#and i was always terrified of those things

[fancyfeathers]

If you don’t mind me asking what does Serial Killer/Ringmaster! Dick Grayson do with reader after kidnapping them in a romantic and platonic ways? Like does he just keep them to himself or does he show them off?

Have a nice day!!!!

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

When Dick kidnaps his darling he needs to get the hell out of Gotham before a very angry Batman shows up to rescue her, even then he has a month tops before gets caught and sent off to Arkham Asylum.

But in that month he does do… quite a few things with her.

Majority of the time she is gagged and bound, he can’t have her running away or calling for help, well both are kinda pointless anyway since the performers at the circus are loyal to him.

Dick is normally helping take care for rehearsals during a good chunk of the day so during that time she is stuffed into one of those traveling trunks. Normally he wraps her up in a blanket like a baby and puts a pillow in there for her, but sometimes it gets really hot in there so that when Dick comes back she is an overheated mess. He’ll coo at her and pick her up before running her a cold bath which is such whiplash between the temperatures and afterwards Dick will carry her to bed and hold her while he talks about his day to her. He’ll ask her about her day, but her answer will never change because her days are almost always the same and also she can’t talk because she is gagged.

Then at night she shares a bed with Dick, still all tied up. He clings to her like a stuffed animal and he thinks it is romantic to see her waking up in the morning, he wonders if this is what it felt like for his parents.

Sometimes the things he talks about scares her, well everything he tells her is scary. Like he started rambling about how they were meant to be together because she understands the pain of seeing her parents get murdered in front her and how the world has been far too cruel to both of them. He looks manic when talking, wide eyed and that unsettling laughter.

Or there are the times he starts talking about people’s body parts and disturbing ways to kill someone, like it only takes a few pounds of force to push someone’s nose into their skull or how the heart can continue to beat a few minutes after a head is severed from the body and therefore the body is still living. Even though his darling was Robin, she looks terrified when he starts talking like that…

“Oh baby, hey, hey, hey, don’t give me that face, I’ll never do that to you, I’ll only hurt you if you try to run, you know that right?”

He says that sort of thing but then he’ll come back to her and it is terrifying to look up and see him, absolutely trenched in blood, opening the truck she is hidden in, smiling down at her, telling her how pretty she is.

But then there are other disturbing times after certain activities that he will be laying down next to her and he’ll just say something like…

“You taste so good down there… I wonder what the rest of you taste like.”

But he immediately stops talking like that when she tells him that scares her, the last thing her wants is her being scared of him.

Then when she is finally rescued, either by the police or by Batman, she immediately runs up the the first person she recognizes which is most likely Commissioner Gordon and he just holds her as she cries and watches as the members of the circus being arrested for compliance in her kidnapping and the murders of over a hundred people. The only reason she can’t run to Bruce is because he is personally taking Dick to Arkham Asylum, especially after what he did to his eldest daughter. Commissioner Gordon drives her back to Wayne Manor where Alfred will be waiting at the door and has a warm meal waiting for her and she can eat while Alfred and Gordon talk about what exactly happened and then she heads up to bed once Bruce gets home just so her can make sure she is okay before taking to Gordon.

Life goes back to normal for her… well that is until there was a break out at Arkham Asylum…

[revelboo]

✨All hail Revel! All hail Revel! Thank you for sharing your work and feeding us thirsty robot simps. ✨

I humbly beg for more Sunny and Sides crumbs or more Armada Starscream. Pretty please!🙏

Both are on my list for today.

Even If It Kills Me Pt 17

Armada Starscream x Reader

• Watching you fuss over the mini-cons, there’s a new awareness of you that he can’t shake. All those taboo thoughts just there, taunting him. Impossible things. Like sparklings and a family. An after to this unending war. And you. Keeps imagining it and you’re always there. If he mass shifted, he could lace his servos with your fingers. Hold you in his arms. In his idle daydreams, he lounges back with you draped against him, those soft hands on his arm resting against you. Whispering together and relaxed in each other’s arms. Fooling himself with things he can’t have. Sooner or later, you’ll want other humans. You’ll leave him.

• “You’re quiet today,” you call up to Starscream, your head lifting from where you’re wiping mud off of Runway while the other two patiently wait for you to help them even though you know they can do it themselves just fine. They just like being babied and you enjoy having someone to take care of. To feel useful. And keeping muddy mini-cons from sprawling into your nest of blankets is a priority even if you never really sleep there anymore. Spending your nights stretched on Star listening to the hum of his spark instead. Watching Star grimace and turn away, expression almost guilty like he was doing something wrong, you hesitate.

• “You know if you decide you want to be freed, if you don’t want to be here anymore with me, you just need to ask. You’re not a prisoner.” Hates saying the words, but needs you to understand you have a choice. That if you decide you want your freedom, he’ll give it to you even if it kills him inside. Even if he doesn’t want to. And you just stare at him, expression emptying to make his spark ache. Had you felt trapped here with him? Too scared of angering him to speak up?

• Why say that all of a sudden? Is he getting sick of having you around? Maybe you’re in the way. Annoying him. Mouth dry, you go back to cleaning the mini-con, but you can feel those optics on you. And it’s not like you haven’t realized this can’t last. That you can’t just hide here and pretend away reality, but it still hurts. Making you realize how much you like it here. Like him. “Right. Sure,” you manage as panic claws at you. Because you don’t have anywhere else to go. Can’t go back. Not after having somewhere safe and removed from the daily fear and uncertainty. Eyes burning, you duck your head. Not wanting to start crying, but you’re scared.

• Runway chirps in distress as you turn away from him and them. Reaching up to scrub the back of your arm against your eyes like you’re- Primus, are you leaking again? What did he say to upset you this time? Venting, he moves closer and you pointedly walk away. Avoiding him and you’re so small it’s easy for you to keep from looking at him. Acknowledging him. Frustrated, he glances at the closed door to his habsuite. Knowing it’s not safe even if the Autobots are his allies. That he’ll be vulnerable, but growling, he mass shifts anyway and catches you by an arm, startling a frightened noise from you as you reel back. Eyes wide and lashes spiky with tears before your face just crumples. Sobbing. Helplessly looking at the mini-cons as they chirp their own distress, he carefully pulls you into him. “Don’t make me go back,” you whisper, voice breaking and terrified. Little hands clinging to him as you press your face against his neck, dampening his mesh. Making him remember your bruises, your resignation when he’d found you. Your scars. As broken as he is even though you’re always smiling for him.

Previous

[half-of-a-gay]

i’ve never done this before clearly but : rugby player sevika x teams manager reader , PLEASE AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!!

my first request 🤭🤩🤗

Rugby player!Sevika x Team manager!Reader

Sevika was a force on the field—unstoppable, relentless, a powerhouse in every sense of the word. She was the kind of player who made opponents hesitate before getting in her way, and the kind of teammate who turned a losing game into a victory with sheer determination. She had the scars to prove it, the muscle to back it up, and the confidence that made her damn near impossible to ignore.

Except when it came to you.

You, the team manager who kept things running smoothly—ordering equipment, organizing travel schedules, making sure their bruised and battered bodies had ice packs and painkillers ready after every brutal game. The one person Sevika, the unshakable, unbreakable rugby star, could barely string two sentences together around.

It was ridiculous, really. She could trash-talk a 200-pound forward without flinching, could carry half the team on her back if needed, but the second you looked at her with that easy smile, clipboard in hand, asking how her shoulder was doing after last week’s game, Sevika forgot how to function.

She wasn’t the kind of person who talked about things.

Not about her injuries. Not about how exhausted she was. And definitely not about the way she felt whenever you so much as looked at her.

So she kept quiet. It was easier that way.

You, on the other hand, were everywhere—on the sidelines, running the team like a well-oiled machine. But Sevika noticed the small things, too. How you hooked your pen on the collar of your shirt when you weren’t taking notes. The way you chewed your lip when you were deep in thought. The fact that, no matter how chaotic things got, you always checked in on her first.

And that terrified Sevika. Because if she let herself believe you cared more about her than just another player on the team, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from wanting more. So she buried it.

Or at least, she tried.

She had survived another week of avoiding you at all costs. But the universe clearly had other plans.

"Sevika."

Your voice cut through the noise of the locker room, sharp and unrelenting, and she froze mid-step. She considered pretending not to hear you, but based on the look on your face when she turned around, that probably would’ve gotten her killed.

Shit. Caught.

Slowly, she faced you, schooling her expression into something bored, as if you weren’t standing there, arms crossed, looking at her like she was one wrong answer away from getting her ass handed to her.

"Yeah?" she drawled, leaning against the row of lockers with the kind of forced, lazy confidence that was supposed to hide the fact that you scared the shit out of her—and that she was, in fact, internally panicking.

"You’ve been ignoring my messages about your rehab schedule."

Damn. She knew she should’ve responded to those.

"I’ve been busy."

You arched a brow, unimpressed. "Too busy to let me know if your shoulder is still wrecked? That’s funny, because I saw you benching twice your weight in the gym yesterday."

Sevika exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "It’s fine."

"It won’t be if you keep being stupid," you shot back, stepping closer.

Sevika tensed.

You were too close—close enough that she could smell your perfume, something soft, completely at odds with the sweat and adrenaline that clung to her skin.

Her brain short-circuited. She was not built for this.

"I—I’ll do the rehab, alright?" she muttered, suddenly very interested in the scuff marks on the floor. "I’ll text you back."

"You better."

You held her gaze for a second longer before stepping back, giving her just enough room to breathe again. But then—

"You do realize we have an away game next week, right?" you said, arms still crossed.

Sevika blinked. "Yeah?"

"And that you’re a starter."

"…Yeah?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose like she was the biggest headache of your entire existence.

"Sevika, we need you at full strength. We're all counting on you." Your voice softened, just barely.

Oh.

Sevika swallowed, her pulse skipping in her throat. You didn’t say it like the coach. Didn’t say it like she was just another player.

You said it like it meant something more, like she meant something.

Fuck.

Her chest tightened, words sticking to the roof of her mouth. "…I’ll take it easy," she finally muttered. "No promises, but—I’ll try."

You tilted your head, considering. Then, after a beat— "That’s the best I’m gonna get, huh?"

"Pretty much."

You sighed, shaking your head, but you were smiling—just a little.

"Fine," you said, turning to leave. But just as you reached the door, you glanced over your shoulder, smirking.

"Also, if you're gonna keep staring at me during practice, at least try to be subtle about it."

Sevika felt her heart stop.

You were already walking away, leaving her standing there like a complete idiot, blood roaring in her ears.

She was so screwed.

---

Sevika couldn’t stop replaying that moment in her head.

You knew she’d been staring. Had you known for a while? Were you just messing with her? Or— worst case scenario—were you dropping a hint because you wanted her to do something about it?

That thought lingered in her head all week, crawling under her skin in a way that no brutal tackle or grueling practice could. She spent every spare second convincing herself she should just make a move already.

And with the away game coming up—two nights out of town, stuck in a hotel together. Perfect opportunity. She could finally say something. Maybe ask you to grab coffee. Or a drink. Or hell, just talk to you like a normal person.

Yeah. She could do this.

Probably...

---

The away game was brutal. Hard hits. Fast plays. The kind of match that left blood on jerseys and bruises on ribs. Sevika played like she had something to prove—not to the opposing team, not to her coach, but to you.

She tackled harder. Ran faster. Every time she did something impressive, she flicked her gaze toward you, trying to catch a reaction.

And she did.

She saw the way you leaned forward when she broke through the defensive line. Saw how your fingers tightened around your clipboard when she slammed an opponent into the ground. You didn’t cheer, but you didn’t have to. Sevika wasn’t an idiot—she knew you were paying attention.

By the time the whistle blew, declaring their victory, she was covered in sweat and aching all over. But she barely felt it.

Because when she looked up, she caught the smallest smile on your lips.

And that? That made it all worth it.

The players were cheering, laughing, slinging arms over each other’s shoulders as they trudged off the field. You were waiting by the locker room entrance, already running through logistics in your head.

"Bus leaves at ten sharp," you reminded them. "Anyone late buys breakfast for the whole team."

Groans and grumbles followed, but Sevika barely registered them. She was already working through her next move.

This was it. Now or never.

---

Sevika liked to take the edge off with a drink after games. But she could handle her alcohol. She always kept her control—anything to keep the world from getting too close.

But tonight? Tonight, she let go.

Because the opportunities had been there. Moments to make a move, to say something, to do something. The bus ride, when you sat next to her, your knee brushing against hers. The hotel check-in, when you nudged her playfully after handing her room key. The post-game celebration, when you stood right there, close enough that she could've just—

But she hadn't.

Every single time, she hesitated, choking on the words before they could leave her mouth.

So, instead of dealing with that fact, she drowned it.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into five and more.

Which was how she found herself outside your hotel room door at 1 a.m., one hand braced against the frame, the other knocking—too soft at first, then a little more insistent when you didn’t answer right away.

When the door finally swung open, you were standing there, sleepy and so unfairly cute, wearing an oversized sleep shirt that hit mid-thigh. Your hair was messy, your voice groggy when you muttered:

"Sevika?"

She swallowed hard. Was she always this warm, or was that the alcohol?

"You gotta help me," she said, blinking slowly.

You sighed, already rubbing your temples. "Are you drunk?"

"My shoulder hurts," she said instead, leaning against the doorframe a little more, tilting her head at you.

"Sevika—"

"Can I come in?" She blinked up at you, purposefully softening her expression, just a little. "Please?"

You exhaled through your nose, stepping aside. "Five minutes."

That was a mistake.

Because the second she was inside, Sevika collapsed onto your bed, rolling onto her side with a dramatic groan.

You sighed, closing the door behind you. "I swear to God, Sevika—"

"Bed’s nice," she muttered into your pillow, voice way too soft for someone usually so gruff. She rolled onto her back, blinking up at you. "You’re nice."

You crossed your arms. "You said your shoulder hurt."

"It does," she whined, stretching her arms over her head, shamelessly putting her toned stomach on display beneath her hoodie. She peered up at you, smirking. "You gonna fix me up or what?"

You shot her a dry look. "You’re so full of shit."

"But you like me," she countered, her grin lazy, lopsided. "Don’t deny it."

You crossed your arms, raising an unimpressed brow. "Are you flirting with me right now?"

She smirked, slow and lazy. "Depends. Is it working?"

"Not even a little."

She pouted—actually pouted—before shifting to one side and patting the empty space next to her.

"Come here."

You scoffed. "Not happening."

"But my shoulder hurts," she whined, drawing out the last word like a sulky child. "And you’re all warm."

"You are not cuddling me, Sevika."

She huffed, rolling onto her stomach, muffling her next words into your blanket. "You’re cruel."

She peeked up at you, her hair falling over her face, her lips set in a dramatic little pout. "Please?"

"No."

She groaned again, rolling onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. "Ugh, fine. I’ll just die from shoulder pain. Right here. In your bed. Tragic, really."

You snorted. "You’ll be fine."

"You don’t know that," she grumbled, dropping her arm just enough to peek at you. "What if I wake up and it’s worse?"

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "Sevika—"

"Just let me hold you for, like, five minutes," she bargained, voice pitiful. "It’s for medical reasons."

"Oh my God."

"Please?" she tried again, giving you the best puppy-dog eyes she could muster.

Not even you can resist those big gray eyes. So you fold. Of course you do. You pointed a finger at her. "You get one minute."

Before you could even finish sitting down, Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled—not hard, just enough to throw you slightly off balance.

"Sevika—"

But before you could protest, she was already maneuvering you, shifting so that when you finally settled, her head was resting firmly against your chest, arms draped lazily around your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She let out a content sigh, her breath warm against your collarbone.

You stiffened, praying she doesn't notice now hard your heart is pounding against your chest. "This is not happening. Get off."

"Shh." She nuzzled in closer, completely unbothered. "Shoulder hurts. This helps."

"I should’ve just let you suffer. You are so lucky you’re drunk," you muttered, glaring down at her.

She just sighed happily, tucking her face into the crook of your neck. Her grip tightening ever so slightly. "You smell so good," she murmured. "Like…flowers or something."

Your face heated. "Sevika—"

"Soft," she mumbled.

"I swear—"

"Mm." She hummed, already half-asleep.

You should’ve pushed her away. Should’ve made her move to her own bed.

But as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed against yours, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

You just shook your head, turning off the lamp, very aware of the fact that Sevika—stoic, untouchable, intimidating Sevika—was currently curled up on your chest, sighing like she’d never been more comfortable in her life.

[huginsmemory]

@the-gay-prometheus THANK YOU YES! It'd been a while since I read TBOB, but with the details you really see that even though there are instances before even the sticky note, Bill doesn't do much direct physical harm to Ford, even if it ultimately ramps up to very verbal/situational abuse with only a dash of physical abuse... Even though Bill usually will happily go for physical abuse. And I mean, also looking at Bill scratching at the door thing... Bill is also desperate. There IS a timeline for how long they can stay in the nightmare realm and I think there is something terrifying on Bill's end of having that escape suddenly be shut off to him... (But that also doesn't detract from the horror of what Ford is experiencing).

Also, I think some of the 'niceties' Bill goes for could also be construed as 'carrot and stick routine', especially after the rooftop incident, with the fire and the chess set, but the thing is that it DOES come out of Bill's care for Ford and not just him wanting Ford to boot up the portal (it's a look at what we had; we can have this again, I want this again too. But it's only possible if you co-operate). And I think it comes out of the fact this is such a incredible well done depiction of an abusive relationship because just as there are often good times in abusive relationships that have people coming back to them, the person who is abusive most of the time does have a form of deep care for or love the other person, but it's a selfish love that is twisted by that person's own desires and needs which overrules their partners own autonomy (perhaps a better word is deeply attached... one can argue the definitions here. Also this is NOT me excusing those folks. Get the fuck out of there. It's just that relationships and caring for people can be more twisted than what people like to assume on the surface). And you see that with them. Bill cares about Ford, but he's also extremely selfish and not only that but self-destructive; this triangles got a whole SWATH of issues, and he can't for the life of him be honest about anything, especially regarding losing face. He lies and lies and lies (which I've chewed on over here lol). The only time we really see him be honest is with Ford about his dimension when he calls himself indirectly a monster (cough, self destructive tendencies from guilt)... And I think what's compelling is that he HAS been somewhat truthful with Ford before, because he does care about and relates to Ford. And it's possible if they did talk he would have been possibly honest again with Ford, about the nightmare dimension falling apart. But it doesn't happen because Ford refuses, which makes perfect sense narratively. And I really can't see it going any other way, without them not both being the characters that they are.

And I think WHY I really like the both of them as you've said is the tragedy of it. That Bill actually CARES but he's too fucked up over things to be able to really care properly. On top of the fact that they're both very similar characters and have found refuge and love with each other, even if it's codependent as fuck. And it all falls apart, even if there was real care and love in it, before it turned (exponentially) toxic. Good tragedy is when things COULD have turned out okay but the characters (will always) fail to make the right decisions, will always fuck it up. And you see that, cause you wonder what would happen if Bill was honest about the nightmare dimension, and to some degree if Ford would have actually spoken to Bill (and if Bill was honest in that conversation). But that's not them. Besides they've also got a fuck ton of other issues they'd have to deal with on top of that...

Really can't get over the CAN WE TALK? stickynotes. And I mean I think part of it really kinda clicked when I've seen some fanart about it. We really see in TBOB that Ford after beginning to hear voices slipping through the cracks and questions Bill, to learn what Bill really intended, ENTIRELY shuts down his communication with Bill. And you see Bill when he gets questioned in that moment responds with a heavily implied dialogue along the lines of "haha, yeah I tricked you, I'm here to overtake your dimension". But Bill still expects Ford to respond to him in some way, and it's very clear that Bill is shocked when Ford REFUSES to talk to him. And what's interesting is Bill doesn't just IMMEDIATELY begin with threats; he actually leaves stickynotes first, before Bill realizes he's FUCKED UP big time and gets really nasty. There's something pleading with the CAN WE TALK? sticky note. There's a point where Bill does realize he's not getting what he expected, that he's missing Ford, and that he's willing to possibly even smooth some things over, explain things better (maybe even the part that the nightmare dimension is unraveling perhaps) or persuade Ford into Bill's plans. But Ford refuses, and it's already too late for Bill because just like with Stan, Ford feels betrayed and when Ford feels betrayed he'll mercilessly cut the person out of his life. Ford deeply, deeply holds hurt and betrayal and as a result he has zero desire to speak with Bill again (and also uhhh big red flag to take over the world, so also. Yeah).

And it's interesting because it's a slower ramp up until Bill is desperate and threatens, uses violence, because that's what he's always used when it comes down to it, and an ultimatum is given. It wasn't just threats out of the gate; Bill DID try to speak to Ford (btw this is not me being like Ford should have spoken to Bill and it would be magically healthy, cause no matter how you slice it it's just a toxic mess tbh). Threats out of the gate would have been faster; there's over three weeks in the timeline, before Ford goes through the portal (althought we don't get too much context around exactly when everything occurs). That's a lot of time! But Bill didn't threaten Ford immediately. And I think part of that reason is because Bill expected Ford to speak to him, expected their relationship or at least their project to mean enough to Ford that Ford would speak to him and then continue their work, once his anger cooled off. And I think also part of it is because Bill cared about Ford, not that he'd admit it in the moment; but he'd rather Ford willingly be alongside him, then have to force him through threats to do the work on the portal. You see that, even after Ford spends 30 years trying to kill him and nearly even does, when he offers him during wierdmageddon to be a henchmaniac. Bill cares about Ford, wants Ford beside him. But then Ford continues to refuse to engage with him at all, and Bill realizes he's lost Ford, and progressively gets more desperate and angrier as he's still refused, and falls into the violence he usually uses, to get Ford to cooperate.

Anyhow it's one of those things that you wonder what would've happened if they DID speak, but that would ultimately be defying a big part of who Ford is... So in a way it's a juicy juicy tidbit to chew on, the implications beyond the writing on the sticky note.

[littelovelunette]

could you do a part 2 of the anemia fic, where reader and vi are dating and they go on a few dates and vi keeps being over protective and worried about reader? maybe reader faints again idk just vi being protective and worried

Nurture (2)

Vi had always been a worrier, but ever since you fainted in her arms that first time, her protectiveness had skyrocketed.

No matter how many times you told her you were fine, she refused to let her guard down. It was sweet—endearing, even—but it also meant her demeanour around you had changed.

No more spontaneous nights running across Zaun’s rooftops. No more reckless brawls where you had to drag her away before things escalated.

Now, Vi double-checked every plan, made sure you ate and drank enough, and kept a watchful eye on you like a hawk.

Tonight was no different.

She had taken you to a small, tucked-away café in the heart of Zaun, one of those rare places where the air wasn’t thick with smog and the people weren’t sizing you up for a quick pickpocketing.

The place was dimly lit, the scent of fresh bread lingering in the air, and the owner—a kind old woman—greeted Vi like family.

You smiled as Vi pulled out a chair for you, a habit she’d picked up since your last episode. “You gonna babysit me all night, or are we actually gonna enjoy this date?”

Vi snorted, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. “You say that like I don’t have a reason to worry.”

“I feel fine.”

“You always say that before you keel over.”

You rolled your eyes as she ordered food for both of you—hearty, nutritious, no-nonsense meals.

As much as she tried to play it cool, her leg bounced under the table, and every time you shifted, her eyes flicked to your face as if checking for any signs of dizziness.

“You don’t have to be this on edge all the time,” you said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

She exhaled through her nose, squeezing back. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

“You won’t.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a second, she looked away, like she was trying to push down a memory she didn’t want to resurface.

Vi had lost too many people. She didn’t say it out loud, but you knew—she was terrified of losing you, too.

The night went on smoothly, conversation flowing with ease, Vi finally relaxing as she cracked jokes and teased you.

But then, the familiar sensation started creeping in.

Your hands went cold. Your vision blurred at the edges.

Shit.

You gripped the table, but the world tipped sideways.

You barely heard Vi curse before the darkness swallowed you.

When you woke up, you were cradled against Vi’s chest, her heartbeat hammering in your ear.

You were in a different place now—outside, maybe? The air was cool against your skin.

“Damn it, babe,” Vi muttered, voice strained. “You scared the hell out of me.”

You groaned, trying to sit up, but her arms tightened around you. “Nope. You stay right here.”

You sighed, letting your head rest against her shoulder. “Guess I ruined our date.”

Vi let out a short, breathless laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “I don’t care about the damn date. I care about you.”

You could feel the tension in her muscles, the way she was holding you so tightly like she thought you’d disappear if she let go.

“I’m okay,” you murmured, voice weaker than you wanted it to be.

Vi buried her face in your hair. “No, you’re not. But I’m gonna make sure you are.”

You had no doubt she meant it.

And honestly? You didn’t mind being looked after—not when it was Vi.

[nameless-jamie]

Hello, I love your PA series! Can I request a story where PA is on a plane with no wifi and Jamie's with the team at a party and celebrates too hard which makes him drunk call her a couple of times leaving her tons of embarrassing messages to listen to after she lands and it's all about how he misses her and how she should be here and not away from him and just being a pining mess 🤭🤭🤭 thanks 💜💜💜

Drunk Calls, Sober Thoughts

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

A/N: Ok finally the slow-burn is coming to an end! They confessed!!!!!!!!!! Let's see how it goes between them.

TW: cursing, drunk Jamie

It had been three days since their kiss.

A real kiss. Not an accident. Not some flirty moment they could brush off. Not another near miss where one of them pulled away before it could mean something. No, this was the kind of kiss that settled things. That left no more space for pretending. That confirmed what they had both known for months but had been too stubborn—or too scared—to say out loud.

And yet, they hadn’t talked about it.

Not properly, anyway.

Maybe it was because they were both still figuring out what it meant beyond the obvious. Maybe it was because neither of them wanted to ruin the unspoken magic of it by overanalyzing. Maybe it was because they were both terrified of hearing the other say something that might change everything.

And then Y/N had to leave. Not by choice.

It wasn’t dramatic—just a weekend trip. Rebecca had sent her, because the club was organizing a big preseason charity match in Italy, one of those fancy, and since Y/N was Jamie’s PA, she had to go ahead of the team to finalize travel details, hotel arrangements, media schedules, and all the other logistical nightmares that came with organizing a high-profile event. She had groaned about it, dragging her suitcase down the hallway of her apartment the night before, grumbling about hating flights with no WiFi and being too tired to socialize.

Jamie had hated it. Not that he’d said that, of course. He had just sulked as he carried her bags to the Uber and grumbled something about how “I don’t see why I couldn’t just come with ya. Ain’t like I’d be in the way.” She had laughed, rolled her eyes, and promised she’d be back in a few days.

Before she left, though he made some stupid joke about how she should “at least bring me back some of that proper Italian gelato, yeah?” to lighten the mood. But something about the way he stood there as she pulled away had lingered with her.

Like he totally hadn’t wanted her to go.

Like he had something else he wanted to say but didn’t.

She had tried not to think about that too much during the flight.

She failed.

That had been two days ago.

And Jamie Tartt?

Jamie Tartt was not okay.

He had told himself he would be. He had gone to training, gone to the gym, kept himself busy. He had filled his schedule, just like he always did when something was sitting too heavy in his chest. But then the team had a night off, and the lads decided to go out, and Jamie thought, Yeah, that’ll help.

Spoiler: It did not help.

It was the lads idea to drag him out to some fancy club in London, insisting he needed to “stop brooding like a lovesick teenager” (Isaac’s words, not his).

It was loud. The bass from the speakers made the floor vibrate, the air smelled like expensive perfume and spilled cocktails, and normally, Jamie would be in his element.

But tonight?

Tonight, he was five drinks in, slouched in the booth like a man in mourning, ignoring the girls who kept trying to make eye contact with him across the room.

Not in an obvious way.

To everyone else, Jamie Tartt looked fine. He was sitting in a booth with the team, half-listening to whatever joke Dani was telling, nodding along to Isaac’s commentary about something on his phone, watching Colin get dragged to the dance floor by some boy.

But inside?

Inside, Jamie was fucking miserable.

Because Y/N wasn’t there.

And yeah, she had been gone for less than two days, and yeah, he had spent longer stretches of time without seeing her before. But this time was different. This time, she had kissed him. This time, they weren’t just coworkers who flirted too much. This time, he knew what it felt like to have her lips on his, and now she was far away on a plane, unreachable, and he hated every fucking second of it.

Sam nudged him. “You’re being weird.”

“I ain’t being weird,” Jamie muttered, swirling the ice in his glass.

“You are,” Isaac confirmed. “You’ve had that same miserable look on your face all night.”

Jamie exhaled heavily, slumping further.

Colin raised an eyebrow. “You gonna admit you miss her, or should we just wait for you to drink another shot and start sobbing about it?”

Jamie scowled. “I ain’t sobbing.”

But even as he said it, his hand was already reaching for his phone.

“You look like a man who’s about to do something stupid,” Sam observed, watching Jamie fumble with his phone.

“Gonna call her,” Jamie announced.

“Oh, this should be good,” Dani grinned, watching him unlock it.

“She’s on a plane,” Isaac reminded him. “No WiFi.”

Jamie squinted at the screen. “It’ll still ring.”

“It won’t,” Colin said, shaking his head. “It’ll go to voicemail.”

“Good,” Jamie huffed. “I got shit to say.”

“Oh, this is gonna be so good,” Dani grinned, nudging Sam.

Jamie hit call.

The line rang once, then—predictably—went straight to voicemail. The second the beep sounded, Jamie started talking.

“Oi. Where the fuck are you? Oh. Wait. You’re on the plane. Right. Anyway—listen. I don’t like this. You being gone. I don’t like it. This club’s shit without you. Actually, no—everything is shit without you. Call me when you land.”

Isaac groaned. “Jesus Christ.”

Jamie hung up.

Then frowned.

Then dialed again.

Straight to voicemail.

“I mean, you don’t have to call me. But you should. ‘Cause, like… what if you never come back? What if you get offered a better job? What if some posh Italian twat sweeps you off your feet? What if—wait, no, you’d never leave me. Would you?”

Sam groaned. “Oh my God.”

Dani gasped dramatically. “AY DIOS MIO.”

Colin looked at Isaac. “Should we stop him?”

Isaac shrugged. “Nah, let him embarrass himself.”

Jamie ignored them and called again.

“I kissed you. Well, we kissed each other. And I dunno what we’re doin’ now, but I keep thinkin’ about it, and it’s annoying, ‘cause I can’t do anythin’ about it while you’re fuckin’ gone, and—Fuckin' hell. I think I love you.”

Isaac and Colin looked at each other.

“Oh, he’s definitely a goner.”

Y/N landed at Heathrow the next early morning, running on two hours of sleep and an overpriced airport coffee that did nothing to make her feel awake. She was exhausted, her body aching from the cramped plane seat, her mind already spinning with everything she needed to do once she got home.

But then she turned off airplane mode.

Her phone buzzed violently in her hand, a flood of notifications appearing all at once. Emails, texts, flight alerts—normal things. And then, right at the top of the screen:

Jamie Tartt (7) [Voicemails]

Her stomach flipped.

She shouldn’t listen to them here. Should wait until she was home, somewhere private, somewhere she could think—

But her finger was already tapping the first one.

The second she heard Jamie’s voice, her chest tightened.

"Oi. Where the fuck are you? Oh. Right. You’re on the plane. Right. Anyway—listen. I don’t like this. You being gone. I don’t like it. This club’s shit without you. Actually, no—everything is shit without you. Call me when you land.”

She inhaled sharply, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling. Dumbass.

She hit play on the next one.

"I mean, you don’t have to call me. But you should. ‘Cause, like… what if you never come back?..."

A warmth spread through her, creeping up her neck, curling in her stomach.

The next message played automatically.

“I kissed you. Well, we kissed each other. And I dunno what we’re doin’ now, but I keep thinkin’ about it, and it’s annoying, ‘cause I can’t do anythin’ about it while you’re fuckin’ gone, and—fuckin' hell. I think I love you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

A crackly, muffled sound came through the speaker—someone gasping dramatically, followed by a distant voice laughing, “Did he just say he loves her?”

Her fingers trembled as she clutched the phone tighter.

The airport disappeared around her. The voices, the announcements, the rolling suitcases—it all blurred into nothing. The only thing she could hear was Jamie, drunk and emotional, pouring his heart out in a way he never had before.

I think I love you.

Had he meant it?

He had to be drunk. He was drunk. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t real. If anything, the fact that he had said it while he was drunk—when his guard was completely down, when he wasn’t overthinking or trying to be cool—made it feel even more real.

Her heart pounded as she played the last voicemail.

"You’re gonna listen to all these in the morning and laugh at me, aren’t ya? ‘Cause you think I’m a dumbass. And I am. But I don’t care. I miss you, and I don’t wanna pretend like I don’t. I just… wish you were here. That’s all."

By the time the message ended, Y/N was already in a cab on the way to his house.

Jamie was still half-drunk when she found him, sprawled out on his bed, one foot dangling off the edge, his shirt nowhere in sight, and the blankets twisted around him like he had fought them in his sleep—and lost. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, his lips slightly parted as he stirred at the sound of her footsteps.

His head lolled to the side, bleary eyes blinking up at her.

“Am I dreamin’?” His voice was thick, slow, coated in sleep and leftover alcohol.

Y/N sat at the edge of the bed, resting a hand lightly on his chest. “No, Jamie.”

His brows furrowed, his eyes tracking over her face like he needed to make sure she was real.

“You’re here,” he murmured.

“I am.”

His lips curved, lazy and lopsided. “Fuckin’ hell. You’re so pretty. I forgot how pretty you are.”

Y/N huffed out a laugh. “You saw me three days ago.”

“Yeah, but three days is forever,” he whined, voice raspy and rough, like he’d been talking about her all night. Which, to be fair, he had. His fingers clumsily reached for her, tracing along the hem of her sleeve, barely touching, like he was still convincing himself she was real.

“I missed you,” he admitted, softer this time, more serious.

Her heart clenched.

“I know,” she said gently, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You told me. Seven times.”

Jamie blinked, trying to process her words. Then his face contorted in horror. “You—”

“I heard the voicemails.”

His groan was immediate, deep, like it physically pained him. “Oh, fuck.” He threw an arm over his face, muffling another groan into his bicep. “That’s so bad.”

Y/N pried his hand away, forcing him to look at her. His skin was warm, flushed from the alcohol, his eyes glassy and full of something unreadable.

“Jamie.”

He blinked at her, lips parting slightly.

“Did you mean it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

A flicker of clarity crossed his face. His throat bobbed, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the sheet.

Then—so softly she almost didn’t hear it—he said, “Every word.”

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding escaped her lips.

And just like that, it was done. The waiting. The wondering. The endless push and pull.

Jamie reached for her, his touch warm and clumsy, trailing up her arm like he was trying to memorize her. “You smell nice,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “Like—like that vanilla stuff. I love it. I love you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

Jamie blinked at her, eyes heavy with exhaustion, but still so open, so full of that raw, unfiltered honesty that only seemed to slip out when he was too drunk to hold it in.

“You love me?” she whispered.

He hummed, pressing his forehead to her shoulder, nuzzling against her like a sleepy cat. “Yeah. Thought I was bein’ obvious, but you’re all stubborn and shit.” His fingers found her waist, rubbing small, lazy circles against her hip. “But I’ll say it again if you want. I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Y/N laughed softly, threading her fingers through his hair, feeling the way he melted under her touch.

She climbed into bed beside him, and he immediately pulled her into his arms, wrapping around her like he never planned on letting go. His lips brushed against her temple, his breath warm and steady.

“You’re not allowed to leave again,” he mumbled sleepily. “Not even for work. I’ll sack myself. Don’t care.”

Y/N smiled against his skin, heart impossibly full.

“Okay, Jamie.”

[dreamwavesexploringreality]

UNCERTAINTY

Chishiya x Pregnant!Reader

Requested: Where Y/N struggles to tell Chishiya about her pregnancy, fearing his reaction since he doesn’t want kids.

Y/N would never have thought that after her experience in Borderlands anything could make her feel that adrenaline again. The accelerated heartbeat and the breath stuck in her throat. She was a responsible adult, at least that's how she considered herself, and she couldn't understand how that could have happened. It wasn't that she was naive; she knew the effectiveness rates and the warnings on the birth control pill boxes: "No contraceptive method is 100% effective." She saw the letters of the message dance, as if mocking her while she read and reread the same line, holding the pregnancy test in her other hand: Positive. She felt her heart drop into her stomach when she thought of him, Chishiya. How was she supposed to tell him?

The next four days after the big discovery, Y/N behaved like a zombie. It felt as if she was living in a parallel reality: she would get out of bed, make breakfast, and go to university. She walked the same streets and retraced her steps to go back home. The shared apartment was always empty when she arrived; her boyfriend had a complicated schedule as a resident at the hospital, and she didn’t mind going to sleep in a cold and empty bed where she would let the tears she had held back during the day flow until she fell asleep. Then she would wake up, the other half of the bed undone, the only proof that her boyfriend had spent the night at home. Then she would have breakfast and go to university. That was until the nausea started. The reality she had been floating through for the past days, behaving like an autonomous being, came crashing down. That fifth day, she skipped class, and then the weekend arrived.

Chishiya had Saturdays and Sundays off, which meant he would be home for those two days. Y/N, therefore, had to make sure she spent as much time outside as possible. She wasn’t ready to face that situation, which was weighing more heavily day by day. It wasn’t difficult. She made sure to leave before he even got out of bed, and when he asked where she was going, she babbled a string of incoherent words, avoiding eye contact as she left through the door, slamming it behind her. She walked through the park until she felt her feet begin to ache, then sat on a bench. The sun’s rays caressed her cold face, and she closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind and absorb the energy she needed to return home. The first thing she noticed when she entered the apartment was the smell of raw fish, which hit her, tensing the muscles in her body and leaving her frozen in the doorway.

“I ordered sushi,” the man said as he opened a plastic container and placed it next to two others on the dining table.

Y/N felt herself pale when she remembered that article that had popped up on her phone after a brief search she did about pregnancy: pregnant women shouldn’t eat raw fish. With quick movements, she took off her coat and shoes and walked past the man without looking at him, mumbling something about not being hungry. Then she entered the bedroom and shut the door, letting herself collapse onto the bed. Instinctively, she placed a hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. She knew very well she was behaving foolishly and childishly, that she should face the situation like the adult she was and get this weight off her chest. But she was scared, terrified of how Chishiya might react… They had never discussed having children, but she knew his stance on the matter. Having children was an idea Chishiya had dismissed from a young age, focusing on his professional success. In fact, she had been surprised when he told her he chose pediatric surgery at the hospital, and when she asked him about it, he just shrugged and spoke about the lack of emotional attachment. He was cold and rational, just as he was, but she couldn’t help but feel her skin crawl hearing him talk so analytically and pragmatically about the life or death of his patients. So it was easy for her to dismiss the idea of a future pregnancy as well; it wasn’t her dream either, and as a busy university student, it was easy for her to let go of the idea that had, for a brief moment, taken some vague shape in her mind.

She took a few deep breaths and eventually let herself fall asleep.

On the other side of the door, Chishiya ate the sushi with a carefree attitude to the untrained eye. However, anyone who observed him more closely would see the man tense in his place, his head almost steaming as he thought and reviewed every situation in the last few months that could give him a clue as to what was going on with his girlfriend. Chishiya had noticed something was wrong from the very first day. He didn’t know exactly what the problem was, as there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary, but for some reason, he couldn’t silence the voice in the back of his mind that warned him that something was out of place. Maybe it was seeing his girlfriend’s breakfast cup on the table instead of finding it in the sink as usual, maybe it was finding her in bed, deeply asleep, her back turned to him, or maybe it was how she had spent the entire week avoiding looking him in the eyes. That night, Chishiya ate sushi alone, with his thoughts.

Days passed slowly, too slowly for him. He was an analytical person, and not knowing what was happening around him frustrated him immensely. Chishiya leaned back in the break room chair, holding a small, steaming coffee in his hands. He looked at the phone he had taken from his bag, now resting on his thigh, while trying to sort his thoughts. He licked his lips and, biting the inside of his cheek, set the coffee aside: "I’ll be back soon tonight. I’ll bring Chinese food." Sent. He sighed once more. He hoped to resolve the matter that very night.

By the time his shift ended, he still hadn’t received a reply, which made him huff in annoyance. He packed up his things and took a moment to fold his white coat carefully while studying and analyzing what his next steps should be.

When he arrived home, carrying a bag full of food, he was surprised to see the woman lying on the couch in her pajamas.

“You didn’t go to class today either?” His voice sounded harsher and more accusatory than he expected. She didn’t take her eyes off the television.

Chishiya sighed as he took the food from the bag and served it on plates. The room quickly filled with the unmistakable aroma of sesame oil and spices, and if it weren’t for his constant state of alertness, he might have missed how Y/N rushed out of the couch, running to the bathroom and kicking the door shut behind her. The man stayed silent and still while holding the container of noodles in his hand. He didn’t need to sharpen his hearing to hear her vomiting. In one calculated move, he gently placed the food down and tiptoed to the bathroom door. He knocked once. Again. No answer, only gasps and weak groans, followed by dry heaves.

“Y/N…” Chishiya called again.

Then the sound of crying came through the door. The man felt his heart twist, it had never felt so heavy.

“Y/N, open up,” he said in an authoritative voice.

He heard the water running, and after a few seconds, the door unlocked. The girl stepped out, pale as ash, her eyes swollen from crying. She passed by him without acknowledging his presence and walked tiredly to the bedroom. Chishiya followed her in silence.

“You have to tell me what’s going on,” he pressed once more as he sat on the edge of the bed, and she settled in, giving him her back. A pitiful moan escaped her lips, and Chishiya feared she might start crying again.

“Talk to me…” he whispered, watching her back.

The movement was subtle and quick, so much so that no one else would have noticed, but Chishiya, being the observer that he was, clearly saw how the girl placed a hand on her lower stomach only to quickly pull it away as if it had burned her. The last piece of the puzzle he needed to complete.

Chishiya sighed and carefully lay down on the bed. He pressed his back against her chest and gently placed a hand on her hips. The girl’s breathing became erratic, and he felt her tremble in his arms.

“When?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her waist and resting his elbow on the pillow to keep his head elevated and look down at her.

She never really needed words to communicate with Chishiya. Once more, fresh tears slipped down her cheek, her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her, avoiding meeting his eyes.

“A week, right?” He tried to push her, pulling her a little tighter against him.

Y/N had no choice but to turn around. With a deep sigh, trying to wipe away the tears on her cheeks, she turned to face her boyfriend. His relaxed and stoic expression surprised her; that was definitely not the reaction she had expected. They stayed silent for a few moments.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he finally spoke, trying not to sound accusatory. Chishiya really wanted to know the answer to that question.

“You don’t want kids,” was all she said, her gaze shifting to the buttons on his shirt.

“I never wanted them,” he replied softly after a pause, reflecting to himself. He stayed silent for a few more seconds. “But if I did want them…” he paused, “…I’d want them with you.”

The girl looked up, surprise and disbelief painting her face. Chishiya gave a mocking smile, and with one hand, he smoothed her messy hair, muttering about how stubborn and incredulous she was.

“Did you plan to tell me when the baby was born?” he teased, earning a soft laugh from her.

“I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how,” she responded, trying to free herself from his playful hand, which was now messing with her hair. “So… is all of this okay with you?” she asked when he finally moved his hand, gently resting it on her hip.

There was no response for a few seconds, which made the girl wonder if she had really asked the question out loud.

“If it’s okay with you, then we’ll be okay,” he finally replied, never breaking eye contact.

One single tear, this time of relief, slid down her cheek. Chishiya sighed as he wiped it away with his thumb and spoke.

“I think I’m going to have to throw away the Chinese food.”

Y/N laughed once more.

“You’d better, just thinking about its smell makes me want to throw up.”

The man smiled as the girl hid in his chest.

“We’ll have to order something else, you’re not going to skip dinner,” he said as he stroked her hair.

That night, they ordered pizza, with lots of melted cheese, as Y/N requested. When they settled on the couch, together for the first time in a long while, Y/N felt the world begin to spin again. And when she woke up in her bed the next morning, the man was still by her side, eyes closed, tracing carefree patterns on her stomach with his fingertips.

If she had known he was going to react like this, she would have told him much earlier.

© 2025 [@dreamwavesexploringreality]

[kamiana-ruzha]

«Buckle up»

F/M, Mature, Optimus Prime/reader, human/mech, in second person, nsfw, mentioned valveplug, apology sex, bondage, slight dom/sub, vulnerable and soft Optimus Huge thanks to @ratratghost for commissioning me!

Optimus was a protective mech – that was a well-known fact. The fact that he was, to a certain degree, vengeful to those who hurt ones closest to him was only suspected by some. However, only the selected few were aware that he ruthlessly ate himself up if he was unable to protect the ones he loved. Ratchet, certainly, Ultra Magnus and Ironhide — highly likely, perhaps Bee, but, of course, you. Once, you even witnessed him cry and spent a long time consoling him.

Sometimes, however, Optimus had to be practically reminded of just how much harm he himself could bring. With you that reminder, unfortunately, came rather often. Mostly, in image of bruises — small, the size of the tips of his digits, and bigger — or tiny burns, all over your body. That was the reason why he held you so delicately and always made sure to keep his metal cool.

This time, however, was much more severe: his seatbelts didn't work. Well, almost. He tightened them manually, which bought him enough time to pull over and pass you, pale and frozen in shock and fear, over to his allies before the assaulting Decepticon had an opportunity to hurt you. And as soon as Optimus was back on the base, he had Ratchet fix "those damn belts". Prime rarely swore, but those were, indeed, the words that he used, so emotional he was.

He simply got anxious. Although, terrified would be a more suitable word. His optics were wider, more focused, a brighter shade of blue. Nonetheless, he was reminded just how delicate you are. And he had to make up for his recklessness.

Prime was rather meticulous when tying you up. That was the kind of things he'd take his time to do, liked to take said time.

His moves were leisurely as he slowly, tad playfully undressed you and wrapped the thick belts – polyester-like in the texture, look and feeling, but actually made of his metal, – around your torso and limbs. The knots and the construction of the binding itself were way better than those of his last attempt. Not too tight, but not too loose either – just enough to make you stay on the spot. And keep you excited, of course.

You couldn't help but giggle, imagining what Ratchet's expression might have been when Prime asked to take his removed belts back.

He nuzzled your shin, making you shiver a bit as the conductive electricity from his frame jolted through your flesh. He massaged your muscles, checking for pulse — it was still there, meaning that he didn't cut the blood flow completely, merely slowed it down enough to make your legs and arms tingle and go slightly cold and numb.

"Feels good?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarser than usual — betraying his excitement.

It felt good, really good. Almost cozy, though twinges of excitement You actually loved buckling up in his cabin, when he was in his truck form. It was as if he was hugging you despite being in his vehicle form.

"It's rather comfortable," you mused, checking out the tightness of the bindings. Optimus tied your arms behind your back, and your ankles were tethered to your thighs. A rather simple construction, but an effective one.

The nighty breeze from the open window lapped at your skin. You felt a bit exposed, tied up and put on a comfy beanbag, but you trusted Optimus and knew you're safe with him.

Optimus smiled and kissed your knee. "Good," he hummed into your skin.

After pressing a few more kisses there, Prime nuzzled your thigh and stayed there for a moment before pulling away and resetting his vocaliser with that soft whir you grew fond of.

Optimus straightened his back, still on his knees in front of you, servos caressing your bare legs. There it was, one of those tiny "speeches" he gave before every thought-through session. You always were shivering in anticipation and excitement listening to those.

"I want today to be all about you—" you opened your mouth to protest, but he silenced you with a firmer, sterner, but still loving, gaze— "Let me finish, darling." He sighed, soft and almost upset—upset with himself.

Prime looked out the window, into the dark, glittery night, before looking back into your eyes, staring almost deep enough to reach your soul with that determined, solemn but loving gaze of his. Your heart jumped, pulsing with immense affection.

"I almost failed to protect you today. And I would have, if things were a little different. I know you got scared—me too." he spoke in an emotional, passionate voice--," And I have to make it up to you. My stupidity and carelessness nearly got you killed. I will do better. But, please," his voice broke, "please let me make it up to you and punish myself a bit in a way that won't hurt either of us. Which is completely focusing on you and not allowing pleasure for myself. Please?"

One of Optimus' biggest problems was his inability to process or simply recognise his emotions. Upon being chosen by the Matrix of Leadership, he had his emotions suppressed by that same artifact. Only as Autobots found themselves stranded on Earth, away from the influence of the Allspark — which had great influence on the Matrix's power, and, thus, the strength of its influence, — all suppressed emotions and feeling suddenly were very bright. And very confusing.

Guilt was Optimus' strongest emotion — he always ate himself up for even something as insignificant as one too many sips of energon. But he was making significant progress, with your help, your support. And, miraculously, this kind of sessions, ones where he was deliberately deprived of physical pleasure, helped.

So you nodded. Maybe, it made you selfish, but who are you to reject pleasure from your alien robot boyfriend?

He started slow, at first walking around to kneel behind you, a titanic, dominant but comforting presence just against your back. Prime traced your spine, all the way from the tailbone and to the back of your neck, with the tip of his nasal ridge, causing a shiver to run through you at the contact of his cold metal with your bare, and highly sensitive in that region, skin.

His servo ran all over your body, caressing your legs, your arms, tickling your belly, gently fondling your breasts, and giving you back a nice massage, trying to get out all the knots that appeared there because of him. You ached, biting back a groan of relief.

His lips… Oh, god, then there were his lips, sprinkling kisses all over your relaxed shoulders. Despite being metal and prone to either scratch you, or sent slight shocks, they were impossibly warm and tender. You would have never expected a mech so stern, outright gruff looking to be so light so careful in his touches, so…gentle. Right, that's the word, gentle. That word was all he was, all he was to you. To you, to his gorgeous, beautiful, sweet, lovable darling.

Prime was getting frustrated, maybe even hungry. That was quite obvious by the way he kissed and held you after walking back to face you. Impatience, desire, even greed in every tiny touch that fell upon your arms—that was good, very good. He finally allowed himself to feel those emotions and consciously showed them through wet, nipping, sucking kisses and just barely-there squeezes of his denta. That greed was transferring to you and you wanted more and more, of him, of his touch. It was hot, maybe a little dizzying: that contrast of his intake and vents that would all but burn your skin, immediately followed by his ice cold servos making up for the too-hot touch.

With the tip of his mercury coloured glossa he traced your throat, before nuzzling it, to feel your frantic, excited pulse. His deep, ocean-blue optics met yours when he finally was face-level with you again.

"May I have the privilege to kiss you, my dear?" He asked, with a soft purr of his engine accompanying every word. You rolled your eyes, amused by his verbosity.

If your hands were free you would have pulled him into a kiss without even answering his question. Though, you still pulled him in—just with your legs, suddenly hooked over his shoulders. He smirked, just a momentary image, a smug expression that existed only for a second, before being erased by his hot lips and an even hotter glossa crushing into your own.

That kiss wasn't tentative, no, it was wild, hot, wet and loud. That long silvery glossa of his traced every little spot in your mouth, and those lips… They held your own captive, making them plump and pleasantly aching. He only let you go after your chest began to tremble in need to breathe. You were choking and you were loving it.

Optimus' lips latched on one of your nipples immediately after. His glossa worked on that one, and his digits gently pinched and pulled at the other. He switched sides occasionally, taking care to fondle and nuzzle your breasts. For a moment, Prime went back up, to gently gnaw at your collarbone. He dived back down, to lick a straight, wet line down from your solar plexus and across your tummy.

It was hard for Optimus to ignore himself: you were almost able to see it, in the slight bulginess of his pelvic plating. But he recognised this as a punishment and acted accordingly.

Soon enough, his lips crashed with the tender skin of your inner thigh. Prime squeezed, pinched, fondled, caressed, kissed and licked his way up to what Cybertronians called a 'valve'. At first, you were puzzled, in what way metal tubing was the same as a pussy, but it grew on you and you actually liked that term more than those created on earth. Especially after getting your hands on Optimus' "equipment" and tormenting him with well-earned pleasure for hours.

Your thighs squeezed his head in anticipation.

Optimus never started with his glossa, no, he, as with everything, took his time, indulging in kisses with your labia. Metal and flesh, energon and blood: it was the contrast that had you both impossibly excited.

Finally, he tweaked your clit, and, for the lack of a better word, dove in impatiently. The tip of his nasal ridge was nudging that sensitive nub of nerves, as his glossa traced laces of miraculous patterns. The hotness, the wetness, the shameless sultriness of his actions--they made you writhe and tremble. Because of that, one of his servo kept you pinned down, and the other went to caress your lips irritatingly slowly.

It wasn't long before his audials bent a little from how firm and hard was the pressure of your twitching thighs on his helm. His lips, glossa, digits—a few of them crawling into you knuckle by knuckle by knuckle—cold, hot and electric, all at the same time, sending warm ripples through your body, it was too much. Optimus himself, his entire being, the idea, the concept of him, the reality of that concept—it was too much.

For a moment, one that felt eternal, impossibly and blissfully long, all you felt was…relief. The warmth and peace and just blank, worry-free space. The seatbelts, embracing you tightly, were the only thing that kept you grounded.

You were a mess. He always left you being a mess.

"Good, good, you're such a good girl," Optimus' voice was a little distant as he nuzzled you, nuzzled between your breasts, feeling for how wild your heartbeat was. His servos and intake were suddenly cold, rubbing along your legs and sides or gently blowing cold air.

You were a little overwhelmed and had to lean back, eyes tightly shut, mouth slightly agape because of deep, shivering, slow breaths. You opened your eyes only to be met with Prime's emissive blue optics, bright with love and worry.

"Are you okay, darling?" Optimus asked softly, caressing your red cheeks with his thumbs. You couldn't help but lean into his cold, relieveing touch.

You nodded, uncertain if your voice would be obedient enough. Optimus smiled, that tiny, almost shy smile of his. He gently kissed your neck, cheeks, forehead, the tip of your nose. He caught your lips in an almost diplomatically chaste kiss, before picking you up with a laugh and carrying you to his huge berth from the beanbag where you sat. Prime plopped down on it, cradling you gingerly like some plushie.

"Aren't you supposed to untie me?" you asked, glaring at him in confusion and pleasant exhaustion.

"Mmm, I don't know. Am I?" Optimus asked with that stupid teasing smirk.

You smacked him lightly with your foot, the left one, where the seatbelt that bounded your ankle to your thigh slipped off. Prime shrieked, a surprisingly cute sound which you never expected to hear from him.

"Ow! Okay, okay." He pouted, but began untying you. "I wanted to keep you as a present, but, I guess…"

That earned him another loving smack.

Soon enough, you were rubbing your slightly red and sore wrists after he helped you back into an oversized sleeping t-shirt. You cuddled up to his warm side, tracing patterns on his windshield as he wrapped his huge arm around you and covered your legs with a plushy blanket. You looked up, observing his sharp, elegant profile.

"You know, I don't like the thought that sex with me is a punishment for you," it was eating at you for a while now. That's why you hesitated a little when he asked to be ignored today.

Optimus looked at you with confused and slightly concerned optics. He leaned down just enough to nuzzle your nose with his own.

"Love, the process itself, the act, it's not the punishment," he ran the back of his servo over your cheekbone. "Quite the opposite, I enjoy making you finish. The punishment is that I don't finish."

You studied his expression, before reaching up to pinch his antennae.

"Alright then," you gently tweaked the tip, before pulling his head even closer, staring into his optics. "Although, I sure hope those new seatbelts of yours can hug me tight enough…"

He laughed, amused, before pressing your lips together in a sensual, deep kiss. The seatbelts laid abandoned on the floor. Abandoned, yet not forgotten.

[ender-cloud]

Oooo boy man, this update has me excited to talk about

Tgs spoilers under cut

MIND JASPER CHAT, MIND JASPER!!! Also that one evil scientist dude whos name I forgot on accident.

It’s interesting that Jasper is apart of Jekylls self doubt but it also perfectly makes sense! Jekyll is Jaspers mentor, his teacher, someone who took him under his wing after Jasper went through a lot of stuff.

But at the same time, he’s not the perfect mentor. Remeber his reaction to Jasper telling Jekyll he’s trans? It wasnt really the best response he could’ve given him; and that put a strain on their relationship for a while.

Also, Jasper is one of the few people who like Jekyll and respect him but also isn’t afraid to put him in his place when he needs to, which gives the two this incredibly intresting dynamic.

The “You missed your chance at happiness” is a nod to the conversation Jekyll and Jasper had about Lanyon, and how Jekyll Deep down always thought it was his fault. He wasn’t good enough for Lanyon, or that it was inevitable for it to happen.

Jasper is one of the only people who knows about it and now Jekyll’s mind is using that to play cruel tricks on him, to make him feel even more ashamed, and is also taking in people finding out that he was Hyde.

Jekyll feels Unlovable because he sees Hyde as this monster inside of him, and who would like him for his flaws when he needs to be perfect, now that the secrets out he’s willing to die alone because of it.

This thought of being this monster also leads into the evil scientist dude (sorry im so bad at names 😔) , the self doubt that he is preaching is that because of Jekylls failed experiment, and that because Jekyll had this part of him in the first place he is doomed to end up just like him.

Alone. Feared. Angry and Bitter. But it’s not true in the end because while these thoughts of doubt seem so loud and are pulling him under, Jekyll can still choose who he wants to be and Mend what he has done wrong.

Now while these thoughts are mostly directed at Jekyll, Hyde and Jekyll have similar fears so it makes sense that they would affect Hyde aswell.

Hyde is afraid of being alone, just like Jekyll he’s stuck in this place of uncertainty in himself and he needs Jekyll to guide him which he can’t do alone.

We saw how he crumbled when Jekyll left, how he was so lost and how he was terrified, and now he is acting strong again, his persona he displays is a switch that he can turn on and off at any moment because it’s his self defense mechanism.

Even though he’s talking to the mind people of self doubt with confidence and conviction, even a little poking fun, its not enough to keep him from getting dragged down under by the nightmares just like Jekyll was. Once again being called a monster, when even though Hyde is a manifestation of every bad part pf Jekyll, he is not a monster, but a misguided person.

Hyde can’t stop it, the comments are getting to him more that he could’ve ever guessed, and he has always been afraid by the nightmares that consume him.

When he was the one who had taken in charge they haunted him, and now that he’s all alone they haunt him again, because without Jekyll to tease and make fun of or give him guidance, he’s an easy target to get to, for he loses almost all of his confidence and definitely all of his control.

In a way the mind self doubt has made some good points that they are a little right about, they over exaggerated those points, making is seem more hopeless than it actually is because thats what self doubt is.

It extends from something that has happened but grows it and twists it until its out of hand and it ways down on you.

Most of these extend from wanting to be perfect, failing to find love, and most of all Hyde.

Its tragic how this is what Jekyll is getting pulled under by but it also Perfectly realistic at the same time, if Hyde gets Jekyll back he is going to have to find a way to prove that these things are not true which will be hard because they are apart of his self doubt too

[anulomufa]

I only started following hockey a couple of months ago, but somehow I made it to yesterday's Canada vs. USA game in person. It still feels kind of surreal, so here’s everything I remember from that game:

People were shouting “Go Canada Go!” on the street outside the Bell Centre while waiting for the gate to open. On the escalator to upper levels too. I’ve never seen an audience so pumped up before a hockey game.

I entered Centre Bell through a less busy side door and went straight down to watch the warm-up, securing a first-row spot behind the net. Just like in the first Canada vs. Sweden game, the lower level was completely full by the time warm-up started.

Because of my first-row spot, I witnessed Nathan MacKinnon take a puck to the face right in front of my eyes.

That was the moment I realized “oh no things are not going very well”, especially with Cale Makar already out for this game.

As usual, Mitch was the last one off the ice, he traded a puck for candy (Mitch, always the gift-giver). Brad Marchand patiently waited for him at the player entrance. They had a fist bump before exiting.

The Canadian national anthem was the loudest I’ve ever heard. It gave me goosebumps and I’m not even Canadian.

Before the puck drop, I saw the third line (the Bolts line) on the ice and was like “Wait what why”. Then the fight started so I was like “Ohh okay sure”. And then the second fight started, and again I was like “Wait what why”. By the third fight I was like “Okay but isn’t this a bit much” but I took out my phone and filmed it.

After the fights I thought it was obviously too much. You could feel the adrenaline both on and off the ice overflowing. The speed of the game was crazy and I wondered how they could possibly keep this up for 60 minutes.

The McDavid goal. I saw someone describe McDavid’s skating in the first game as “the space/time continuum actually bending around him”. It was accurate. And he doesn’t tuck his jersey into his equipment, so it always flutters like a flag in the wind as he cuts through the center.

The Guentzel-Matthews-JHughes line was terrifying. Matthews was strong defensively. Guentzel was ruthless.

Jordan Binnington didn’t receive nearly as much hate at Centre Bell as he does online. In fact, after several of his good saves, people around my section started chanting “Binnington! Binnington!” I also don’t think he’s the one to blame for the loss. Canada felt more more out-coached than out-goalied. He also leaves the net a lot to play the puck, which I think is interesting because it feels like the “sweeper-keeper” in soccer.

Toward the end of the game Team Canada swapped McDavid and MacKinnon, so there were several shifts where 87-97 and 29-16 played together. There were also a few Crosby-McDavid-MacKinnon shifts. I saw some comments aying Nate didn’t look as sharp and I'd still blame the puck that hit him in the face. What do you mean one of those creatures of routine had to miss half of warm-up.

Since I went to the game alone, my friend texted me “Be safe” after the loss. But the streets were actually pretty quiet, almost peaceful. The only sound was the crunch of winter boots underfoot as snow fell gently, shimmering on the ground. Ahead of me were two guys wearing Team Canada jerseys—one McDavid, the other MacKinnon. And I think there was something poetic about that scene.

[miraclechatbug]

I just read an analysis of the episode by @mamayura, and honestly, it's incredibly insightful and accurate. It also makes everything a thousand times more heartbreaking because Adrien knows exactly what he wants, and it’s something very simple. He just wants to be with Nathalie and Marinette.

However, throughout the entire episode— and even before that, Nathalie has kept Adrien at arm’s length. She’s afraid to care for him the way she truly wants to, a struggle she’s faced constantly, even when he was a child, as shown in the flashbacks. She has always loved him and longed to show him more affection.

However, she’s terrified of replacing Emilie, it probably even feels like a betrayal even though it was Emilie's last wish. It's all too much to put on Nathalie, and of course, she's indecisive about it. That’s why she holds back from showing Adrien the love she so clearly feels for him, even though it’s obvious to everyone how much she adores him. But as clear as it is to others, it might not be to Adrien. He knows she cares for him, but does she care enough to step up and be a mother to him? Nathalie has rarely taken that kind of initiative, so he can’t bring himself to ask such a thing of her.

Adrien is wise beyond his years. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again— he is the most emotionally intelligent and self-aware person in the show, (so is Luka, though in a different way). Because Adrien understands emotions so well, even though he’s never had any real control over his own life, he does know what he wants. He wants to stay with the people he considers family— Nathalie, Marinette, The Gorilla. But he won’t say it aloud, not even when given the chance, because he needs undeniable proof that he is wanted first place.

Just like he never truly forced his father. Yes, he constantly sought Gabriel’s time and attention, and every time he was pushed away, you could see how much it devasted him. And he learned from that. Just like he learned from Ladybug, after she pushed him away time and time again. You cannot force people to love you if they don’t want you. It has to be their choice.

And in that moment, every adult in that room, except Marinette, had to make their decision before Adrien could even be allowed to speak. That is utterly tragic. It’s horrifying. I can’t even begin to imagine what it would feel like to watch strangers argue over who should take custody of me while the one person I truly wanted wasn’t even in the room, wasn't even making an effort for him. And the worst part of it all... is that he didn’t fight it. Not even a little protest. He had already resigned himself to whatever was happening.

Adrien didn’t say anything because he knew he couldn’t. Because, deep down, he truly believed that what he had to say wouldn’t matter. It never had before.

Until Marinette. She’s the one who always thinks about him, who turns toward him instead of away. Especially in the Werepapas episode— she stops, looks back, and asks him what he wants. No one else ever does that (except Plagg). She wants to see him happy, and she makes him happy. I would love to see more of that.

I think Adrien has always felt voiceless when it comes to his own desires. He’s spent his whole life pushing aside what he wants, always making space for others, always tiptoeing around the emotions of the adults around him. When, in reality, those burdens were never his, and will never be his to carry. They should have shielded him from their anger, worries, and indecision, figured things out first, and only come to him when they had something real to offer. Instead, they fought over him like he was a prize to be claimed.

I would love to see him finally wishing for things— choosing for himself, being selfish for once. He deserves that.

Watching Werepapas has made me realize how little control Adrien thinks he has over his life. His grandparents are literally fighting over their guardian rights over him, and he is under the table, concerned about Plagg, and not paying attention in the slightest. Marinette, Nathalie, and The Gorilla were all more upset and worried than he was. Or at least, they showed more emotion.

And honestly, that's so concerning. How little control and choice must someone have over their life to react this way? In the end, when they finally ask him what he wants... he says he doesn't know himself. He's happy to let Marinette make the decision for him, and it's obvious that he wants Marinette wants for him, it's obvious to everyone except him.

He never voices out loud what he wants, such as how obviously he wants Nathalie to hug him back and show him affection at the beginning of his episode. And his shirt was so wrinkled! I think he's struggling more than ever, but he's so good at acting that he's fine– he's so well put together. I fear he doesn't even know how much he's struggling himself. He constantly says he doesn't know how he's feeling himself, which means he is very disconnected with his emotions. People who are very repressed say such things, people who never had chances to explore their feelings themselves, never got the freedom or choice to express themselves. Adrien doesn’t voice his wants, not because they don’t exist, but because he’s never been given the space to acknowledge them. The moment he does, he risks confronting just how deeply he craves something he believes he can’t have. So, he keeps moving, keeps smiling, keeps convincing everyone— himself included, that he’s fine.

It's a learned habit, a defense mechanism. People who have always been told what to feel, or who have been given no room to feel at all, probably end up like this– adrift and unsure of where their own emotions begin or end. It’s repression at its most insidious.

[dorkus-mcdingus]

A Familiar Voice: A Lilia Short Story

BIG OL FREAKING DISCLAIMER!

This bit of fanfiction is based on the "Crowley is Raverne" theory (which has neither been confirmed or denied) which I both DESPISE TO MY CORE and adore so much.

So I thought, if that theory is true, what would be going through Lilia's head seeing a somewhat familiar face during orientation?

Admittedly, the final scene with Crowley, I was inspired by Prince Kallisto's drawing and oof the amount of inspiration it gave me when I saw Maleanor's painting get slashed! After all, if a portrait has a mouth, why can't it talk?

Enjoy the story and the little moments of Lilia being a wholesome dad :3

A new year meant new students coming in, packing the mirror chamber like sardines while the Headmaster gives the most boring yet somehow self-serving speech imaginable.

The seniors were trying their damndest to stay awake but getting a good look at the new blood, their hearts began to palpitate rapidly as in the sea of cloaked boys, only one had horns poking through his hood.

"Dude, we got a code red." One third year student whispered

"Shut up! The headmage is gonna hear us!" Replied a second year in a hushed tone.

"I'm serious, look in the crowd of freshmen!"

When the boy turned to the crowd, it was like his blood froze into ice in his veins.

"You're kidding...! You mean to tell me that's..."

The third year nodded, just as terrified as ever.

"Malleus Draconia... I feel so bad for everyone in Diasomnia right now..."

"How do you know he's gonna end up there? The Dark Mirror hasn't even gotten to him."

"Uh! Hello?! 5th most powerful mage in Twisted Wonderland AND the fact that he's a fae from Briar Valley?! No duh he's going to get sorted into Diasomnia!

Another second year boy tapped on their shoulders.

"I heard a lot of things about the fae from that place. They're not as forgiving compared to here. I mean, mom and dad already hammered in before I came here to always be polite to the fairies but I'd rather avoid Malleus like the plague unless I wanna get cursed. Just looking at him gives me the chills..."

Curious, Malleus looked over at the whispering boys but the trio panicked as they hid their mouths behind their hands to muffle a gasp.

"Malleus," Lilia whispered. "Pay attention because they're going to call you up soon."

"Understood." He sighed.

Those etiquette lessons had to be drilled into his head despite how bored he was hearing the headmage go on and ON about how generous and kind he was but once Lilia got a good look at the man... Something told him that he's seen him before. It was hard to tell behind the mask he wore, but even he was left staring.

"Cater Diamond!" Called the masked man.

The ginger haired boy with a black diamond painted on his cheek stood in front of the mirror as the mirror said with a booming voice,

"State your name."

"Name's Cater Diamond~!" He replied with his overly jovial tone.

"Cater Diamond, the nature of your soul is... HEARTSLABYUL!"

Lilia may have been short in stature but his red doll-like eyes couldn't pry away from the Headmaster. He definitely didn't register as a dinural fae from his appearance, but where had he seen that man before?! Was it during his travels?! Just... WHERE?!

Malleus in turn gave Lilia a light tap on his shoulder.

"Are you fairing well, Lilia?" He whispered.

"I can't quite put my finger on it, but I feel like I've seen the headmage before. Though, drat! I don't remember where?"

"It could've been someone you encountered on your travels, but from the looks of it, he might be one of us. Though, I do wonder, why wear a mask?"

"Indeed. There's no doubt about it that he's a fae like us but still... Urgh... Dash it all! My memory's not serving me well in my age."

Soon enough, the headmage called.

"Malleus Draconia!"

A loud surge of whispers roared throughout the chamber as some boys looked on in shock and horror, while some were rendered flabbergasted at the sight of the crowned prince in front of them. He maintained a perfect posture, a calm demeanor, but admittedly, the whispers cut him deep like daggers made from cold-forged iron.

"Why's he even here when he's already in the top five?!"

"I feel like I should apologize just for looking at him!"

"He's so powerful it's so suffocating!"

"His appearance alone is enough to give anyone nightmares."

"Rest in peace to the current Housewarden of Diasomnia. You're doomed!"

One student (a lion beastman in particular) remained quiet but shot a disdainful glare at the young dragon. As if the man needed another reminder that he'll always be second best and the fact that the boy is the crowned prince of his country too!

But as soon as Malleus stepped up to the mirror, the mirror commanded,

"State your name."

"My name is Malleus Draconia."

"Malleus, the nature of your soul is... DIASOMNIA!"

One given the magestone for his pen, he made his way back to his seat beside Lilia.

Though, with one good look at the boy, the old bat fae could tell that the whispers were troubling the young dragon. It may have been against what those old bastards in the Senate would've wanted, but he wrapped the boy's hand in his and gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb.

"Don't let it get to you, Malleus." He said gently. "As sad as it is, humans often fear what they don't know but once they get to know you, they'll be dazzled for sure."

"You don't need to treat me like I'm still forty, Lilia." Malleus replied trying to keep a straight face. "After all, Grandmother thought it would be good for me that I try to get to know these children of man better. Although, I don't know if four years will be enough."

"You won't know unless you try my boy." Lilia giggled. "Besides, if you're going to try and maintain peace with them, why not start young? It won't be all bad though. Silver and Sebek will be joining us over the next two years we're here."

"Silver will be a welcome presence, but I worry about Sebek when he does arrive."

"He still has much of the world to see and has much to learn just like you and Silver. You three are growing children and an environment like this will be beneficial to you. True, it may not be traveling but it can help you sample the different cultures they come from."

Malleus gave the old bat a small smile.

"You make a fair point. This could help them too just as much as me. By the way, were you able to figure out where you've seen the Headmage?"

Lilia heaved a slight sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Alas, I have not and it's bothering me!"

As the list of names whittled down, with the Headmage yelling such names as,

"Rook Hunt!"

And as a huge shock to everyone,

"Vil Schoenheit!"

Lilia couldn't help but comment saying he's seen a couple of his movies while out traveling. He really had grown so much compared to his days as a child actor but even then he was born to be a celebrity. For a human, one could say he embodied elegance.

As Crowley went down the list once more, he called,

"Idia Shroud!"

The timid boy with blue hair that acted like fire, Malleus at one point had heard of them through his old texts in the family's ancient library. They were born to a family with a bloodline curse of burning intense amounts of blot but as time passed and the family began dedicating their studies to blot research, it soon grew into the facility known as STYX.

He looked at Idia as he tried pulling his hood to hide his face while a cute little humanoid robot floated beside him as he urged his big brother to keep walking.

"Heh, a big Shroud and a little Shroud. How adorable."

"Ooh, knowing who that boy is related to, I know he's going to grow up to do great things."

"State your name." Said the mirror.

"I-Idia Shroud!"

"Idia, the nature of your soul is... IGNIHYDE!"

"No surprises there." Lilia whispered. "The Shrouds for many years have always had a knack for technomancy and engineering."

Further and further down the list the headmage went and boy was it getting long and boring! Yet still, Lilia couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Everything about him from the feathers, to the talon rings, just something seemed so eerily familiar but the more he got a good look at the plague doctor mask he wore, it was like someone quickly erased his memory before he found out too much.

Almost like... A childhood friend he knew once upon a time before he went missing. Not even to this day has it been confirmed that he passed.

He could recall a time when they snuck out of the castle, this cheeky little princess saw a bird trapped in a human's net and she wanted to give him a fright.

"Into a boy." She commanded.

The moment the raven began transforming into a human, his yellow eyes stared back at the princess once he threw the net off of him and he said to her,

"What have you done to my beautiful self?!"

"Would you rather be mauled by that human's dog?"

"No."

"I thought so."

All the while, Lilia was sent into a giggling fit.

But the merriment wasn't to last. Lilia was left all alone for so many years, ridiculed by the Senate, and with their son to look after. Something about those those yellow eyes hiding behind the mask just made it so familiar to him.

Soon enough,

"Lilia Vanrouge!"

Of course, he heard the whispers just like Malleus with the other boys saying,

"A girl? Since when did NRC go co-ed?"

"Gotta admit, she is pretty cute."

"Kufufu. Those boys don't know what they're in for." Lilia giggled quietly to himself.

But for some strange reason, the Headmaster couldn't help but get a good look at the small old man. He kept a straight face but even though he kept people at an arm's length, never revealing his face to anyone, the older boys could tell that the headmage was acting slightly off.

"State your name." Said the mirror.

"Lilia Vanrouge."

Hearing the boys' shocked expressions upon noticing the sound of his deep voice made it so hard for the little bat fae not to keel over from laughing.

"Lilia, the nature of your soul is... DIASOMNIA!"

No surprises there. Well, at least it'll make looking after Malleus easier. Still, although Lilia gave the headmage a sweet and charming smile, but behind the mask, Crowley was actively trying to play it cool.

With the ceremony coming to a close, before he made his way back to his office, Crewel stopped him for a minute asking where he was heading off to especially since Sam was so kind as to throw them a party to start off the new school year.

"I just need to take care of a few important documents, Professor Crewel. I'll be right back."

A ghost from the past he tried so DESPERATELY to forget and the boy he was with... It was like his days of old regrets were coming back to haunt him once more. Behind a pair of black curtains, hung a portrait of a woman with long jet-black hair and chartreuse eyes. Like the royal she was, she was fully decked out in the finest of jewels and silver resting on her shoulders as well as acting as a tiara hanging around her horns. However, the one curious thing about her portrait compared to the paintings around the school, hers had her mouth slashed.

The old headmaster held his head in his hands the more he looked at her. Even in death she still found a way to haunt him after so many years of trying to bury his past.

[havocandcchaos]

It's really important to me that y'all understand that Fiyeros last words are, "Glinda, I'm so sorry."

Thats it. "Glinda, I'm so sorry." and then the end, lights out, shows over for Fiyero.

Those are the last words he speaks alive. Those are his last words, not as a scarecrow. It is the last thing he ever says. he looks at his ex-fiancee, the only person he's been able to trust, to rely on, to love, for the last 5 years. The person he just abandoned not 24 hours earlier. The person he was abandoning again but this time so much worse.

And she's forgiving him. She's looking at him and saying you abandoned me for my best friend, and you held me at gunpoint, and I'm pretty sure you'd hate me if you could, but it's ok because I love you, and I'll always love you, and you love her, and so do I and its ok, because as long as someone loves her, then it's ok.

"He was never going to hurt me, he just loves her."

And he's about to be dragged off to his death. They both know it, even if Glinda is still pretending like she can change it. She would if she could. She'd give her life to save his. To save theirs. but she can't. And that's a rant for another day.

And instead of begging for his life, instead of screaming and pleading against the brutal death he's surely going to receive, he looks up at the only person he's had for 5 years. The woman he's loved for 5 years. The woman he so deeply betrayed. And he apologizes. Because he can't have his last act hurt her. She has to know he loves her and will always love her.

His last act hurts her anyway because his last act is being beaten to death in front of her, but there's nothing either of them can do about that but scream.

"Glinda, I'm so sorry."

For the gun, for leaving, for staying, for being mad, for being happy, for lying, for not loving you enough, for loving her too much, for all of it.

"Glinda, I'm so sorry."

And then he's dragged away. And Glinda screams and cries, and begs them to let him go. And Fiyero does none of those things. Because it's pointless and they both know it. But he's not the one who has to live with his death. She is.

"Glinda, I'm so sorry."

and then he's dead.

Anyway, I am sick and tired of people saying they never loved each other because they absolutely did. I don't care if you think it was romantic or platonic or familial or what. They loved each other.

And it was Fiyero's death, it was watching Fiyero's fate be exactly what she was terrified hers would be, that motivated her to finally say fuck it and go find Elphie. It was Fiyeros death that caused her to go against everything that motivated her the entire show because she already lost one of the people she cares most about, there's no way in Oz she'll lose both of them.

And then she does anyway. And Glinda Upland is alone.

So stop saying they never loved each other cause they did. It was complicated at the best of times, but they did.

They Did.

[benz12313]

Pre-Relationship!Ridoc - Ridoc x Reader

Warnings: slight mentions of death, violence vague, fem!reader, some angst, swearing [Takes place during Fourth Wing]

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who spends MONTHS hopelessly pining after you, but after your initial rejection nobody knows. Like dude has his feelings on lockdown, going about his business like nothing is amiss. You only rejected him because you wanted to focus on surviving, and then it never really came up again, so you figured he wasn’t that interested and wanted to be friends instead. Little did you or your squad know, that Ridoc just couldn’t get enough of you.

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who is terrified to get rejected by you again. Like, it’s one thing when he doesn’t actually care about the person he’s pursuing, he can just push that away, doesn’t hurt. But with you? No. He’d rather get torched than hear you say no again. Instead he decides to befriend you first. Get close to you so the next time he asks you out, he’ll know how to get you to say yes. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who quickly figures out that he’ll never have the courage to ask you out again. Like…never. The more he learns about you the more he realizes how absolutely great you are. You help him study, and suddenly he’s so close to beating Rhiannon’s grades in physics. You spar with him on the mat, and give him some pointers on weights, hell you even start running together! It isn’t long until he’s gained muscle and speed, his previous lean form transformed into one of formidable power. All because of you. Not only that, but in those rare moments that the two of you are alone, you’re always so nice to him. So yeah, he knows deep down that he’ll never be able to confess his increasing love for you. Pining it is. He doesn’t feel even remotely worthy of being yours.  

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who doesn’t tell anyone. No one. Until, one day Sawyer and him are in the male dorms and Ridoc is laying on his bed, and just starts spewing out paragraphs about how amazing you are and Sawyer just stares in shock. Because like??? What???? Where did this come from?????? When he asks Ridoc, “Why exactly are we talking about Y/N right now?” Ridoc just looks at him like he’s dumb, “Because I like her of course, keep up man.” And then he just goes on, continuing where he left off, leaving Sawyer absolutely stunned he’d been holding this in that long. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who sometime right after that, stops taking anyone to bed. His friends worry for his health. Sawyer is oddly quiet about it all, the most that comes out is a snort whenever someone asks. You even ask Ridoc if everything is alright, and despite getting pink cheeks and ears he assures you that everything is fine. “Just don’t feel like it. Gets boring when you don’t have any fresh faces around you know?” Little do you know, it’s mostly because he kept imagining you in his bed, and after a misfortunate event with another cadet, where he might’ve moaned your name instead…. well best keep to himself now, or you might start getting death threats from jilted lovers. It’s all in the name of your safety after all. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who starts getting more protective of you, the closer to threshing you get. Dangers are piling up, and obstacles are getting in your way. You’re being pushed harder on the mat, scaring him to death the first few times you end up in the care of the healers. You’re struggling with the gauntlet training, haven’t made it up completely once yet, despite presentation being only a week and a half away. You space out in class, the pressure of it all making your grades drop. And it terrifies Ridoc, thinking he’s watching your downfall, so he tries to push you harder. Creating a barrier between the two of you that grows every day.

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who you have a major fight with, three days before presentation day. Maybe you lose a challenge and break a limb, needing Nolan to heal you. Maybe you failed that important physics test, your best class. Maybe you nearly fell off the gauntlet, right in front of him. Whatever happened, through the fear, Ridoc’s reaction is unsavory and explosive. His rare moment of anger is directed completely at you, yelling at you to shape it up or you’ll be dead. You don’t take this well, yelling back at him, asking him why the hell that’s his problem?? He goes silent at that retort. And walks away. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who doesn’t talk to you after your fight. Not even after you conquer the gauntlet. Not even sending a look your way when you part ways during threshing. You think he’s still mad, so you don’t push, even if you miss him. In reality he’s ashamed, and doesn’t really know how to apologize. So he leaves you be. Maybe that’ll be better. Maybe he was hindering you. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who loses it when he sees you ride in on your dragon. He was terrified, you had your own enemies after all. And being a woman alone was enough to become a target for some of the shitty people in this place. He’s so relieved, that when you hit the ground his arms were the first one scooping you up, and then collapsing with you as sobs wracked his body. He’s fucking crying? What?? Then he starts babbling, apologies and confessions, all mingling together as he holds you tight. You don’t really know whats going on, not able to get two words in, until you hear it. “I couldn’t lose you. Not you. Anybody but you. I love you too much…” And you lay there, in shock at the words as he continues to babble, his face hidden in your neck as he refuses to let go of you, yet still soaking you with his tears. 

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who stops talking the moment you start laughing. Freezing because there’s no fucking way you’re laughing at him pouring his heart out to you. But then he pulls back and sees the tears streaming down your face too, and the soft look in your eyes. You reach up and brush his curls out of his face, resting your hand delicately on his cheek. His heart swoons at the gesture. “Oh Ridoc,” Your soft voice has his heart thumping louder than it already was. “I love you too. Sorry I scared ya.”

~ Pre-Relationship!Ridoc who immediately turns red, but asks you out anyway. You say yes, of course, and the rest is history.  

~ I'm taking requests as well, just submit them to my inbox and I'll get to them when I have time.

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[sunnydayaoe]

For the character ask game

Fresh, 2, 5 and 10 :D

referring to this. hard questions actually!

yapping for just sooooo long under cut woof

2. Favorite canon thing about this character?

I can't really pick X[. I genuinely just like all his canon material, the reason I've been obsessed with him for years. I like how much of an asshole he is, seeing himself as genuinely better than those around him and deserving of Better things, I like how his wild oscillations on his self image, his extremely fraught relationship to positive emotions and those who are able to let him feel them. there really isn't something about him I would say I didn't like, even a little. He has a lot of things that just make him very relatable as well, in his canon personality, that I usually don't see in characters. His aroaceness of course, but I also like sillier things about him. He likes kissing people a lot, he's very grabby most of the time, he's colorful! His put on character he plays "the 90's freak" is cute as heck. I just enjoy whatever he does. I like his canon so much I erm. dislike most non-canon complaint hcs or interpretations [that aren't surface level design changes] being honest HAHA. obsessed with canon fresh.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

I don't know X[[[ even harder qeustion... I don't erm. listen to music...? not a music person unfortunately. I guess. "The Main Character" by Will Wood. Doesn't fit fully to me, but I do enjoy the framing oneself as both a character and one that you Like. It also has a lot of his entitlement and the way he sees himself as Deserving of better than the vast majority of people. Also the quite part is very him to me... nervous and convincing, "I must be good enough!! you have to like me!! I can't die!!!!" its verryyyy him to me. Again, not fully him [Fresh wouldn't see himself as the main character] but a tertiary one who has a dedicated fanbase, but I do like it.

10. Could you be best friends with this character?

He's kinda half terrified half pissed the fuck off at the creators; I really don't think he'd Want to be friends. or it would be way to unbalanced for it to be true friendship, he'd always be on guard and want to impress me/want me to like him, and intern slowly grow more and more resentful of the power I have over him. On my end, would I actually enjoy being friends with him... he activates a lot of chemicals my irl Real best friends and partner do, because of erm. mental illness. Horrible little freak has crawled into [chosen person] zone and its genuinely a little embarrassing. So I'd definitely try my hardest to do literally anything to get him to like me, like uh, I do with the rest of my chp haha. It would just freak him out though, even if I was in universe and not a creator, the idea of someone not being... self-serving? If I was too giving with him, it would make him start second guessing things. He doesn't just assume people are being selfless. What am I gaining from this? what do I want from him? it can't JUST be that I like him, there needs to be more. I don't think I'm selfless enough to pull off the like... type of people Fresh actually Believed to be fully selfless. SO yepp the distrust would go harddddd [like it would be selfish, because I would probably be obsessed with him in the same way I am of a very select few people, but like. it doesn't Read as selfish on an outside perspective, which is what he would have.]

[Extra for 5, I have like. fifty cb and fresh songs... "Feel Better" by Penelope Scott, "Cosmos" by Yabadum and "Love Like You" by Rebecca suger all make me feel INSNAEEE [non-romantic interpretations of the songs]]

[witchingwithscissors]

The move-in dinner had turned into a regular thing.

At first, it was casual—Leslie and Ann dropping by to borrow sugar (Ann swearing she’d finally make an edible cake) or Rio troubleshooting Leslie’s work laptop while Agatha and Ann exchanged knowing looks over their wine glasses. But somewhere along the way, it became something more structured, something needed.

The four of them—Agatha, Rio, Leslie, and Ann—found an easy rhythm. With demanding jobs, kids, and the chaos of life, their time together became sacred.

Finding a babysitter who could handle three strong-willed, occasionally feral children was a feat in itself.

Nicky was sweet but had his mother’s sharp eye and Rio’s uncanny ability to talk people into things (even if he didn’t realize it yet). Leslie and Ann’s twins, Max and Elliot, were another challenge entirely—equal parts Leslie’s stubborn confidence and Ann’s chaotic curiosity. They were a unit, smart and occasionally terrifying.

After a long search, Agatha and Rio finally found their match: Emily, a sophomore in college, pre-law, eager to build a resume for her “future as a high-powered attorney.” The first interview had been smooth—until the magazine cover came up.

“So, uh,” Emily had said, shifting nervously in her seat, glancing between Agatha and Rio. “I just wanted to say… I saw your Entrepreneur cover. It was really inspiring. Like, seeing a queer Latina woman in tech at that level? Huge.”

Agatha had lost it.

She had to turn away, biting her lip to keep from laughing, while Rio groaned and covered her face with both hands.

“You researched me?” Rio muttered, peeking through her fingers.

Emily straightened her shoulders. “I do my homework.”

Agatha, still smirking, took a sip of wine. “Oh, I love her.”

Emily had been hired on the spot.

Once the kids were down for the night—Nicky tucked in with his latest dinosaur book, Max and Elliot probably asleep after arguing about whose Pokémon team was stronger—the women would slip away.

At first, it had been Leslie’s idea.

“We need a night off,” she declared one evening, shutting her laptop after a 14-hour workday. “A proper one. No interruptions. No diapers. No dishes.”

Ann gasped dramatically. “Are you saying you don’t love my burnt cookies and existential dread at 9 PM?”

Leslie pressed a kiss to the top of her wife’s head. “I love your existential dread. But I also love overpriced cocktails and making fun of twenty-somethings on dates.”

Agatha had been the hardest to convince, but Rio had given her one of those looks—soft, teasing, insistent.

“Come on, boss lady,” she murmured, bumping her shoulder. “Live a little.”

And so it began.

They had their spots:

The Wine Bar: Dim lighting, exposed brick, a bartender who knew Ann’s order before she sat down. This was for deep conversations, work rants, and Leslie giving impassioned speeches about city policies that needed to change.

The Cocktail Lounge: Dramatic. Rooftop views. Way too expensive. Agatha rolled her eyes every time Rio ordered some ridiculous drink with edible glitter, but then Leslie would challenge her to a round of darts, and somehow, the night always ended with Ann recording Rio dramatically singing “Landslide” during karaoke. Brittana forever.

The 24-Hour Diner: When all else failed—when heels came off and makeup smudged—they ended up here, sharing a plate of fries, Leslie half-asleep against Ann’s shoulder, Rio feeding Agatha bites of pie when she wasn’t paying attention.

Some nights, they didn’t even go out. Some nights, they ended up on Leslie and Ann’s couch, drinking wine in sweatpants while Ann attempted (and failed) to bake something edible.

“I followed the recipe,” Ann huffed, staring down at her collapsed cake.

“I think the recipe filed a restraining order against you,” Rio said, inspecting the mess.

Leslie, exhausted from another workday, just pulled Ann into her arms and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You’re a little beautiful-disaster-bicorn-butterfly-toadstool-fairy, and I love you.”

Ann sighed dramatically. “I am a disaster.”

Agatha, curled up next to Rio, smirked. “At least you’ve accepted it.”

The apartment still smelled like chocolate and rum, the scent lingering long after Leslie and Ann had left for the night. The kitchen was a mess—half-melted chunks of a very boozy chocolate rum cake, empty wine glasses, and a flour-dusted counter that hinted at Ann’s latest chaotic attempt at baking.

Agatha stood at the sink, arms crossed, watching as Rio—sleeves pushed up, hair slipping loose from her ponytail—washed the dishes.

The domesticity of it made something catch in her throat.

She had spent her entire adult life building something stable, something controlled. Love had never been a priority. Not until Rio.

And now? Now Rio was standing in their kitchen, scrubbing chocolate from a plate with a concentrated frown, completely unaware that she was everything.

Agatha’s fingers curled around the small black velvet box now deliberately in her pocket.

She stepped forward, reaching into her pocket and setting the black box on the counter beside the sink.

Rio didn’t notice at first.

“Rio,” Agatha said softly.

“Hm?” Rio didn’t look up, still rinsing a plate.

Agatha swallowed, then took a steadying breath. “Look at me.”

Rio turned—and froze.

Agatha flipped the box open with her thumb, the ring catching the dim kitchen light, silver and brilliant, a reflection of everything she felt but never knew how to say.

“I want you to be my forever person,” Agatha murmured. “You already are—but I want it to be official. I want you to be my wife. I want to build everything with you. I want you to be Nicky’s other mom. I want every night, every morning, every future with you.”

Rio blinked, lips parted, but no words came out.

“Rio,” Agatha added, arching an eyebrow, “if you don’t answer soon, I will take this ring back—”

“Yes,” Rio breathed. Then, louder, as if snapping back to reality: “Fuck yes!”

Agatha barely had time to react before Rio cupped her face and kissed her—deep, desperate, like she had been waiting for this moment without even realizing it. It was all heat and urgency, tongues tangling, hands roaming with a kind of hunger that made Agatha’s knees weak. And then there was Rio’s hand—now adorned with an engagement ring—sliding up Agatha’s waist, gripping, pulling, claiming.

Later, as Agatha lay against Rio’s chest, fingers trailing over her newly adorned hand, Rio’s gaze flicked down to the ring—and her face changed.

“Wait,” she said, sitting up. “This ring. This very large, very expensive ring.”

Agatha lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. “It’s just a ring.”

Rio narrowed her eyes. “How much?”

Agatha took a slow sip of wine.

“Agatha.”

“…A reasonable amount.”

“Agatha.”

“…Two hundred thousand.”

Rio choked. “TWO HUNDRED—WHAT THE HELL? Take it back. Return it. Donate the money.”

Agatha sighed. “Fine.”

Rio searched her face. “And the ring?”

Agatha simply slid it onto Rio’s finger. “Stays.”

Rio exhaled, shaking her head. “…You’re impossible.”

Agatha smirked. “And yet, you love me for it.”

Rio tugged her closer, her voice a low murmur, lips grazing the shell of Agatha’s ear. “You owe me for this.”

Agatha got the girl, so in a way… yeah, she did.

Which was how Agatha found herself thoroughly and relentlessly worshiped in the bedroom for the next month straight.

And Rio?

Rio never brought up returning the ring again.