stayed and SHE blipped. As a unit, they could carry both persepctives and experiences together.

I love how competent we see Pepper be here, how she’s been so good at putting this team together.

...I forgot I put Maria Hill on this team.🧍🏻‍♀️ This chapter was written when I was verrrry deep into my rewatch of The West Wing and the presidential candidates were getting security/military briefings. At least I was thorough then! But I also didn't have any major plot points planned for international/military things to be affecting the candidates during the campaign, I just wanted to be thorough. AND I also remember when I wrote her onto this campaign team, I felt a very strong YEAH, BECAUSE WE DO NOT ACCEPT HALF OF WHAT HAPPENED IN SECRET INVASION!!! It just felt right hahaha.

After all, he is from a world where marriage wasn’t so focused on romantic love. But since he is a romantic, I’m definitely looking forward to them falling in love.

The reasoning Pepper lays out also has some elements of my own views of marriage - in that it HAS TO BE more than only romantic love, because marriage is hard work (as is anything worthwhile/that you invest in/that can grow). AND ALSO that married women should never be relegated to being only a trophy wife or a house wife (and I say that very specifically in that if those are roles that women want to have, then they should, but they should hopefully not be boxed into a corner).

I'M SO GLAD YOU LOVE HER! And not just this moment, but the other moments you mentioned that I was stitching little bits of character into her. Partly for Steve to fall in love with, but ... partly because in a lot of my Readers, I want it to feel like clothes that the person reading it can put on and wear for a while. Sometimes a costume, sometimes to deal with a complex issue, sometimes to have a wild time/experience something we otherwise never would... But when I write confident and driven readers or readers who are direct, I put a lot of what I would aspirationally hope that I could be into those characters, if that makes sense? I don't want them to be perfect, but I want them to have backbones and dreams and ambitions and reason and logic and real feelings that motivate them. For me, it's empowering - and if fiction gets to be an escape, sometimes I want to escape into healthy leading lady energy, and hope that that's what others reading this story can feel, too. 🥹

Oh, I’m intrigued by this. Is she a widow too?

🤐😏

This isn’t even a thirst trap, it’s a heart trap, and that’s worse.

this has the delightful found family vibes – which are definitely highlighting some major loss in First Lady’s background, I mean, she has to have a hint of craziness and not a lot to lose to jump into this headfirst – that I always enjoy in fic.

BINGO! Part of Reader's wiliingness to agree is the nature of being untethered to the life she was living.

But oh! Sam just! Sam is such a fantastic character/figure in the MCU, and I wanted to give him some good moments + parts to be part of this story, because Steve has strong ties to the important people in his life, you know? And so this story ending up having a strong inclusion of side characters started in this chapter, and although it's Steve x Reader, they couldn't be in a bubble - especially not given the campaign story shell, so I wanted to make everyone around them count/have significant roles to play.

"He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface." + this is definitely hinting towards how he’s not just the perfect soldier or the good man but human and I am always here here for it. And we love Sam for recognizing all this in his friend.

It's so important to me to have characters that feel real, and I think... well, I think there can be this tendency around SOME people in MCU fandom (not all, but some), who hate and dismiss Steve's character for just being this perfect paragon boy scout idea of Captain America, and he's so much more. If we go to the Cap v. Iron Man, I think we see the same dismissal over Tony is just selfish but these are both only ASPECTS that they present, pieces that they struggle with, and when they're further and further explored, we see the complex layers. The complex Steve is the one I love to read and strive to write. And Sam giving a briefing here to our Reader about his character gave me the chance to put the marker in the sand and say it's the kind of Steve I was hoping to put in here, too.

And....also....

Sam - to be frank - is doing some damage control.

Because it sucks that Steve didn't come to this breakfast. THIS BREAKFAST WHERE HE WAS SUPPOSED TO MEET HIS WIFE FOR THE FIRST TIME BECAUSE THEY ARE GETTING MARRIED TOMORROW.

Reader is being very optimistic still, not letting it get to her, and definitely GENUINELY enjoying this time with Sam, but.... it still is what it is. Sam: not lying about anything, but definitely hyping his boy up so you don't resent Steve or feel defeated or insecure.

I know it's the delicious sort of slow burn when they don't even lay an eye on each other in the first two chapters.

BURN, BABY, BURNNNNN! IT'S GONNA BE SUCH A BURN, STELLA!

And, as I said in the very beginning of my response, this was such. a. gift. Doing basically a close re-read of this with you/through your comments also comes at SUCH an opportune/unique time because I just posted chapter 11 last Friday and I think I now have it tied down to just four more chapters, and it's reminding me of some of the key things that I had planted seeds for in the beginning, and some of them I know I've got strong threads that have already wrapped up, some I still need to wrap up but are on track, and some that I can circle back to that I forgot (like, oH HEY, WE'RE PROBABLY GONNA SEE MARIA HILL NOW because I did forget her 😩).

You are a goddess.

I'm sorry to hear that 2024 ended in such a drain and strain on your energy, and so I hope that 2025 can be a gentler and kinder year for you! Sending you so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 both for spending so much time on this commentary and just for you in general.

Red, White & True: Manhattan & Brooklyn (1/?)

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers (future x curvy Millennial Female!Reader), Pepper Potts, Sam Wilson Word Count: 4k Summary: "There was an idea..." Words at the heart of what brought the Avengers together. Pepper Potts has persuaded Steve Rogers to step up and help again - but this time in a battle to The White House. She invites you to consider a key position.

Content/Warnings: none

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Prologue | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[MAY 15 - Manhattan, New York]

You try not to hold still while you wait in the lobby, but you’re nervous and the longer you sit, the more difficult it is to resist drumming your fingers, tapping your foot, jiggling your right leg as it’s crossed over your left, or even just chewing on your bottom lip.

You’re not anxious at all over meeting with Pepper, but what has you on alert is the possibility that you could theoretically meet Steve Rogers, former Captain America, today.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. The lobby of Stark Industries is immaculate, all sleek lines and modern design. The large windows let in plenty of natural light, making the space feel open and inviting despite its corporate purpose.

Your mind wanders back to your college days when you’d walked into a different Stark Industries lobby for the first time, a hopeful intern wanting to make a difference at the then-new Stark Foundation office. Pepper had been very involved in building the Foundation at the time, and had become a key mentor and - as the years passed and you left Stark Industries - a dear friend. She had helped fuel some of your late-night study sessions through grad school. Living in a new state, she had shown up and seen you through breakups, family drama, and the stress of putting together your thesis. Even when your paths diverged, you'd managed to stay in touch.

Back then, she’d become like the older sister you never had, seeing you through some of the difficult years figuring out how to be a real adult. Now, here you are, waiting to potentially join a presidential campaign she’s orchestrating for none other than Steve Rogers.

The receptionist's voice startles you out of your reverie. "Ms. Potts will see you now."

You stand, smoothing down your carefully chosen outfit - professional, but not stuffy. As you follow the receptionist down the hallway, your mind races with possibilities. What position could Pepper have in mind for you? Your background in political science and your years working in non-profit management seem like they could be useful, but you can't help feeling a little out of your depth.

As you approach Pepper's office, you take a deep breath to steady yourself. The door opens, and there she is - Pepper Potts, looking as poised and confident as ever in a crisp white blouse and tailored navy suit. Her strawberry blonde hair is pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her smile is warm and welcoming.

"It's so good to see you," she says, embracing you in a quick hug. "Come in, please."

You step into her spacious office, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows with a breathtaking view of the city skyline. Pepper gestures to a comfortable-looking chair across from her desk, and you sit, trying to keep your nerves in check.

"I appreciate you coming on such short notice," Pepper begins. "I know it's been a few years since we’ve been able to catch up - even before the Blip.”

You were among the half who disappeared - still such a strange concept to grasp though you were supposedly settled back in. “I was happy to come! And of course I don’t mind a trip on the Stark Industries dime,” you say with a grin.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine, thanks."

Pepper settles into her chair, folding her hands on the desk. "So, I know I told you we’re putting together the campaign team for Rogers for America, but I'm sure you're wondering more specifically why I called you here."

You nod, leaning forward in your chair, eager to hear Pepper’s vision.

"We're putting together an incredible team," she begins, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I've been reaching out to some of the brightest minds in politics, economics, and social justice. We have former White House staffers, grassroots organizers, and even a few unexpected faces from the private sector who are eager to contribute their expertise."

You are instantly intrigued, trying to imagine the caliber of people she's describing. Your mind races with possibilities - perhaps that brilliant campaign manager who orchestrated the upset victory in the last Senate race, or the economist whose revolutionary ideas about sustainable development have been making waves in academic circles.

"We've got strategists who are anticipating every move our opponents might make," Pepper continues, "and communications experts who can craft messages that will resonate with voters across the political spectrum.”

You listen intently, trying to pinpoint where you might fit into this powerhouse group.

"There's Maria Hill," Pepper continues, "who's handling security and intelligence briefings. She's got connections that'll be invaluable. Then there's Peter Parker - you might know him as Spider-Man - he's officially our youth outreach coordinator, but he's also got a brilliant scientific mind that we're tapping into for policy development."

Your eyebrows raise at the mention of Spider-Man.

Pepper leans forward, her eyes locking with yours. "But here's the thing - we're not just assembling a team of political operatives and policy experts. We need people who understand the heart of what we're trying to do, who can see the bigger picture and help keep us grounded in our core values."

Your heart begins to race as you start to realize where this might be going.

"That's where you come in," Pepper says, a warm smile spreading across her face. "I've watched your career over the years, how you've navigated the non-profit world, building coalitions and making real change happen. You have a gift for bringing people together, for seeing connections that others miss. Your experience gives you a unique perspective that we desperately need."

Your heart races as you process her words. You had assumed you might be offered some kind of advisory role, perhaps in fundraising or event planning. Maybe even appearance management or offering occasional input on strategy. But from Pepper's tone, it sounds like she has something more substantial in mind.

"Where do you see me on this team?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I've been putting a lot of thought into this," Pepper continues, her voice filled with conviction. “You know we’re doing something unconventional. Did you read the presidential plan?”

You nod. Steve’s bid for President of the United States was still technically not public knowledge. You had signed an NDA - being told only that you were receiving a proposal Pepper wanted your input and consultation on, with potential to join the team if you supported the initiative, and just silence if you didn’t.

“It’s bold, idealistic, aspirational; but it’s also unapologetic, has clear plans of action, and could be transformational in ways we haven’t seen in living memory,” you give your assessment.

“And it’s something you could see yourself being a part of?”

You take a deep breath, but smile genuinely. “I couldn’t sleep the first night after you sent it over. I couldn’t stop reading, hoping, re-reading, imagining possibilities!”

“Good,” Pepper responds. “Perfect.”

“Put me to work wherever you need me!”

“I was hoping you would say that because I have a very specific position I need to get filled, and you’re my first - and only - pick for the job.”

“Pepper, stop holding out!” A nervous and eager laugh escapes you. “Tell me!”

Her response slams into you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Future First Lady.”

You feel your jaw drop in shock, almost hitting the ground as your mind races with disbelief and anger. The room feels like it's spinning as you struggle to process the weight of her words.

"What?" you gasp, your voice barely above a whisper. "Pepper, I... I don't understand. First Lady? But that would mean..."

Pepper holds up a hand, her expression serious. "We're not just running a campaign here. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country. Steve is an incredible man, and he needs a partner who understands the complexities of modern America, not just a trophy wife, someone who can connect with people from all walks of life."

You shake your head, still reeling. "But I'm not - I mean, Steve and I aren't even - we've never even met!"

"I know," Pepper says softly. "That's part of the plan. We want to show that leadership isn't about who you're married to or what your last name is. It's about vision, compassion, and the ability to bring people together."

Pepper leans back in her chair, her expression at least revealing some concern over your reaction. "I know it's a lot to take in."

"A lot to take in?" you interrupt, your voice rising. "Pepper, it's insane! It’s May, and the election is in November. How could I possibly be the First Lady?"

Pepper holds up a hand, trying to calm you. "I know, I know. Let me explain."

But you're on a roll now, your initial shock giving way to indignation. "Explain what? How you thought it was okay to offer me a position that requires me to be married to a stranger? Use me to score points?”

"I understand your reaction," Pepper says calmly, "but please, hear me out. This isn't about scoring political points or creating some sham marriage. We're trying to redefine what leadership looks like in this country."

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. "Go on," you say, your voice tight, “because you’re still trotting out marriage.”

"We can’t outright ignore traditional expectations and polling numbers. If Steve were running as the nominee for either of the major parties, we could probably win without him being married, but since he’s running as an independent, he needs a wife. That being said, we want to move away from the traditional concept of the First Lady as just the President's wife," Pepper explains. "The vision is a First Partnership. Two people who work together. There’ve been a few First Ladies who have done more with their platform and position, and that’s what we would want for you, too.”

You chew on your lip, not persuaded yet, but a little less angry.

“We have an opportunity to show what a healthy partnership in marriage could look like to new generations. You’re my first and only choice because of your skills, experience, and the vision I know you would bring to the table. But you’re also my first and only choice because I think you two are well-suited for each other.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Pepper raises her hand to stop you.

“You and Steve don’t have to put on a show and be madly in love - that’s not what I want, that’s not what he wants or expects either.”

You frown. “What does he expect?” you ask. And then you perk up even more. “Has he agreed to this? Shouldn’t he at least be here to make the offer himself?”

Pepper sighs. “It was easier for me to convince him to run in the first place than to agree that he needed a wife.”

“But you’re telling me he did agree?”

Pepper nods. “He did.”

You unconsciously rub the empty space on your left ring finger. “Couldn’t we just get engaged and leave the question of a marriage for whether or not he wins?”

A soft laugh falls from Pepper’s mouth. “He actually asked the same thing.”

“And…?” You raise your eyes expectantly.

“The public would rake us over the coals and accuse us of only doing it as a publicity stunt. The campaign would become a gossip column on your relationship status and nothing more.”

“But isn’t it a publicity stunt?”

“We can spin a marriage that seems to appear out of nowhere. Steve’s always been a private person when it comes to his personal life. We will tell people you met through me - which is true. I thought you were well-suited for each other - which I do. When people asked why the wedding just before announcing his bid for the presidency, we tell them you two didn’t want your relationship status to become the big question on everyone’s minds so they can focus on the platforms and policies instead and that every marriage takes work regardless of the length of the courtship.”

You sit in stunned silence for a moment, trying to process everything Pepper has said. The idea of marrying someone you've never met, let alone becoming the First Lady of the United States, seems utterly surreal. And yet, there's a part of you that's intrigued by the challenge, by the opportunity to make a real difference on such a grand scale.

"I need some time to think about this," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Pepper nods understandingly. "Of course. It's a lot to take in. But I want you to know that I wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think you were perfect for this role. Not just as a political partner, but as someone who could genuinely connect with Steve."

You raise an eyebrow. "You really think we'd be well-suited?"

"I do," Pepper says with confidence and warmth.

You rub your ring finger again, but this time you see Pepper’s eyes drop to watch your unconscious action, and you quickly stop. Her eyes, when you meet them again, are full of sympathy. You both lost husbands, but you don’t want to talk about it, yet again, and you don’t want to bring up a painful subject for her either.

She can read that in your tight-lipped smile.

So instead she says, “I can give you three days to think it over.”

You sigh and rise from your seat to go. “I don’t know if that’s long enough, but if you give me three days or three weeks, I don’t think it will change my decision I’ll land on. Give me the night to sleep on it. I think I’ll know by tomorrow morning.”

[JUNE 4 - Brooklyn, New York]

Three weeks later, your life has been packed up and put in a truck on its way to the new brownstone in Brooklyn that’s been acquired for you and Steve to move into, and you’re sitting at a table in a café a few blocks away, waiting to meet your future husband for the first time over breakfast. Every time the bell rings over the door, you dart your head to see if it’s him, but he’s evidently running late.

As you wait, checking to see if you have any messages on your phone, the bell over the door chimes once more. This time, when you look up, your breath catches in your throat. A tall, athletic man with dark skin and an easy smile has entered the café. You recognize him immediately as Sam Wilson, the new Captain America. Your heart sinks a little as you realize Steve isn't with him.

Sam spots you and makes his way over, his stride confident but casual. As he approaches, you notice the way his eyes scan the room, a habit born from years of military training and superhero work. He's dressed in civilian clothes - a leather jacket over a simple t-shirt and jeans - but there's no mistaking the aura of strength and capability that surrounds him.

"You must be the future Mrs. Rogers," Sam says with a warm smile, extending his hand. "I'm Sam Wilson. Steve asked me to come apologize and explain - and to have breakfast with you, if you’ll have me.”

You nod, forcing a smile, and shake his hand. "Of course. I understand.” You motion toward the chair across the table from you, inviting him to sit. “I know campaign prep must keep him incredibly busy."

Ever since you’d accepted the proposition to marry Steve Rogers and join him on the campaign trail to the White House, your own life had turned upside down, giving you hardly any time to breathe, and you’d been told this was only a mild version of what your own schedule was going to look like once Steve formally announced.

“Former President Bartlet agreed to meet with him, and the schedules ended up aligning this morning for Steve to go up to New Hampshire for a sit down,” Sam explains.

“President Bartlet?” you can’t help the awe in your voice. “I’d skip out on breakfast with me, too.”

“I hope I’m not a disappointment of a substitute,” Sam teases. “Since we’ll be working together as part of the senior staff, I volunteered because I was eager to finally meet you.”

His smile is genuine, and you feel the absolute truth of his sentiment. It melts away some of your disappointment and worry.

In return, your smile becomes a little warmer and easier. “I can’t help being a little disappointed - since I was hoping to finally meet my future husband - but he’s unemployed and you’re technically Captain America, so I guess it’s really an upgrade.”

Sam laughs. “Oh, I’m going to love you, I can tell.”

“Just promise me he’ll actually be at the ceremony tomorrow?” you ask. Your tone is light, but Sam calls your bluff.

His laughter fades, replaced by a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, he'll be there. Wild horses couldn't keep him away. Or androids. Or aliens. Or wizards. Or..." He trails off, realizing he might be overdoing it. "You get the idea."

You nod, appreciating Sam's attempt at humor. "I hope so. It would be pretty awkward to explain to the press why the groom was a no-show at his own wedding."

"Trust me, Steve takes this very seriously," Sam says, his tone becoming more earnest. "He may not know you yet, but he respects you and the commitment you're making. He's not the type to back out or let you down."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervousness. "I suppose I should get used to schedule changes and last-minute adjustments," you say, trying to keep your tone light.

"It's part of the package," Sam agrees. "But so is having a team of people who have your back, no matter what." He leans forward, his eyes meeting yours intently. "I want you to know that includes me. We're not just colleagues in this; we're family."

His words touch you deeply, and you feel a bloom of warmth in your chest, the firs time you’ve felt grounded since you agreed to do this. "Thank you, Sam," you manage to say. "That means a lot."

The waitress approaches, he orders coffee, and you both order breakfast.

As she walks away, you take a sip of the drink you’d ordered while you were waiting before, mulling over Sam's words. "Can I ask you something, Sam? You know Steve better than almost anyone. Do you think...?”

You hesitate, uncertain if you should voice your doubts to Sam. But his open, friendly demeanor encourages you to continue, and you’re going to need to learn to trust this new circle of people you’ll be surrounded with.

"Do you think this is crazy?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Marrying someone I've never even met, maybe becoming First Lady... it all feels so surreal."

Sam leans back in his chair, considering your question carefully. "Crazy? Maybe," he admits with a small smile. "But then again, I've seen a lot of crazy things in my time with the Avengers. This? This actually feels like one of the more normal things I've been part of."

You can't help but chuckle at that, some of the tension easing from your shoulders.

"Look," Sam continues, his tone becoming more serious. "I won't lie to you. It's not going to be easy. The scrutiny, the pressure, the constant demands on your time and energy - it's going to be a lot. But if anyone can handle it, it's Steve. And from what I've heard about you, I think you're up for the challenge, too."

Sam pauses as the waitress returns with your breakfasts and his coffee. Once she's gone, he continues, "Steve doesn't do anything halfway. When he commits to something, he's all in. And he's committed to this - to you, to this campaign, to trying to make a real difference."

You nod, appreciating his honesty. "And what about... us? Steve and me, I mean. Do you think we can make this work? Not just for the campaign, but as a real partnership?"

Sam's eyes soften. "Steve's one of the best men I know. He's loyal, compassionate, and has a moral compass that doesn't quit. But he's also been through a lot, and he can be... guarded. It might take some time for him to open up fully."

You absorb this information, feeling a mix of apprehension and curiosity about your future husband. "I appreciate your honesty, Sam," you say softly. "I guess we'll both be navigating uncharted waters."

Sam nods, taking a sip of his coffee before responding. "True, but you won't be doing it alone. Not only do you have the support of the team, but I think you and Steve might surprise yourselves. You both have a strong sense of purpose, a desire to help others. That's a solid foundation to build on."

You pick at your breakfast, mulling over Sam's words. "I just hope we can find some common ground beyond the campaign," you admit.

Sam leans in, his expression earnest. "Like I said, when Steve commits to something, he gives it his all. That includes relationships. He may be reserved at first, but once he lets you in, you'll have his unwavering loyalty and support."

You nod, feeling a bit more reassured. "I appreciate that. I’m not some hopeless romantic, I’m not looking to be swept off my feet, but I just hope we can find some chemistry, some spark beyond just being political partners."

Sam chuckles. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Steve might be from the 1940s, but he's still a red-blooded man. And you," he gestures at you with his fork, "are definitely his type."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly. "His type?"

"Smart, independent, passionate about making a difference," Sam lists off. “

Your work in non-profits, your passion for social justice - that's right up Steve's alley. Plus, you've got that whole 'take no crap' vibe that he needs. I have a sense about these things, and you have it.”

You laugh, feeling some of the tension dissipate. "Well, I'll take your word for it. Though I have to admit, the idea of being Steve Rogers' 'type' is a bit surreal."

Sam grins. "Trust me, once you two actually meet, you'll see what I mean. Just don't let that 'aw shucks' routine fool you. He might look like an all-American boy scout, but there's a lot more going on under the surface."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

Sam shakes his head, still smiling. "Nah, I'll let you discover that for yourself. Where's the fun if I spoil all the surprises?"

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. "Fine, keep your secrets. But seriously, Sam, thank you. For breakfast, for the pep talk, for everything. I'm really glad I got to meet you before tomorrow."

"Me too," Sam says, raising his coffee mug in a mock toast. "To new beginnings and unexpected partnerships."

You clink your own mug against his, feeling a surge of warmth and camaraderie. As you finish your breakfast, the conversation flows easily between you and Sam. He regales you with stories of his adventures with Steve, carefully omitting any classified details but painting a vivid picture of the man you're about to marry.

You learn about Steve's dry sense of humor, his unwavering loyalty to his friends, and his surprising skill at sketching. Sam describes missions where Steve's quick thinking saved the day, but also quieter moments - movie nights with the team, intense debates over board games, and Steve's ongoing struggle to catch up on pop culture.

As Sam talks, you find yourself leaning in, captivated by these glimpses of reality, getting to know more about the man behind the myth. And even if the next twenty-four hours will be a whirlwind of you choosing and getting fitted for your wedding dress; interviewing candidates that have been vetted for your personal staff - assistant, pr strategist, stylist, initiative director; and a bachelorette party; you feel like you’ll be able to face it all with the bit of reassurance you’ve gained by spending this time with Sam.

next part: LAS VEGAS & CLEVELAND

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

This story will have 3-4 chapters, depending on where I split up the narrative. I anticipate about a chapter a week, usually posted on Fridays.

[shyamanuensis]

Boyfriend Benefits - Ominis Gaunt

Here's Ominis' play out of events following this little scenario. Sebastian's coming soon xo - MDNI + 3000ish words of slow burn smut.

There was a clear level of blatant animosity suffocating the air of your dorm as you sat sheepishly with your ankles crossed at your vanity; shoulders slumped. The mirrors reflection in front of you only managing to  cast an ounce of the uncomfortable tension you felt etching like needles across your sweat-dampened skin as Ominis paced the room in silence. He’d been doing so for quite some time now. Minutes, hours, who knew - but you were able to do little more than watch agonizingly as it seemed his internal thoughts argued with themselves. The way his boots hit the floor with each step, the way his fists clenched with every attempt at reasoning - you knew this was your fault. Or well… not only your fault. Sebastian was the one to blame for bringing your behind-closed-door secret to light after he let out the worlds worst compliment to Ominis after one too many whiskey shots behind the quidditch pitch earlier this evening.

“Your girlfriend tastes fucking delicious Ominis…”

The six words had consumed you since you were dragged away from your friends and tossed into the now awkward familiarity of the room where all that had happened just a few nights before. You hadn’t even had time yet to change the bed sheets. Eyes flickering to anything and everything in the room, your gaze ran across a photograph strip of Ominis and yourself taken on the first date you’d had together in Hogsmeade well over a year ago now; happy, in love, loyal.

“How could you?” It was the first thing he’d said all night since the quidditch pitch.

His tone was lower than usual as Ominis addressed you. Solemn. Dry. There was absolutely no feeling, no emotion, no melancholy. You shifted in your seat in an attempt to get comfortable if possible but it was no use; any move you made stung with self-regarded selfishness.

“Ominis… I…”, you had little more to defend yourself with than half-attempted apologies you’d already cycled through a half dozen times tonight already; in an attempt to fill the void and silence you’d been sitting through.

“And with Sebastian of all blood people.”

“It was a mistake. Honestly. It - it was a one-time thing.”

Oh no it wasn’t. That was a total fucking lie. Sallow and you had been getting up close and personal behind Ominis’ back for months now. Not that you’d admit it. You’d rather be flogged, tortured, forced to swear black and blue before you let that secret slip. A clandestine covert you’d take to the grave.

“Let… let me make it up to you Omi”, you tried to reason as he clearly wasn’t having any of your apologies. “ …I’ll, I’ll let you punish me. As you see fit.”

“Punish you?”

Ominis’ voice echoed throughout the dorm; a harsh, humourless laugh spilling from the back of his throat as the words escaped from his lips.

“You think you deserve a punishment? To be punished? Oh no sweetheart…”, he shook his head, fist tightening around his wand as he dropped it slightly, no longer aiding his mindless wandering; a wave of bitter conflict and disappointment washing over him instantaneously. “You deserve so much worse than that. You deserve to be cast out. You deserve to be shunned by everyone you know and everyone you love. You deserve to be left with nothing but the bitter taste of betrayal and the knowledge that you threw away the one good thing you had in your life.”

It was clear Ominis was angry, hurt — and something else. Each drawn-out breath he now took proved that he was wrestling with a conflict of emotions that ate him up from the inside. But there was something else; something lingering across his expression, across his skin, across his eyes which Ominis forced himself not to acknowledge.

“However”, his voice softened only slightly back to his usual tone as he approached you, “You want me to punish you… chastise you… seek payback for what you’ve done…”

Ominis reached out towards you with his free hand; soft fingers brushing against your dampened hair and tear-stained cheek as he pursed his lips; fighting himself on whether the path to retribution he was about to take was worth his time, his hassle, his energy.

“Fine. Consider this punishment your last and final warning. I’ll make you remember why you belong to me. I’ll remind you why you’ll never be able to betray me again.”

Fingers knotting into your hair roughly; Ominis yanked you up from where you were seated and forced you to stumble across the carpeted floor; onto the bed.

“Strip”, he scoffed, “Now.” The command in his voice was dangerously low. “I want to see every inch of that body which dared to be touched by another. Slattern tramp. I’m going to remind you exactly who you belong to.”

Robes, vest, tie, shirt, skirt - each item stripped and tossed to the floor as instructed without a question. Ominis listened intently to each garment fall and pool at your feet; counting them one by one as he crossed off the list in his head.

“I said strip. Strip.”

Your breath caught to knot in the back of your throat as you reached around the unclasp and step out of the lace undergarments you’d worn and were hoping to show off rather than despoil to the floor. Hearing the last two garments hit the floor; Ominis took a tight grip on your wrist and forced you down; back now against the bed.

“And maybe dear… just maybe… if you please me well enough, I’ll consider giving you a second chance you clearly don’t deserve. Don’t expect it to be easy though. I’m going to make you work for every scrap of forgiveness.”

Leaning down over you; his breath hovered hot against the sensitive skin of your ear. “Now be a good little harlot and do exactly as I say before I lose what little patience I still have left for you.”

Pushing onto the bed to kneel between your legs, you felt his fingers dance along the sweat-slicken skin of your thighs as his thumb found its way to your clit; pushing roughly against it. He scoffed at the barely there whimper you eluded, the minor shift of your hips that rocked beneath him. He drank in the feel; the heat radiating off your skin.

“Good girl…”, he murmured into your ear with an approving rumble. “I bet you look like a proper little slut laying there. Beneath me. My pretty little plaything.”

My - ugh; you had for a moment forgotten how possessive he could be.

“You thought you could forget that, couldn’t you? Thought you could get away with letting another boy touch you, taste you, without consequence?” As Ominis’ voice roughened so did his thumb at your clit. “You thought wrong my dear - oh so very fucking wrong.”

Lifting himself up to take both your wrists and pin them above your head, Ominis let the tip of his wand dig into the hollow of your throat and drag with a hot sting down the valley of your breasts.

“Keep your hands above your head”, he ordered, sitting up to shuffle back down the bed. “Don’t you dare move them or touch yourself without my permission.  This is about punishing you; not pleasuring you. Understood?”

Your semi-restrained form he ran his hands along, to paint the perfect image in his head of what he was dealing with tonight was absolutely perfect, even if he couldn’t see it. His wand snapping with a flick between your knees, you grit your teeth at the stinging infliction and mewl out a culpable groan.

“Spread your legs. Now.” The command was simple. “Show me everything. Give me access to those pretty pink folds that dared to be touched by Sebastian.”

You did as you were told. Knees falling; thighs opening; slit already wet. The mention of that name - ugh that name you just wanted to delete from your minds browser history. Feeling Ominis’ lips at your knees, you let your head fall back; each kiss tantalizing in this game of punishment and pleasure you were now definitely sure you wanted to be playing.

“You’re going to pay for your betrayal dear. You’re going to pay for hours, days, weeks, months years. Going to pay in ways that you can’t even begin to fathom or imagine; but first — first I’m going to remind you of exactly who you belong to and I’m going to make sure you never forget it again.”

Twirling his wand around with a schooled flick of his wrists; Ominis held the blade and brushed the hardwood aspen handle lightly over your folds. His fingers followed suit, feeling just how wet you already where as he pressed a kiss soft to your clit.

“Tsk, tsk. Look at how wet you are. Insatiable little harlot. Always hungry for more it seems; always craving something to fill that empty little void inside you.” Pressing the wands handle harder against your slick heat; the woods cool, stark contrast was teasingly delectable against your scorching heat. “I bet you forgot about that though… didn’t you? This is mine; all mine. To pleasure, to please, to control.”

Whirling his wand around; it was a short, sharp, slap of the tip against your clit that caused you to grip at the headboard; the handle finding its way swiftly to your entrance. Each word Ominis spoke was punctuated with a sharp thrust of his wand. You couldn’t hold back. Biting your lip only did so much to suppress the moans that choked in your throat and knotted off the tip of your tongue.

“Tell me dear; did Sebastian make you feel this good? Did his touch set your body on fire the way mine does? Always has?” He shifted the wand handle inside you to cradle up against that sensitive spot he knew would have you seeing stars. “Or am I still the only one to - let’s not say, satisfy you; but give you what you need?”

Ominis could feel your body clench and quiver around the wand as he thrust the handle in at an excruciating rate. He made note of the way the hitch of your breath changed, the way you gasped and moaned, rollong your eyes with each touch, back arching off the bed; chest rising and falling just the way he had intended. You stayed silent though - knowing the question was a trap. Knowing that it was something Ominis was hoping you’d just walk straight into. Chuckling against your skin; he kissed at your hip and let a cruel, wicked smile tug at the corners of his lips.

“He doesn’t - does he?”

You murmured a soft no in response not being able to keep the answer to yourself.

“Doesn’t what my love? Make you feel good? Fill you? Fuck you? Give you the attention like the desperate little slut you are.” Each word brought on a rougher thrust of the wand, it smacking against your swollen core. He could feel beneath him your lower body trembling; hear your hands grip at the headboard so lightly he was sure your knuckles were turning white. Ominis could hear the desperate, needy sounds falling from your lips and each clung to him; to the promise of pleasure, pain, and retribution.

“Remember this… remember the feeling of my wand inside you; claiming you, punishing you, pleasing you. Remember the way it makes your body sing. The way I play your body like the instrument that it is. You belong to me - you’re mine; now and forever. No matter what you do, who you do, how far you run, where you slink off to between the shadows… you’ll always belong to me.”

Gripping at your hip, Ominis pulled you down onto the wand, impaling you as he forced you to ride the wood with savage intensity as his mouth found your sensitive bundle of nerves and murmured against it.

“This is the start of your punishment - your penance.” He nipped at your skin; feeling your back arch off the bed again in a perfect curve of pleasure and ecstasy.

“Now scream for me. Scream my name. Let the whole fucking castle know who’s causing you to feel this way. Who you belong to. Let them know you’re mine and mine alone.”

The sweet sound of his name coursing through the dungeons was like the first songbirds cry to a new spring. He could feel the way your body tensed; hear the desperation as you repeated his name like a broken record again and again and again. Panting and gasping. The way your body clenched around his wand as if trying to pull it in deeper, needier; hold it inside of you with greed.

“P-pl-please Omi..”

“Please?”, he hocked with a cruel laugh as his lips continued to assault your clit. “Please what? Please stop? Please give you more?” He kept up the pace of his wands thrusts driving it deeper, harder, and faster into your dripping heat.

“You want to come, don’t you dear?”, he growled the question between your folds and brushed his tongue against your already occupied entrance. “You want to beg for it? Bed for me to let you find your release?”

Although he could feel his own desires climbing; Ominis remained stoic to how you were making him feel; your hips rocking in agony chasing a pleasure you knew he wasn’t going to so easily give up and in.

“Go on then; but this is all you get. The wand and nothing else. Come for me; like the helpless little slut that you are. Come on my wand; show me that you remember who you belong to.”

Ominis could feel your body starting to convulse beneath him; your walls grip at his wand like a vice as your high approached. The exiguity echoing from your voice against every wall in the room, testament to the desire and need you craved reward for. Hot breath against your slit, your hips bucked up towards Ominis - wanting to be teased, wanting to be fucked, wanting to be released.

“That’s it…”, he growled, “Come for me.”

A final brutal thrust of his wand pressed in as deep as the handle could go ground against your sensitive spots and walls forcing you to see stars as your hot, dripping arousal coated Ominis’ fingertips. For a moment; he was torn between that dark satisfaction of finally pushing you over the edge and giving into his own desires in the most primal way possible. He knew you wanted him, needed him, Merlin – help him; just as much as he needed you. Catching your breath, you closed your eyes and felt Ominis remove his wand from between your folds, the parting feeling causing you to whimper at the lost friction you so desperately needed.

With a guttural groan; Ominis lifted himself off the bed just enough to fight with his belt and trousers; revealing his aching cock which throbbed with a mind of its own as it strained towards your heat.

“Fuckk..”

As the head of his cock nudged your slick entrance; Ominis positioning himself between your thighs you begged for the chance to touch him.

“Permission to move my hands…”

“Granted love.”

They fell from the bedhead to grip at his hips; grasping through the thick trouser fabric.

“Please Omi… please, please, please, please, please.”

Ominis rocked his hips lightly forward; head of his cock catching on your entrance with a tease. A torment. Pushing you to the brink of madness. You tried to rock yourself onto him; feel him, need him; but Ominis didn’t give in. Through his shirt you could see his heart pounding. The short and sharp gasps he made, making it obvious that he wanted this as much as you needed it.

“I… I…”

Enough with the begging. Ominis reached up to wrap a hand around your throat as he sunk himself in with a groan so deep it caused the dorm room to vibrate.

“You don’t get to come until I say you can.”

He snarled as his hips started to move slowly but no less demanding than what you expected.

“You don’t get to find your pleasure until I’ve had my way with you. Used you for my own fucking satisfaction.”

Hearing you whimper and plead; feeling your body wither and tremble; this only fuelled Ominis furhter. His desire, need to dominate, to control, to reclaim what was his ignited.

“You’re mine. Mine to punish. Mine to pleasure. Mine to do with what I please and right now…”, Ominis ground his hips against yours, cock buried as deep as it could go, “…I please myself.”

As Ominis began to move again, his thrusts were slow; deep, deliberate. Each one planned and executed to stroke the desire you needed fulfilled. To keep you teetering on the knifes edge of release but not allowing you to fall over it.

“You’re going to take it all my little fucking whore; take every inch, every drop, every thrust and fucking thank me for it, because this…”, he explained with a particularly hard thrust which pushed you to the edge - length pulsating, “is what you were fucking made for.”

Hands sliding up Ominis’ chest to his shoulders, you gripped like it was a lifeline you couldn’t make it without and stumbled over your own confession.

“Y-you… you feel different… different to Sebastian.”

For a split second; Ominis felt his heart be pierced through the haze of lust and desire which clouded him. He was struck by a pang of jealousy; a searing rage at the thought of his best friend touching his girl. Sebastian’s hands against your skin. His tongue relishing the sweetness of your tight cunt. Ominis wanted to rage, to scream, to destroy everything that dared come between him and what was his, but he pushed that thought to the side as he felt your walls grip at his cock like a velvet vice. The way you engulfed him; consumed him, dragged him deeper and deeper in.

“Different?”, he groaned into your ear; his voice laced with both disgust and distaste.”Of course I’m different, you little witch. Sebastian’s just a pale imitation of what someone like I can do for you. A watered-down version of what you’re used to.”

You opened your eyes to look up at him; drinking in the words he said like a sinner being told their death sentence.

“I’m not some timid little boy pretending - I’m a Gaunt. I was born to dominate, to conquer, to take what I want and make it mine”, his thrusts became more erratic, “and what I want is to ruin you for anyone else.”

Ominis could feel his release approaching; the heat and pressure building up where he knew you wanted it most but he held back, determined to make you come first. To feel your pleasure before he found his own.

“So go on my little slut”, he coaxed; a hand dropping down to play your clit like a fiddle and throw you over the edge. “Take it. Take every fucking inch and remember that you belong to me.”

As you screamed his name and stopped thinking; body taking over, your cries of pleasure anguished and echoing off the dungeon walls, Ominis slammed his hips forward; driving his cock deep inside forcing you to feel the first spurts of his release, painting you inside out with greed. Collapsing on top of your sweat-slicken body; Ominis felt the last of a shockwave of pleasure tense through his body, a dark ecstasy that utterly consumed him. Heart still pounding; he could feel your breath, the way your body trembled, your ragged moans as you hesitatently came down from a high of your own.

“Mine…”, he whispered against your lips; catching them with his own for a deep, long awaited kiss, “…and don’t you fucking forget it.”

[sentientgolfball]

Dew and phantom with 4 and 10 from the prompt list:3

I really love writing these two so much OUGH

went the hurt/comfort route for this one

It is one of those days. One of the days where Dew wakes with pressure in his head and the weight of the world on his shoulders. Days like these happen more frequently this time of year, when the sun is gone and snow covers everything green. It never used to be this bad. When he was water he would just spend the coldest days sleeping. Now that he is fire though, all he gets is this lousy seasonal depression. The flame in his veins means he is now connected to the Sun rather than the Moon, so when She disappears it is like his mind shuts down. 

All the fire ghouls get like this, but Dew suffers the worst. Omega thinks it is because of the remnants of his water. A deep, deep part of him tells him it is time to sleep, but the rest of him does not allow it. It is not in his nature anymore. So the two conflicting instincts cause him to get hit harder than the rest. 

He fucking hates it. He hates that he cannot even force himself to get up to shower or eat or do anything besides lay in bed and stare at his wall. He cannot even get himself to shower or brush his teeth. It all just feels so heavy. Subconsciously he knows it will pass. He knows there is nothing wrong with him, that this is just a part of him now, but at the moment all he can think about is how much of a waste he is. Which in turn makes him feel worse. Adds even more pressure. But he cannot stop it. Round and round his thoughts go as he gets trapped in a spiral of his own making. 

How pathetic. 

Waste of a day. 

Disgusting. 

Cannot even take care of himself. 

What is he even doing? 

He buries himself deeper in his blankets, trying to shut out the light. Maybe he can sleep it off. He may not be the kind of ghoul to take naps, but anything is better than his current state. He knows it will not happen, but at least if it is dark he can pretend. 

But then a knock at his door disturbs his cocooning efforts. Who the fuck could that be? His pack is aware of how he gets this time of year and after doing this for so long they know to let him have a day before pulling him out. A day to rest, if you can even call it resting, so he does not burn out. Alpha told him there is a reason fire ghouls hide away during the winter but Dew did not really pay attention. 

So the knock shocks him. He does not feel annoyed or angry or anything close to that. He barely feels anything other than the heaviness in his chest. He does not really have time to process a response because before he can decide if he wants to truly be left alone or have someone here, the door creaks open. 

“Dew? Are you dead?” Phantom’s voice calls out. 

The vaguely Dew shaped lump on the bed just shrugs. He cannot really find his words. Phantom does not mind though. They step into the room, shuffling over. Dew can hear a little tink nearby as Phantom places a plate down on his nightstand. The noise causes Dew’s ear to twitch. When the smell of food hits his nose his stomach rumbles. He did not even know he was hungry. Very slowly, Dew rolls around so he is now facing Phantom instead of the window. 

They look down at him with a nervous little smile, “When you didn’t come to breakfast I got worried cause I was like ‘Dew is always the first one here’ but everyone else told me it would be okay but then I felt bad cause you’re missing croissants and I know how much you like them so i thought it wouldn’t hurt to bring you one.” 

They gesture to the plate that has a large chocolate filled croissant and some bits of fruit. Dew still does not say anything. He cannot. Find it. And it frustrates him. But not as much as Phantom’s gesture warms him. Them and their stupid face and stupid big heart and stupid kindness. Even for a horrible creature like himself. He wants to tell them something, let them know he appreciates them, but his stupid brain will not let me say anything. 

After the silence stretches for too long, Phantom rocks back on their heels and looks away, “Aaaanyway I’ll leave you be since you’re not feeling well.” 

The moment they turn to leave, Dew acts on instinct. His hand darts forward, wrapping around their wrist with a slight tug. They stop dead in their travel and look back down at him. 

“Dew what—“ the words die when they see a tear roll down his cheek. 

Dew never cries. Ever. Phantom’s only seen him cry once and that was when he saw Aether for the first time when they got back from tour. They try not to panic because what the fuck could be happening to make Dew cry. 

“Hey it’s okay uh you’ll be alright. Do you…want me to stay?” 

Get it together Phantom, you’re a quintessence ghoul for Satan’s sake. 

Dew nods his head, still not letting go of Phantom’s wrist. Despite the circumstance, their tail happily wags behind them. They pull the edge of the blanket up and clamber under. Immediately they wrap their arms around Dew, cuddling close and twining their tails together. 

Dew does not stop them. It is actually quite nice. Their ozone and frozen apple scent is familiar. Comforting. It allows him to focus on something else that is not the screaming in his mind that tells him he is an inconvenience. A burden. 

Phantom. Does not really know what to do. Now that they are touching, they have an idea of what is wrong. Can feel the heaviness weighing him down. But just because they know does not mean they can do anything. They want to, of course they do, but what does he need? 

“Do you wanna stay like this?” Phantom mumbles into his hair. 

Dew nods. 

“Okay I can do that. We can stay here all day if you want.” 

Anything Dew wants. 

Phantom will do anything if it makes him feel even just a little bit lighter. So that is what they do. They lay in bed with him all day, scratchy little chuffs being the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. 

[undercoveravenger]

Calm

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Former barracks bunny Soap coming to terms with having feelings for you.

Warnings: Suggestive, but no actual smut

-----

Johnny MacTavish has always had too much energy for his own good. He’s always had a leg bouncing or fingers tapping or something to tear apart and put back together during briefings, always been running his mouth during transits, always bouncing from person to person because he’s just too much for one person to handle.

He’s had a handful of partners through the years that get close, but no one that’s been able to hold up against his stamina. It’s probably why he’d become something of a barracks bunny in the last few years, shacking up with anyone who catches his fancy for half a second in an effort to curb his libido but he just can't get the same enjoyment out of it that he used to. The enthusiasm of the rookies eager to get a taste of him or the punishing way someone from upper command bends him over just don't do it for him anymore. 

None of them bring that same satisfying ache that you do. 

It’s the sweet way you hold him during makes him feel like he's not just a problem. Not some chore to be tolerated and dealt with and then pushed to the back of your mind to be forgotten about. It makes him feel like he's whole for a little while, at least until he forces himself out of your bed to start gathering his clothes, stumbling his way back into his underwear and cargos on numb legs and wishing he'd hear you tell him to stay but knowing that he can't let himself.

He can’t turn around. Can’t bring himself to check if you’re watching him - hoping he’ll come back to bed. Or worse, what if you’d just rolled over and closed your eyes? Ready to wash your hands of him and let him leave the way he always does?

He pauses then, shirt in hands and pants unbuckled around his hips. You’re the one person who has ever treated him like this. The only one who never bustled him out as soon as the sex ended or pushed him to stay when he didn’t feel like it. The only one who actually wore him out enough that he didn’t feel like he needed to seek someone else out for another round before bed. You’d always been careful to check in with him. Always willing to at least hear him out if he asked to try something without pushing him if he said no to one of your own requests. Always asking if he needed anything from you after.

“Why?” The question escapes him unbidden and it takes him a moment to realize it even came from him. “Why,” he says again, eyes fixed on the way his knuckles go white from gripping his shirt so tightly, “don’t you ever ask me to stay?”

It’s clearly not something you’d expected him to say, not from how long the silence stretches between you. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” You’re looking at him, Soap notices when he turns to face you, whether you were or not before, you are now. Lying sprawled on your side, with one hand propping your head up, and your eyes are fixed on his and he’s not used to the intensity - not used to someone looking at him like that instead of with wandering eyes even when he is trying to be serious. “Everyone’s always talking about how you don’t stay. That you just want a bit of fun and then you go.” You shift onto your back and your breath escapes you in a huff and Johnny can feel his chest squeeze fondly at the sound. “Doubted you’d want me pushing your boundaries.”

He’s not sure what to say about that. That you hadn’t asked because you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He’d known you were a pretty stand up guy - there was a reason you were the one sent in to deal with victims or newly recovered prisoners, something safe about you that even a stranger could see. 

“And,” he says slowly, forcing himself to continue despite the pit in his stomach, “What if I’d asked to?”

The smile that crosses your features brings an unconscious one to Johnny’s own lips, “Then I’d ask which side of the bed you prefer,” you said, simple and matter of fact. Like him staying wasn’t even something you’d have to think twice to be alright with. 

Johnny nodded slowly, butterflies racing in his stomach as he thought about his options. How he could leave and go back to his usual habits and pretend this never happened, or how he could see how this went with you. He steels himself, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he ever has on an op as he drops his shirt and kicks his cargos back off, moving to settle beside you on the bed. “Left side’s fine,” he says, grinning as he tugged the sheets back up over the both of you and tucked himself tight against your chest. 

If it gets him more nights like this with you, Johnny thinks he could certainly get used to the calm.

[sokkastyles]

OP: the fandom is really bad with the way they excuse Aang.

Aang stan with no self awareness: Nuhuh! You see, let me explain why all these things Aang did are actually all excusable and if you hate him for it, it's some sort of crime.

Also notice how the rebuttal has to paint literally every other child who is a victim of genocide and abuse as wrong for "pressuring Aang to kill," while repeatedly insisting that Aang's childhood innocence needs to be preserved.

I also want to point out the shitty way Aang violating Katara's consent is addressed here because BOY HOWDY this is some stupid ass rape culture grossness. I agree that Aang did what he did because he was feeling emasculated, but this is NOWHERE NEAR an excuse and it's offensive that Aang's need to assert his masculinity is being prioritized over Katara's bodily autonomy. It's actually a known fact that many men and boys assault women and girls because they feel the need to prove their masculinity, and in this case Aang also felt the need to blame Katara for emasculating him based on something she didn't even do. Nobody else in the gaang acts this way because of their depiction in the play. Only Aang, and it's unacceptable that this person acknowledges that it's wrong but then pulls out this justification for it. Toxic masculinity is the reason why he does this to Katara. That's what it is.

Oh yeah, and it's also okay for Aang to be racist about Katara and Sokka's culture because they weren't paying enough attention to him or something, according to this person.

I swear, every time these people open their mouths, they just make things worse. I actually don't hate Aang, but I abhor the Nice Guy version of him that exists in his worst defenders' minds who needs everything to revolve around him or the world might explode or something.

Something that has always bothered me about Avatar: The Last Airbender is Aang. The fandom is really bad with excusing all his fuck ups and making him seem like this sweet innocent kid who can do no wrong, who is just all around good. But is he?

Consider the fact he is the character of the core Gaang who has hurt others the most. This does not include Zuko because while he is part of the Gaang he is a late stage addition and he was on the bad side for most of the show and that will obviously mean he did horrible shit.

He hurt Katara and Sokka by hiding the letter from their father

He was very insulting of their culture when they were with Bato and food from their culture was shared and let’s not forget he burned their food and left them without anything because he “didn’t know it was food” but he was by far the most travelled of the Gaang

He burned Katara while recklessly firebending

He was very quick to turn on Toph for sharing a truth (Appa’s shedding led to them being found)

He was rude to Toph again when Appa went missing and blamed her

He was rude to Katara and treated her horribly when she tried to keep them together

He gave Zuko the most awful disguised as a compliment insult

He kissed Katara without consent

Did I mention he was already mad at her for something she didn’t do seconds before? Something he had no right to be mad about

He yelled at every single one of his friends while they tried to help him figure out a solution to beating the Fire Lord

There is just no way you can say Aang is some perfect angel or that he doesn’t do the wrong stuff. He does. And he does it a lot. I see several posts talk about how good of a friend he is but even if you go beyond the show, you really see that it’s not true. He’s also not a good boyfriend or love interest in general. The way he treats Katara is plain wrong and I do not feel like he should have had any romantic relationship for a long time. He was possessive and jealous and entitled.

We also need to look at how bad of an Avatar he was. Aang was selfish and did not put his duty before all else. He put himself first and while yes, he was a very young kid. The world needed him. He needed to grow up. But he didn’t. He still chose a way out that worked for him but he had no right to decide it was the right thing for everyone else. Especially when the people whose opinions he got were not in favor of sparing Ozai. But that choice was not given to them. It was taken from them by someone who had not looked out for their best interests.

And it sucks. I wanted to like Aang and his journey. But he was not a likable character and I feel like it does a disservice to an otherwise amazing show when their lead character is such a weak link.

[jellyfishinsideajar]

Dating [Tfp] Ratchet Headcanons

( This old man was the biggest crush Highschool! Me had and he deserves all the love and he doesn’t get enough of it )

The reason you’re with Ratchet is beyond him, whether you’re a human or fellow Autobot, you’re much younger than him. You could do so much better and yet you’ve chosen to love on the old man of Team Prime

He’s very reserved and prefers to keep your relationship private, on the down-low so to speak.

Things like PDA and nicknames aren’t really something he feels comfortable with expressing in front of everybody, especially the kids. He already endures enough of Miko’s teasing about his soft spot for you and yes, it did get worse when you two officially got together. She’s your biggest supporter, deal with it.

At the very most, he’ll rest a servo on the small of your back and gently pat the top of your head.

He’s extremely gentle! Whether you’re a human or Cybertronian, his touch is always so loving and comforting.

While he may voice his disdain for organics, he isn’t entirely despondent of Homo Sapians. He just holds concern for involving humans in their affairs in the first place. In truth, he holds some respect for the human race for coming such a long way. Ratchet would be devestated to see them fall down the same path as the Cybertronians.

If you are a human, it takes a real long time before you two end up dating and even then, Ratchet’s circuits are in disarray struggling to rationalize why someone like you would want to be with someone like him.

If you’re a fellow Autobot, Ratchet is mainly worried how his personal relationship with you might affect his work.

He already worries so much for the others, but you- Ratchet is constantly worried, always checking you for injuries when you return from missions and making sure your Energon levels are properly balanced.

For as much as he cares and fusses over you, you already know he doesn’t even spare himself a moments rest.

You are constantly having to fight him on taking a break, recharging, and just taking care of himself in general. He sacrifices a lot for his team and still strives to do more.

While an honorable endeavor on his part, it’s obvious how much burning the candle on both ends begins to take a toll on him.

Ratchet doesn’t exactly considering himself the most romantic bot, but he makes attempts to indulge you.

Do NOT expect cheesy things from him though, he’s an old mech and he isn’t going to waste time on ‘silly’ grand gestures when he can have an honest conversation with you face-to-face.

As a fellow Autobot, you hardly get downtime. Ratchet spares himself even less time to relax- Yet, in the middle of the night, when the world is quiet and the base is still- You can coax his servos into your own, pulling him back to your shared habsuite and into the metal slab of your berth. Lying close together where your chassis is pressed against his and the thrum of your sparks sync together as one.

It’s considerably harder though if you’re human- While you may spend a lot of time at base with him and the others, you have a life outside of him. Family, friends, work, and college- Somedays, he wishes you to do better than him, to find a partner who can truly and fully commit to you in all aspects of life.

You make him forget those worries of his every chance you get, reassuring him that you know what you signed up for and are more than happy to be with him.

Nicknames like “Sweetspark” “Hummingbird” are his favorite to use and while he isn’t too keen on nicknames for himself, he won’t get after you for calling him “Dear”. He rather enjoys it actually, but don’t tell Bumblebee or Smokescreen- or Primus forbid, Miko. He won’t ever hear the end of it.

Overall, Ratchet is a fine mech who, while may not always have or make the time for you, makes it clear that you are special to him. Regardless of metal or flesh.

[sirsagrell]

The holidays have passed so it's time to yap critically about Veilguard some more.

So. I like to project themes and meanings on Dragon Age stories that weren't even necessarily intentionally put there by the writers. And how well Dragon Age used to lend itself to that favorite pastime of mine, was, I think, one of its main strengths.

Hear me out.

Dragon Age is a game, and a game is not a book. A Dragon Age narrative is not done being written until you the player play through it and fill in the blanks. And you don't just play a role, as in define the player character and make choices for them. Through the interplay between your character and the world, trough the influence you have on the world and the people in it, you pick out the themes and meanings that your very own Dragon Age narrative explores and expresses.

It used to be a damn fantasy writer simulator. No wonder it inspired so much creativity.

Some of it was intentional, and some, probably, not. Some, but far from all of it was due to the infamous Dragon Age Grey Morality(TM).

(Where that Grey Morality(TM) was executed well, and where not is a separate conversation, and that conversation has very much been had, extensively, over the past ten years. I'm not getting into that here.)

Most of this effect, however, relied on the simple fact that Dragon Age never presumed to tell you what the correct themes and meanings of a Dragon Age story were. (Yes, you could arrive at some really unfortunate themes and meanings with the story building blocks given to you, yes, I know. But you never had to.)

You were asked questions (Yes, some of them were stupid questions). But if you were in any way interested in thinking about the messy source material presented to you, you immediately arrived at questions even deeper than the writers ever intended to ask, and weren't some of them just fascinating.

Veilguard, I feel, almost stopped asking questions. Worse, when it does try to ask them, it tells you what the answers are supposed mean. Literally. In a tooltip (!) in the interface (!!). There's a correct way to read Dragon Age now, somehow.

I'd say the most egregious example of this shift is Rook's unquestionable heroism.

We, Dragon Age and I, used to ponder the meaning of being celebrated as the hero, regardless of what kind of person you really were. Or the futility of trying to be the hero when all the societal systems work against you. Or the terror of being the hero, when you're suddenly forced to become a whole societal system yourself. My Dragon Age protagonists had a really sad and shitty time being protagonists. 'Twas good for their souls.

Enter Veilguard and Rook.

You start the game and you're introduced to Rook, the game's hero. You are repeatedly reassured that you're the hero, and Were Chosen For Reason. You can attempt to express doubt about maybe having made the situation worse, and you're immediately assured by your companions that you shouldn't. "You got this Rook", the game repeatedly says. (It's thankless work, fixing the world, Solas shares, but Solas is from a different game and probably didn't get the memo.) Everyone is actually super thankful to Rook, even the people you left to be blighted, you're a universally good influence, after all, and you couldn't be two places at once, any reasonable person understands. You're doing your best. Don't you worry, your best will be enough.

Oh, and just in case you're still having doubts, Rook, all your antagonists are mindless and/or power-hungry fools, and, like, elfy Thanos. It is objectively correct to oppose them. By doing so you're not just saving people but helping the world move past the violence of the past and into a brighter safer future.

Honestly, I don't think I have ever played a game that went to such lengths to assure you you're the Good Guy here. I've never played Marvel games though, are they like that? Is this why…

This is getting too long. So I'll sum it up as best I can.

Veilguard isn't juvenile in meaning, not really. In tone, yes, in meaning, for the most part, no. It does tackle some heavy stuff. But Veilguard knows what exactly it means to say and it will beat you over the head with its message, until you know it too.

And that, to me, for a Dragon Age story, is just sad.

[winniefrezcomics]

So i have 2 questions

Why do iris and perry have godparents?

Does Dale still suck as a father in your human au?

(Will get to second question in a separate post 🧡)

The short answer for the first one is that , despite being best friends in preschool, when Perry and Iris reconnected in elementary school, it literally went SO BAD that they made each OTHER mutually miserable enough that they both got assigned godparents 😬😬

Perry IMMEDIATELY recognizes his childhood friend, but B-lining to HUG the school bully on his first day went just about as well as you’d expect ☠️☠️

This hug actually freaked Iris out SO much that is took him DAYS to finally get a good look at Perry, and when he did, well…. 😬

As much as I hate to torment my bby boys, Its still Peri and Irep- The two of them having ZERO communication skills is intrinsic to my characterization of them tbfh snsndndndndjdj ☠️☠️

LONG ANSWER:

I actually wrote some drabbles about these events! (mostly so that I wouldn’t forget them if I get questions that allow me to illustrate parts of them for the blog)

I’ll put the link below! 🥰💜💙

As for why they STILL have fairy god parents even after clearing up their hurt feelings and becoming friends again-

💜Perrys mom is often out traveling for movie shoots, and Perry’s Dad is very busy with his accounting job, especially at the end of every month- tho they used to spend every waking moment with thier little man, Perrys terrible habit of people-pleasing has led to him majorly downplaying how lonely he feels, especially now that his big brother and best friend Timmy has left for college, and took thier dog Sparky with them (something that Perry INSISTED he was fine with, despite being very much not fine with it at all)

💙On Iris’ side, if you directly ASKED him why he was deemed miserable enough to get a godparent (despite coming from money and having attentive, adoring parents) I’m not sure he’d actually be able to tell you himself! Between mod and readers tho, the reason Iris is miserable is that deep, deep down, he secretly RESENTS the role of “the scary kid” that his natural fangs and unorthodox upbringing have forced upon him, but because he’s always been SO SMALL for his age (my poor evil son was a preme, and spent much of his first few months in the hospital) he committed to the bit so hard he doesn’t even know HOW to be nice anymore, instead pushing ALL his peers away so none of them ever get close enough to see his flaws and weaknesses, because being “the scary kid that no one would dare mess with” is the only thing that makes him feel safe- despite how desperately he wants to be loved and praised by his peers 🥺😭

Here’s the Doc detailing Perry and Iris’ first meeting, godparent assignments, AND eventual reconciliation! 🥺💕(Hoping to get questions that I can finagle into excuses to eventually draw the vast majority of these events tbh 😂)

(Cw for UNINTENTIONAL misgendering and mild- mostly just implied- child violence ☠️)

Aaas for your second question: he’s even WORSE! 😃

Just a second, I’ll answer that one in a reblog so I can tw for Dale Dinmadome lmao (Only Half joking. Fairy Dev’s backstory is NOT going to be a pleasant read 🙃 you have been warned dbdbdjdjdjddjej ☠️)