#and this fucking government killed him because it was afraid of him

[gorkaya-trava]

actually I feel very empty now. as if it was someone from my family who was killed. I know that he wasn't our last hope, there still are good people here, but I wouldn't become who I am now without him and his words. it's a very bittersweet feeling to see how many people leave flowers for him on monuments to the victims of repression. I'm gonna go leave something for him too

[stygianheart]

Rewatched Dressrosa lately. Completely forgot how depressing Law’s story is and how much I love Corazon. Corazon is just so weird in all the best ways possible and I love him. Fuck Doffy for killing him. I want Corazon back.

And it really, really, REALY killed me when Corazon died. Because Law knew he was going to die. And he was screaming and sobbing his heart out, silently thanks to Corazon’s Devil Fruit Powers. And he knew the exact time Corazon took his last breath because his sobs could suddenly be heard and god darn it, that ripped my delicate little heart out.

[starrynightarchive]

say what you will about zosan as a ship but you would be fool if you think they hate each other. they are undeniably best friends.

they get on each other's nerves. they wash dishes together. they are baring their teeth at each other every day. they fight together and it feels like a dance. it feels like breathing. it feels like they have known each other forever. they both think the other is the worst person to ever exist on this planet. they trust each other with their lives. every step, every sprint, every fight. they don't have to look back to see if the other is keeping up because of course he is. he is the most infuriating, head strong, insane bastard in the world. of course he's keeping up. how annoying.

it's unspoken, this bond between them. they could be at each other's throats but when the marines or the world government or even the fucking devil is in front of them to bring them down, they're on their feet. legs blazing, swords unsheathed. they know their way around each other like the back of their hand. one call of the other's name and he's already there, ready to bring the whole world down. they are the wings of the pirate king. they are the pillars that hold up the home that their captain built. they are two sides of the same coin. sanji and zoro, zoro and sanji, sanjiandzoro.

plates always filled with food that smells like home. hands always searching, always reaching out to pull him back to the right path with an obscenity or two or a million more. but for all his whining, he still comes to get him, every single time.

i will keep you safe. i won't let you lose your way.

eyes always watching. grin sharp and mad, words puling him out of the hell that is his mind with a taunt. silent nights spent in each other's company. the back of a sword jabbed at his ribs. silent determination. steady, solid, under your hands as you lose consciousness.

i will keep you safe. i won't let you forget your worth.

they've never known love that doesn't tear out of them, snarling, spitting, biting. they've never known tenderness. the crew teaches them love in their strange, gentle, loud ways and it's beautiful, it's confusing, it hurts in the best way possible. but with each other? they don't have to hold back. there's something so intimate about holding someone by their collar, dragging them close and yelling look. look. this is how i love. i will kick your face in and make you the best meal you've ever had. i will spend all my time thinking of stupid names to call you. i won't ever say you matter to me, but i will die for you. i will trust you with all that is important to me. look at this fucking mess. this is how i will always love. with teeth and nails and intent to kill. are you afraid yet? only to have the other lean closer with a grin so feral and say, do your worst, asshole.

they are nakama. they are rivals. they are friends. what they have cannot be put down in one word but in the end, the word will come down to something close to love.

[illubean]

reader with a terrifying ben aura but doesn’t look like it or act like it?a couple months ago i saw i fix where the reader just said collapse and they won so this is inspired by that :3 (main four pls)

??

Main 4 (HXH) W/ a CursedSpeech!Reader

Characters: Gon Freecs, Killua Zoldyck, Kurapika Kurta, Leorio Paladaknight Type: Crack mostly oops, Headcanons, Gn!Reader

Inumaki core

Warnings: none?

Gon Freecs

he is totally afraid of you in a weird way

like he's scared of your ability but he trusts you not to use it on him so he doesn't avoid you or anything

he looks unfazed to most because he keeps that dumb smile on his face but he is quaking in his boots

he is just glad you're on his side because your nen is fr horrifying

whether you communicate in harmless code words, sign or any other way he figures it out the quickest out of everyone else

he may be a lil stupid but he can recognize patterns

Killua Zoldyck

yk how he reacts to Illumi's aura

yeah its the same but like 10x worse

you have to assure him he is not your enemy and you wont use your nen to hurt him...

he asks you to kill his entire family

seriously why weren't you working for the government or something? you could've single-handedly wiped out the chimera ants

he's mad af if you use your nen to mess with him

one time he spilled water on himself and forgetting about your nen you were like "Killua peed his pants!"

and he was like "NOOO I DIDN'T" then ends up actually peeing his pants

he never forgives you for that.

Kurapika Kurta

he would never use you to exploit your nen

but he can't help but wonder how useful you would be against the phantom troupe...

the 2nd quickest one to pick up on how you communicate normally

you never use your nen on him for silly reasons

whenever you do you're either telling him to run away or to rest because he overworked himself

and since you take care of him he's sure to take care of u too :3

if you use your nen too much and the drawbacks affect you he will help you recover

Leorio Paladaknight

oh he hates it

1) he's already afraid because you could kill him whenever if you really wanted to

and 2) you use your power to make him do stupid shit

he pisses you off? you turn around activate your nen and go "TAP DANCE! TAP DANCE RIGHT NOW!!"

and now he is tap dancing because he is helpless to your nen ability.

he didn't even know he could tap dance

or other times you're like "SHUT THE FUCK UP" and he is silenced until you decide to let him speak again...

he tries realllyyy hard to stay on your good side now

[thefatedthoughtofyou]

Eddie lives.

Just barely.

Steve and Nancy carry him out of the upside down, with the help of a sobbing Robin and a screaming Dustin. They get him out. They get him safe. They get him to the hospital.

The government clears his name. They clean up Hawkins as best they can. All while Eddie is in a coma. The doctors don't know if he'll ever wake up. Steve sits next to Wayne everyday. Waiting. They talk. Get close.

And almost 3 months later. Eddie wakes up. He smiles at Wayne, reaches for his hand with tears in his eyes. And once they're done hugging, his eyes land on steve. Full of confusion, his hands gripping Wayne's shirt tightly, his head shaking.

He doesn't remember.

Anything.

He remembers meeting Chrissy after school, taking her back to the trailer. And then nothing. Steve feels his chest ache, feels tears coming. He excuses himself quickly, and then he runs.

~°~

He hears about Eddie, through Dustin. He helps Eddie around school now, helps with his classes too. Eddie is different now. Quieter. Dustin tells him this. Tells him he really only seems like old Eddie when they meet for hellfire.

But Dustin also tells him that he's pretty sure Eddie thinks maybe he did kill Chrissy. Because people talk. The town talks. And no amount of hush money can make people less vindictive and awful. Can't make the way they call him a freak with more venom now than they ever did before, go away.

But the thing is. Eddie still sees so much. About people. About how they're feeling. If they're upset, and sometimes why they are. He's observant in a way that Steve has never been able to get used too.

And Dustin drags Steve and Robin and Nancy back into Eddie's orbit. Willing their closeness to bring their Eddie back. He gets closer with Dustin and Lucas than before. Even apologizes to Lucas unprompted, about how harsh he was about hellfire that day. Asks for his sports schedule to make sure they don't overlap again.

And Steve's chest keeps aching. Because Eddie has learned from the things he can't even fucking remember.

Dustin drags Eddie around them all. And Steve can't help the way he looks at him. Can't help the way he watches him. But every now and then. He finds Eddie watching him back. Both of them startling and looking away.

But Steve always glances back at Eddie, has to keep his eyes on him. He'd spent so much time in that hospital room, watching Eddie sleep, and not move, and be still and silent. And he'd hated it.

So he watches him. Watches him move. Watches him smile. Watches him hold up a move case to Dustin, a funny voice floating from behind it. It makes Dustin laugh and Steve smile. And Eddie sees it. Looks up and locks eyes with Steve as he watches them goof around the store, and he doesn't look away.

But steve does. He has too. Because there's no recognition behind Eddie's eyes. Not the way Steve wants there to be.

~°~

Three months later Lucas and Dustin show up at his door, looking worried. It's late friday night. Steve had to work so he couldn't pick them up from hellfire, but they were both still clutching their dnd manuals to their chests.

Steve doesn't even have time to open his mouth before dustin says,

"He's remembering." And Steve's heart flutters but he stays as calm as possible, lets the boys in.

"What do you mean he's remembering?" Steve asks, all of them falling into chairs and couches in his living room.

"The new campaign. It's got.... things. The bats. The vines. It's even got a creepy house." Lucas says, slowly, like he's afraid to tell Steve. Steve frowns, nods.

"There's other stuff too. There's a few characters, npcs, they're a lot like you and Robin. There's one that could be Nancy, with a stretch. But your's is... playing a big part." Dustin grimaces when he says it, and Steve's cheeks burn, maybe Dustin sees more than he lets on.

"What? What kinda part? And does he know? That it's me? That it's...that it's real?" Steve asks, his hands rubbing over his jeans roughly, his palms damp as he presses them against his thigh.

"We don't think so. Not really. But he gets this look in his eyes sometimes. When certain things happen. He'll look at us, me and Dustin, and it's like..." Lucas shakes his head, like he doesn't know how to describe it.

"It's like he's challenging us. To say something. To like- confirm the things he's saying? Like he knows that we know something. That we know it's real." Dustin swallows, hard.

"And then it passes. And he's back to normal DM Eddie. Just, doing his normal shit. It's- it's weird. There's something there. And we thought... maybe..." Lucas trails off, glances at Steve. His stomach drops.

"You thought what?" He asks, but he knows.

"We thought maybe you could talk to him." Dustin says, a cringy smile on his face.

"Why me?" Steve asks, but he's already thinking about what he'll say to Eddie. How he's supposed to talk about this.

Lucas shrugs,

"Because he seems fixated on you. Not in a weird way. Just... you're in the campaign. A lot. And he asked Dustin about you last week." Lucas says, looking to Dustin so he can be out of Steve's attention.

"He what?" Steve asks, eyes locking on Dustin, who glares at Lucas.

"It was nothing bad!!!" Dustin screeches, holds his hands up.

"He just... asked if you and Nancy were still dating. Had this confused look on his face, like he was trying to peice something together." Dustin shrugs, like it's nothing. Like his words didn't just completely shift Steve's world.

"I'll do it."

~°~

He goes to Eddie's the next day. Knows he'll be home. Wayne's been taking weekends off to spend time with him.

Wayne opens the door, smiles softly when he sees it's steve.

"Hey kid. Was startin to wonder if I'd be seeing you again." He says, his voice soft, but happy. Not accusing like Steve had been worried he might be. Steve sighs, smiles back.

"Hey Wayne. I uh... I was wondering if I could talk to Eddie? If he's around?" He shrugs, pretends they both don't know that Eddie doesn't leave the house much anymore. Wayne looks at him for a moment, really looks at him, and then he's smiling again and motioning for Steve to come inside.

"He's in his room. I'm gonna go for a walk. I won't be far. Holler if you need me." Wayne says, and steps through the door. Leaving Steve standing alone. He takes a deep breath and walks down the hall.

Eddie's sitting in bed, scribbling in a notebook in his lap. Steve clears his throat and Eddie's head snaps up. He sees Steve and shuts the notebook quickly, rearranges himself, sits up a bit straighter. But there's no look of confusion this time. Steve raises his hand, wiggles his fingers, hovering in the doorway to the bedroom.

"Hey. Can I come in?" He asks, and he's nearly whispering, not sure why.

"Hey." Eddie says, nods and waves for Steve to come into his room. He does. And then he stands awkwardly in the middle of Eddie's room, not sure what to do or where to go from here. Eddie snorts, and Steve's eyes jump to his face, find him smirking, just a little, his eyes full of amusement.

"You can sit if you want." Eddie taps his foot against the bed twice before pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and watching Steve as he sits across from him after kicking his shoes off. He sits cross legged, looking at Eddie look at him.

"So Dustin wanted me to talk to you." He says, apropos of nothing. Good start Steve. Eddie's eyebrows jump on his head.

"Dustin..." Eddie trails off, watching Steve. Steve nods, slowly. Can't seem to gage whether Eddie is fucking with him, or waiting to see just how much Steve will divulge without being prompted.

"About the new campaign. And some of the... stuff. You've been putting in it." He frowns, but Eddie's eyes flash dark for a moment, and Steve's sure this is the look the boys had mentioned. And like they said, it's gone in a flash.

"What about it?" Eddie asks, his voice a touch higher. Steve sighs, rubs at his face. He really should have brought Robin, or Nancy. He shouldn't be the one doing this. He pushes his hands through his hair and then finds Eddie staring at him.

"Can I ask you a question?" Eddie asks, his voice quiet. Steve blinks at him.

"It's a weird question. And I don't" he pauses, his face scrunching, like he's in pain.

"You can ask me. Whatever it is. It's okay." Steve assures him, has to curl his fingers into his pants to keep from reaching out to Eddie, wanting to sooth him. Eddie frowns, is silent for a moment before he looks at Steve.

"Were we-" he stops, shakes his head, his fingers pressing into his comforter by his foot.

"Were we... something?" He's frowning again, his head shaking gently as his eyes jump around and then land on Steve, he looks like he might be about to cry.

"Uhh... what do you mean by something?" Steve asks slowly. Eddie wraps his arms around his knees again, tucks his feet closer, presses his lips to his knee before he takes a breath.

"I keep having these dreams." He says, eyes on the bed between them.

"And you're in them. And it just feels..." he shakes his head again, sniffs, and Steve can't help it. He moves forward, curls his fingers around Eddie's ankle. Eddie sucks in a shakey breath, his eyes snapping to Steve.

"Feels like what?" Steve asks, softly. Eddie stares, his eyes watery.

"It feels so real. And then I see you. Here. With Dustin. Or at family video. And it just..." he shakes his head again,

"It just feels like I'm missing something. Until I see you. And then it feels... like I've found it. But.... not? Because we aren't. I mean we weren't.... were we?" He's frowning now, tears falling, and he looks so confused, and hurt. Steve licks his lips, shakes his head, slowly, and almost crumbles when Eddie nods, quickly, and looks away, pulls his ankle away from Steve.

"Yeah. No I figured. Sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Eddie looks so small, curls around himself, not looking at Steve.

"Eddie it's-" he doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. So he bites his lip, remembers the way Eddie smiled up at him in that fucking RV and decides to tell him the truth.

"We weren't. No. But I- I wanted to be. I just realized it too late." Steve watches as Eddie turns to him, slowly, his eyes wide. Steve shrugs, give him a sad smile.

"You- you wanted- with me?" Eddie's voice is high, disbelieving. Steve nods.

"Yeah. But I didn't make it back in time. And then you were dying. And then you didn't remember and I-" his voice breaks, tears blurring his vision, burning his throat, he clears it, tries again.

"I just thought it would be better to let you go. Get back to normal. I didn't wanna... push you. You needed to heal. So I just..." Steve moves his hand in front of him, gesturing to nothing, hoping Eddie understands.

"You stayed away." And of course Eddie does, get it. Steve smiles, huffs, shakes his head and wipes at his face. And then he sees Eddie's notebook pushed into view. Eddie holding it out to him.

"I didn't forget. Not really." Eddie says, nodding to the notebook, holding it until Steve takes it. He moves to open it, checks with Eddie first, looking at him, Eddie nods.

Steve flips the first page open and his breath catches. A tornado of demo bats fills the page. It's followed by pages of vines. Pages of Chrissy. Pages of Dustin, and Nancy, and Robin, Max and Erica.

All of them. Some of them in the RV. Some of them riding bikes. All of them littered with drawings of Steve. Steve in the boathouse, Steve being strangled by bats, Steve with blood in his mouth from killing said bats. Steve wrapped in bandages, and Steve wearing Eddie's vest. Pages and pages and pages of Steve.

He looks back, sees Eddie watching him.

"I've been dreaming about you. I dreamed about you in the hospital too. And as good as my imagination is, it's never been this good." He smiles a little.

"It just seemed so unreal. I mean... Steve Harrington? It didn't make sense." He almost laughs then, a breathy little sound as he shakes his head again. Steve snorts.

"Yeah. Trust me. I was just as surprised as you. Eddie Munson wasn't really something I was prepared for." Steve admits, smiles at Eddie.

"So you... what you like me?" Eddie asks, nose scrunching, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Yeah. Little bit. I just didn't get the chance to see if you liked me back." Steve shrugs. Eddie laughs then, and it sounds maniacal.

"What?" Steve huffs, his chest feeling lighter already, just the sound of Eddie's laugh after so long making him wanna smile.

"Dude. I've had an unfortunate crush on you since freshman year." Eddie sighs, rolls his eyes. Steve bites his lips, feeling himself going red.

"Really?" Steve asks, his hand inching back toward Eddie's ankle.

"Yeah. Never thought I'd get to even be on your radar. But then these dreams..." he picks up the notebook and drops it again. Steve laughs.

"You were on my radar. We had classes together." Steve mumbles, his ears feeling hot.

"Was I? Really? You seemed pretty wrapped around any girl who smiled at you." Eddie says, teasing, shoving his toes at Steve, pushing them under his thigh. Steve grabs his ankle again, squeezes.

"You were. I just... didn't know it... back then. Didn't know what I was feeling." He shakes his head, frowning. They sit in silence for awhile, and then Eddie taps the notebook again.

"All this stuff is real then? The bats, and the vines, and that creepy house? This all happened?" He sounds unsure again. Steve nods slowly, widens his eyes, stares at Eddie's comforter.

"All real." Steve confirms.

"Could you-" Eddie starts, his hand reaching out, fingers curling around Steve's wrist.  Steve blinks at him.

"Would you tell me? Tell me all the stuff I don't remember?" Eddie asks, his fingers squeezing.

"Like a story?" Steve asks, his free hand moving to cover Eddie's. Eddie nods.

"Yeah. I remember a lot I think, I just need... I need you to tell me what order? Or like... how they happened. So I can peice it together." His brow furrows, like he's not sure. Steve smiles, moves his hand up Eddie’s arm, cups his cheek and smiles when Eddie leans into the touch.

"I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything." Steve breathes between them, his thumb soothing over Eddie's cheek. Eddie's eyes flutter, he leans closer, Steve leans forward too, like he's being pulled by a magnet. But he feels like he should have been here months ago, like maybe he's been waiting for this moment his whole life.

"Steve?" Eddie whispers his name between them, Steve can feel his breath on his lips.

"Yeah?" Steve asks, his eyes darting between Eddie's lips and his eyes.

"Have we done this before?" He asks, his voice small. Steve smiles, bumps his nose into Eddie's, his head shaking slightly.

"No. This is new." Steve breathes, his fingers moving into the hair at the nape of Eddie neck.

"Oh. Good. I like it." Eddie laughs, a small thing, he sounds giddy. Steve huffs a laugh too, pulls Eddie just a fraction closer.

"I like it too Ed's." He breathes the words against Eddie's lips and closes the space. Smiling into the kiss when Eddie hums happily, his hands grabbing at Steve's shirt.

~°~

They lay in Eddie's bed for the rest of the day, Steve telling him everything. All about Chrissy, and the upside down, and El and Max, all about Vecna. He tells him everything. All of it. And tries not to make it too much about how Eddie got under his skin. Won him over. Made him fall, hard, for this weird nerdy metal head.

And mostly it works, or Steve thinks so, until the moment he's finished talking. Done answering Eddie's questions, there are several. And Eddie pokes him in the ribs and  teases.

"You've got it bad for me huh?" Wiggling his fingers and making Steve squirm. Steve grabs his hands, rolls them over and presses Eddie into the matress. His hands move up Eddie’s wrists, lace their fingers together as Eddie blinks up at him, owlish eyes locked on him.

"Yeah. I've got it bad Munson. That okay with you?" Eddie's mouth opens and Steve dives in, doesn't wait for his answer.

But he doesn't need too. Eddie's dreams had been full of Steve, just like Steve's had been full of him.

[skitchune]

#01 G8 Draw-in-your-style Challenge!

I believe that this is an old challenge, but I decided that there’s no better way to dust off the old gear than seeing the boys in my style. Really liked playing around the filters. I liked given them this old, Sunday Morning Comics style. The grain is just beautiful.

I guess…I should give a little explanation?

Basically, in how I write Hetalia, there was ONE major event that changed the course of their timeline during WW2. Though the world mythos in itself is very different, suffice to say that it was that ONE event that changed the course of their world moving forward. Currently, the Nation Folks assemble as their own private entity to develop livelihood and development projects for underserved communities across the globe, instead of other global matters. Still, many retain a degree of political connection, Nation Folks, in general, all agree that they will always put first the good of humanity over the gain of any singular country. That being said…

🍝 Feliciano Vargas - more actively sexual and flirtatious, pretty much a ladies man, has a problem keeping his dick out of places it shouldn’t be but he’s a lovable tramp regardless and knows that he can get away with a lot. He has a good heart and a good head, but maybe a little bit of too much casual machismo that makes his comeuppance so fun to watch.

📋Ludwig Beilschmidt - still pretty much stiff and serious, efficient but also too much of a stickler, is the youngest of the bunch and always has something to prove, Gilbert helps him here and there but he doesn’t want Gil to meddle, it may frustrate him that everyone treats him like a kid, but he also knows that it sometimes works in his favor being the ‘spoiled’ baby brother to many.

🐉 Seiryuu Honda - to keep things short, Seiryuu is and always has been this universe’s Nation Folk for Japan but Kiku does/did exist for some time for [story reasons] Sei is calm, level-headed but can come off as rather aloof and dazed, he can act a little too familiar with new people and is quite affectionate to friends. He’s a bit of a Casanova and likes the game of courtship like a round of Shogi. In many ways he might not be stereotypical, but in many ways he comes off as traditional and anachronistic.

🤠Alfred Jones - Heroism runs deep in this hot-blooded cowpoke, not the flashy guns or the prestige, but the hard work of running down the pavement for change. He’s charming, mature, headstrong, and value honest and just work. He’s the singular cause of the ONE event, becoming a catalyst to multiple OTHER notable events during WW2. Unfortunately, this has caused him excommunicated from the US government, which suits him fine as he can more actively participate in projects.

🎸Arthur Kirkland - No one fucks around with the ruling class more than Art, who has historically been a thorn in many administrations throughout the colorful history of his homeland. He is a rebel with a cause down to his core, sticking it up anyone’s arse if it means fighting for what’s right. Boston Tea Party? He was also pissing on the cartons before throwing them overboard? The IRA? Girl, he was a damn recruiter. Has he been beaten, threatened, and killed because of his insolence? Sure, but no one is gonna look good as him doing it.

⛱️Francis Bonnefoy - (P.S. I meant to draw him removing his shirt because someone accidentally spilled wine on him) Residing far away from the bustle of Paris, Franc lives the coastal orchard life along the south of France. He’s a country boy at heart who likes living the simple life. He is very introspective, usually keeps to himself, but isn’t really afraid to voice out his measured opinions. Some might say he is a tad but wistful, but many friends know he’s just daydreaming of being back in his orchard surrounded by good company and a glass of the finest wine.

💅Ivan Braginsky - No one can take this MATERIAL GWORL. Daddy Russia is a Mama Bear who claps back at heartless Capitalism and works tirelessly as the acting Chairman of the Union to increase wages and living conditions across the social classes. He is tongue-in-cheek, no nonsense, and fabulous, but above all, a big and caring figure who thinks much for others more than himself sometimes and is just grateful to come home and be wrapped around by a certain Lithuanian’s strong arms—Big Mama deserves some honey after a long day’s work.

🍜Yao Wang - Wang is a funny characters to me. He can come across as uncouth and overfamiliar, but he just doesn’t take life as seriously as the others. It’s been a long ride and there’s too much more ground to cover than he wishes to put the effort into. He likes to complain about the silliest things, but damn, if he isn’t telling the truth every time he opens his mouth.

Alternate gradient map styles under the cut

[mingi-s-dimples]

splash of desire - wooyoung

pairing: enemy & teammate!wooyoung x fem!reader

rating: 18+ (filth)

genre: enemies to lovers, filthy smut (mdni ty)

summary: your captain makes you share a room with your death enemy, who also happens to be your teammate.

WC: 3.1k

warnings: non idol au, dystopian (strictland), brat dom!wooyoung x even brattier!reader, cocky!wooyoung, cursing, cussing out, threats (once or twice, death threat once and knife once), size kink, shower sex, overstim, orgasm control, ruined orgasm (twice f), oral (m), foreplay (f & m), blowjob, choking (both by dick and by hand), handjob, hair pulling, pet names ( ), making out, deepthroating, slight dacryphilia, one scene with pleading/begging, completely consensual, unprotected (booo use protection irl!!!), death enemies to lovers, completely unedited & might edit later, totally forgot to mention something.

Author's Note: Enemies to lovers... shower sex AND Wooyoung? give me 14 thank you. I wrote this in ONE DAY... like 4 hours or something? I think it took me longer to actually re edit/write the entire fic rather than initially writing it 😭. My utmost fave part was when Wooyoung said he wouldn't back off if he kissed her !?!??! I'm afraid I'm in love with how I wrote this fic keisjs (I always say this). Anyways, enjoy my fic ! 🫶🏻 (also I'm on the rollll I'm still on vacation LMAO I got really bored.. and horny so, once again, enjoyyy) - wrote this together w my bestie, she chose a plot - i only had the smut in mind upsi - tysm Lis for helping me ajisebs love youuu .

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction & does not represent in any way the reality of the member.

You were apart of ATEEZ, a well known group of outlaws, rebelled against the Strictland Government. They were some.. entities, which distrupted the initial normal world with all of their activities. Hongjoong, your captain, suddenly decided to part the whole team on small groups, of 2 people, because the latest mission almost failed tragically. He thought that it happened because we were too many in the same place. In the end, he chose Wooyoung to team up with you and.. neither of you were happy about it. In fact, you started bickering with both Hongjoong and Wooyoung, because for some reason Hj thought that you's be better off on a mission with Woo. Little did he know that you'd actually kill him even before the mission started if you had the chance.

You looked at Hj in disbelief.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I AM ON MISSION WITH WOOYOUNG?"

You let out a heavy sigh, giving a piercing stare to Wooyoung.

"WHY HIM, OUT OF ALL PEOPLE? Captain. Please... please... put me on another team.." you said pleading, almost begging Hongjoong, but to no avail.

"Nope, end of discussion. You are going to do as I said. You both have one hour to prepare and pack things. I already made a reservation for a hotel hot too far from here. We gotta stay united but not in the same place, it's too risky."

"Guess we'll need to tolerate each other, y/n. I won't try to kill you, I promise." Wooyoung said, giving you the death stare with a smirk.

Hongjoong left the room, giving you a stare. He tried so hard not to burst out laughing, knowing you were pissed at him for pairing you with Wooyoung.

And here you were, in your own, nice and little room... but private. In 2 hours you were gonna live with your death enemy, which happened to also be your teammate, in the same hotel room. Ironic, isn't it? How much you hated him, his face, his cocky and bratty attitude. Everything about him made you curse at him on a daily basis. But now, you were gonna be closer to him than ever. You didn't even know what to say about it... you were just.. in disbelief.

*2 hours later*

"Oookay guys. Here is your room, you only have one bed tho, we can't afford a bigger room for now. Please don't fight, don't try to kill each other and please, for fucks sake, don't bomb the place. Enjoy your time" Hongjoong said, letting out a small chuckle.

He knew sth you didn't know.

"Okay. Dissappear, please. I don't want to see you this early in the morning." you said to Wooyoung, staring him down. You took a cigarette out of your pocket and lit it, going om the balcony to ease your mood.

"We both know you love me, y/n, don't act like this" He said teasingly, approaching you slowly.

"Fuck you, don't piss me off. Go away! " you said, pushing him away.

"Fine. I'll be in the room if you need me" he whispered.

"Fuck off you bitch" you whisperer, not letting him hear you.

You took your phone out of the pocket and dialed Hongjoong.

"Joong please! I can't live with this brat! We've been in the same room for 3 minutes and we already started bickering! Please change the layout... " you pleaded.

But you didn't hear anything. Instead, he hung up in you, giving you the final answer.

"Oh cmon, you fucker" you said to yourself.

*several minutes later*

You decided to go back in the room after smoking quite a few cigarettes. After all, you were trying to distract yourself from the situation.

But it didn't last long.

"Huh? where the fuck did he go?"

"Well, better for me, I won't see his face for a while. Maybe he's planning to kill me? I wouldn't be surprised"

You later decided to go take a shower to ease your muscles after the mission you had 2 days ago, but to your surprise and horror.. you met Wooyoung's gaze in the hall, right besides the bathroom's door. He was halfway naked, t-shirt on the floor and only in his briefs. You were trying to look away but.. froze. You stared him from head to toe, stopping at his collarbones, then at his waist... his underwear. He was.. packing.

"For fucks sake, Wooyoung! What are you doing?" you finally said, after eye fucking him for a long minute.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Chill, I wanted to take a shower. Unless you wanna join me?" he said laughing, but seeing your flustered face made his gaze darken.

"Oh.. maybe you want to join me after all, judging from your stare, hm?" he said, approaching you.

"Fuck off! Don't you touch me, what the fuck!" you said and slapped him, looking horrified in his eyes at what you just did. You always bickered and fought with him but never in your right mind thought about hitting him.

"Ouu, feisty." he said and slammed your wrists to the wall, right above you.

"The fuck are you doing?!" you said trying to escape his grip but to no avail. He was strong.. and besides being strong you made him mad.

"Oh kitten, I've seen your gaze. You've been eye fucking me for a while, is that right?" he whispered right into your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

*click*

He closed the door with his left hand. You had nowhere to go. But... did you want to leave?

"Wooyoung it's not funny, I hate everything about you."

He tilts his head at your words.

"Come again, darling? I didn't quite hear you."

"You're fucking annoying, don't get on my nerves" you said, squirming and trying to get away from his grip. But with every word and every sentence he was saying, your force dissipated and you were starting to give in... maybe you wanted him after all?

You had a window of freedom and took something out of your pocket.

"Ouuu, a knife? Are you trying to perhaps flirt with me?" he said smiling, tightening his grip on your wrists.

"Drop it. I can't guarantee your safety with that shit around me, y/n." he said and took it from your hands.

"Shut the fuck up"

"Make me, love"

You gulped. You never thought that your... death enemy would turn you on but.. here you are, arousal pooling in your panties and trying to keep your composure and not jump on him in that instant. He was staring you down, you could feel how his eyes were eating you right there. He closed the gap between your bodies, you could feel his briefs getting thighter against your thighs.

"Wooyoung.. ? The fuck are you doing?" You said flustered, looking at the bulge forming in front of you.

"Perhaps I want to fuck you or... leave you hanging? Either way... it's so much fun seeing you this flustered... you've never been like this. It makes me go insane" he said, leaning in, hovering his lips over your collarbones.

You didn't try to run away now. You almost fully gave in but... there was still something holding you back. Was he always like this? Was he.. always into you.. like this? All these thoughts were driving you insane as you felt your cunt wetting your jeans. Did you want to give in? Did you want to leave? Your body was telling you something.. while your mind was telling you otherwise. But... you wanted to give in. Truth is... you've always wanted to fuck him. To fuck the cockiness and brattiness out of him. To see him flustered, to find out why he's always been bratty with you and only you.

Though.. he continued before letting you say something.

"You know... the problem is.."

He said as he leaned in, staring at your lips with hunger and thirst.

"If I touch you... or kiss you... I don't think I'll be able to back off."

He said... waiting for the slightest response from you.

"Wooyoung -" you mustered your courage to say, touching his lip with your thumb after he loosened the grip on your hands.

He took that as a yes.

Wooyoung leaned in for a kiss, one of his hands holding your wrists above and the other one on your waist, all touchy.

"To be honest with you, y/n"

He stopped for a moment.

"I've always wanted to do this"

He said as he leaned in for a deeper, sloppier kiss. His hand going down to your ass, trying to feel you up in every way possible.

"I hate you, Wooyoung."

"No. babe. You hate the fact that you actually want me" he said, planting a kiss on your neck.

And that was it.. you were making out with your death enemy. Tongues interlocking, lewd sounds being heard in the whole room. His hands going down to your pants and your hands on his shoulders, he took you in his hands and put you on the washing machine in the bathroom. In the meantime, you could feel his hands all touchy around your waist. He was not that shitty, after all. He was waiting for you to fully give in before making any move that would make you uncomfortable. But as he said... you'd been eye fucking him for a while now.

You unzipped your pants and he took them off. His hands going back to your ass, now tugging at your panties. As soon as he touched your thigh, really close to your cunt, you flinched.

He stopped.

"Hm? why did you stop"

"You flinched. All good w me all over you?"

"Yes."

"Okay, good girl" he said. smiling.

"Fuck you, Wooyoung"

"Oh yes, please." he said and went in for a wild sloppy kiss, biting your lower lip while he took of your panties and bra. You were already bare in fron of him while he still had his briefs on... which you took care of in a second. You first started touching his tip through the cloth, feeling how hard it has gotten these past few moments. He didn't lie, after all. He really wanted to fuck you... judging from all the pre cum leaking through. You tugged at them and took them off only halfway before his cock sprung up out of the enclosed briefs.

You gulped.

"Hm? did you say something, love?"

"Are you... perhaps.. surprised?" he said, chuckling at the view he had. Your hand was resting on his dick, which was halfway out of his underwear. He was right... you were fucking surprised at how big he was.

"N-no" you said flustered. He could see the look on your face. You wanted to fuck him right there.

He left you sitting on the washing machine.

"Where the fuck are you going? Don't piss me off, you started this" you said, staring at him.

"Wait a moment, I'm just gonna do something" and as he finished talking, he turned on the shower.

"Oh, my fucking god." You gasped.

"Wooyoung.." you said but couldn't finish your sentence as he took you in his grip and dropped you off in the shower, the water dripping off your collarbones.

"Didn't you want to take a shower, woman? The fuck you looking at" he said before one of his hands went straight to your neck, receiving a choked whimper from you.

"Ooh, you're a cocky one, hm?" he said as you stopped showing him how much you wanted him.

"You're one to talk, Wooyoung" you said and right after you finished your sentence he pushed you on the wall, your breasts against the wall and your back arched for the man behind you.

"Stay still, babe." he said as he slapped your ass, holding onto it for dear life. He was resting his dick on your folds, rubbing against them for a moment.

"Fucking god.. y/n. I hate how good you feel"

He said as he pushed only his tip in.

"It makes me want to destroy the fuck out of you"

He said as he pushed himself fully into your cunt, receiving a loud moan from you.

"Wooyoung ! " you shouted, trying to hold onto something. He had other plans. He took your hair into a fist and with his other hand he held onto you, bottoming out with every single one of his thrusts. It hurt but oh god... you never thought he'd fuck this good. You were holding on for dear life, the wall slippery from the water running on you and your knees weak.

"I'm not even - oh"

"Sweating yet, babe." You said, stopping in the middle because of one of his thrusts.

"Is that really all you - g-got?" you muffled.

"Hm? You want more, huh? What a needy cunt you have." he said, burying his face into the nape of your neck, still holding on your hair, pulling it back. "Isn't this good to you, darling? Hm?" he said as he slowed down his thrusts, but going deeper as ever.

"Oh - my god" you whimpered, arousal dripping from your folds, as he pulled out for a moment.

"The fuck are you doing" you said annoyed, cause he stopped you from catching your high.

"You said you didn't even sweat so I stopped. I thought you meant I'm not good enough to you"

"You're a damn nuisance, Wooyoung. I can see your dick throbbing. Did you really want to stop?" you said, smiling at the view.

"Not your damn business. Quite a mouth you have, it seems like you need someone to put you in your place" he said as he manhandled you. He turned you around and pushed you on your knees, his cock on your cheek, rubbing on it while his hand was holding your hair.

"Got something to say, y/n? Are you finally.. quiet?" he said, looking down at you.

"Never, you fucker"

"Ohh, bratty. I love it" He said as he pushed his dick in your mouth, feeling it right in the back of your throat, tears swelling in your eyes. His dick was girthy... you could feel how it stretched your mouth so well. This brat also didn't let you adjust to his size. Having no room to breath, you were choking on his tip, but little did he care. He loved seeing you helpess, fucked dumb and being sucked by you.

When he pulled out for a short second you coughed, gasping for air.

"You're.. cute" he said chuckling, stroking your head while you had his dick on your lips.

"You bet" you said and you softly bit his tip, receiving a moan from him.

"Fuck you, y/n. This is how we are, hm? Fuck that hurt" he said, looking down at you, plotting something.

He kneeled and pushed you around. He wanted you to sit on all fours.

"Ass up, babe. On all fours. Turn around, on a side. Now." he said and even before having time to move, he manhandled you how he wanted. You were now sideways on your knees and hands.

"Suck."

And you obeyed. But little did you know he had completely other plans that you were bound to find out as soon as you felt the free hand, the one that wasn't holding your hair, on your spine right down to your ass. He used two of his fingers to spread out your wet, dripping folds. One of it rubbing on your clit, the other one slowly finding it's way in your cunt. He curled his finger inside you, making you arch your back and stop sucking him off. You gasped at the sensation.

"Damn, I never thought you'd be this hot sucking me off like the little whore you are. Wanna cum, hm? I can see it on your face. All flustered up and weak for me" he said, pushing two fingers inside you.

He was right, you were so close to finishing, barely standing on your knees. Your hands were slipping, trying to hold yourself up on his thighs.

"Stop" he said.

"W-what why" you said angrily, looking at him and gasping when he pulled out his fingers, your cunt clenching on nothing.

"You fucker, it's the 2nd time you've fucked with my orgasm. What's your problem, want me to kill you?" you shouted, weak in your knees as soon as he put his hand on your neck.

"Hmm.. maybe I love seeing you so desperate for me. For my dick, for my fingers. But... did you just say you'd.. kill me? Is that right, babe?" he said as he choked you, staring you up and down.

"We'll see about that. Get up and face me. Now." he said, waiting for you to obey.

He then lifted you up right on his dick, placing your hands on his shoulders. One of his hand was holding you from below and with one he was leaning against the wall, not letting your head hit the hard tile in the shower.

"Wooyoungh-h, I gotta-" you muffled.

"Use your words, pretty. I didn't quite understand"

"I gotta, mhhm, c-cum"

"Like, now" you said and let out a muffled moan, trying to look back at Wooyoung.

"Nu-uh babe, I didn't yet."

He stopped for only a second.

"Let's make a deal. Cum at the same time as me. Won't be that hard, right? I can see on your face that you're out of it. Now... cum." he said and started wildly thrusting into you, with so much speed and deepness, with the hand he was leaning against the wall on your clit, rubbing circles on it while closing the distance between you two.

It was like... what? the 3rd time you we're close to it and he was playing with you. But he wasn't a brat until the end and you both came, still thrusting into you so you could take up his load right up your cunt.

As both of you were coming down from your highs, he leaned down to put you down in the tiles and sat besides you.

"Y/n... I never thought this would happen but.. oh my god. You felt so good..." he said while giving you soft kisses on your forehead. He hovered the shower over you, washing you up. You've never seen that side of him. The nice, loving one.. but you loved it.

"Wooyoung.. when I tell you I GULPED when I saw you in the hallway. I was going insane !"

"Then.. up for a round 2?" he said laughing.

"Shut the fuck up, it's late and we need to wake up early as fuck!" you said, scoffing.

"Fine, fine. I'll pass on it tonight. But... what about tomorrow night? We could try the bed, too. It looks pretty sturdy." he said smirking.

"Wooyoung, for fucks sake! SHUT UP!" you said running out of the bathroom, your cheeks flushed from what he just said.

"Dammit, this fucker"

[bucketslutz]

Don't Be Late (Professor Logan Howlett/Fem Student Mutant Reader)

A/N: This one's a doozy, don't know how I feel about most of Logan's dialogue in this one but oh well! Enjoy!

Chapter Summary: Awkwardness ensues when you arrive at Logan's class on Friday, finding no one there but him.

Warnings: 18+, mindors DNI!!!!, drinking, reader getting drunk, puking, swearing, light depiction of anxiety disorder, sexual harassment (nothing bad happens to reader, light harassment only)

Word Count: 4,712

Chapter 3

This is the fourth night this week you’ve masturbated to the thought of your professor. Unfortunately, your fingers don’t offer the same release that you’ve been seeking from Logan. Instead of relieving the pressure that spreads through your body, your orgasms leave you dissatisfied and in need of more relief. But you can’t. He’s your professor, and downright terrifying to speak to. He makes every hair on your body stand on end, like your body is in a constant state of flight or fuck. Plus, you’re pretty sure he hates you. He stares at you, makes rude remarks, and barely even pays you any mind. But, goddamnit, sometimes you swear his lips curl into somewhat of a smile when he sees you. And you haven’t seen him smile at much of anything. But you cannot misconstrue tolerance with infatuation. He just might hate you less than everyone else, which could be enough for you to get through the semester without anymore anxiety than you already have.

You turn over in bed with a huff and glare at the clock. 2:14 am. If only you spent as much time studying as you did masturbating, maybe you’d get your masters a year earlier. You almost fear going to sleep. Afraid that another dream will leave you hot and bothered in Logan’s class tomorrow, and you don’t like that he has that effect on you. You repeat a mantra as you doze off, I do not want to fuck Logan Howlett.

…

It’s been a good morning. You woke up, no explicit wet dream, with enough time to manifest a Colombian dark roast and one of the best breakfasts you’ve had in a while; which you enjoyed while watching the sunrise from your roof. For a brief moment, you considered flying to class. The weather was perfect, making you long for a place you could traverse the sky in peace without a worry of who might see you. You often find yourself dreaming of such a life. How freeing would it be to fly around the world, helping people in need, exploring areas unknown? As much as you daydream of this life, you still know deep down that your dream can never become a reality. No, every day you hear of someone else being killed just because they’re a mutant. Or others disappearing off the streets and thrown into secret government labs where they conduct god knows what kinds of tests on them. That’s not a reality you ever want to face. You don’t want to think about how the government might exploit your powers. The thought of them abusing the atomic structures you manifest to create weapons of mass destruction makes you sick. No matter how desperately you wish you could display your strengths for good, you can’t. And that breaks your heart.

Despite the unfortunate stifling of your powers, your morning still ends up going just as well as it started. You’ve timed your commute perfectly; slipping into your favorite parking spot with just enough time to walk to class, Colombian dark roast in hand. You open the door to Logan’s class, quickly stopping dead in your tracks once you see that not a single one of your classmates are here yet. You check the time on your phone, there’s only 3 minutes until class starts.

“I was beginning to think it was something I said,” Logan’s voice calls from the front of the room, his broad frame leaning against the white board., “Did everyone tell ‘ya to skip?”

You chuckle softly, “No, Logan, I think it was actually something you said.” He furrows his brow, you clarify, “Wednesday when you left class you sorta said ‘see ‘ya Monday.’ So I think people just got confused.”

“Huh, and I guess you’re here…” he trails off, wanting you to explain.

“The convenience store. You said you’d see me on Friday, so, I just assumed you misspoke the other day,” you conclude, your fingers fiddling with the lid on your thermos. He just stares at you for a beat, making your anxiety swell in your throat. Is he mad at me? I think he’s mad at me, you think to yourself, “Not that you messed up or anything! It’s definitely everyone else’s fault for not following up with you, or whatever.”

“Right,” he says, giving you an incredulous look. You definitely weirded him out. The way he’s looking at you makes your breath hitch, and not in a good way.

“Anyway,” you continued, setting your coffee on a nearby desk, attempting to drive the topic of conversation elsewhere, “I might as well give you this.”

You approach Logan slowly as you rifle through your shoulder bag in search of your essay. Your fingers anxiously fumble between each folder and binder in your bag, incapable of grasping anything. You halt your approach, digging deeper in your bag to find the folder containing your essay. Jesus Christ where the hell is it. You’ve been searching for hours, has it been hours? Or 15 seconds? You cannot tell because time has halted right here. Blue folder, blue folder, blue folder, you repeat to yourself, hoping your thoughts do something to pop the folder in your face. Finally, after years of searching, you’ve found it. You pull it out of your bag with a breath of relief, stepping forward as you intend to hand it to Logan. A gasp escapes your lips when you slam straight into Logan’s tall frame, stumbling backwards, nearly falling until hands grasp your waist and keep you upright.

“You alright?” Logan asks, his hands remaining fixed on your waist. You look up at him through your long eyelashes, your hands planted flat on his chest for support.  You cannot help the fluttering in your heart at your proximity to him, feeling your arousal swirling inside you at the feel of his strong hands holding you tightly. Logan stares at you from above, breathing heavily through his nose; his sharp, repetitive inhales almost sounding like a dog sniffing the air. You struggle to form a coherent thought, the only thing flooding your senses is the smell of Tobacco and pine emanating from Logan. Only a few seconds have passed, but as far as you know time doesn’t exist anymore. Logan loosens his grip on your sides, smoothing your jacket down with his hands before letting you go. You clear your throat, trying to shake the impure thoughts that are swarming your mind.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” you exhale, handing him the folder, “Um, my essay. Here you go.”

“Right, thanks,” he smirks as he takes it from you, “Don’t suppose you want to be the only one hearing my lecture today.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” you affirm eagerly, watching Logan’s smile dissipate into a pursed line. He was joking, oh my god. Kill me. “Oh! You were kidding! No, I’d much rather be home right now. Definitely do not want to be here…with you.” Your words grew quiet towards the end, unsure if your recovery was even remotely smooth at all. If you could even call that a recovery.

“Oh, so you don’t want to be here with me?” he questions, his arms crossing over his stiff chest.

“No! No, no, of course I do, you’re lovely, I mean, not—I don’t hate you is what I’m saying. You’re lovely, as far as professors go,” you stutter, a clammy layer of sweat forming on the palms of your hands. He’s silent, his eyes burning a hole into your soul. Surely, he’s mad at you, “I would so love to sit and listen to you lecture, if you want, totally up to you. I’ll be here taking notes and listening if—“

Logan calls your name with a chuckle, interjecting your ramblings and bringing them to a halt.

“I’m just messing with ‘ya, bub,” he assures with a self-satisfied smile, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You can tell he gets a lot of enjoyment out of making you uncomfortable, giving himself personal satisfaction every time you squirm under his gaze.

“Oh,” you mutter dejectedly, your face blushing red from embarrassment, “right, well, you sure got me.” You attempt a laugh to hide your anxiety. Fiddling with the strap of your bag, you try to focus on anything else than the tears of embarrassment that prick the corners of your eyes. You hate this feeling, someone making a fool of you just because of your gentle, people-pleasing demeanor. It makes you feel weak, even though you physically aren’t, but no one knows that. They just see a meek, quiet girl that they can walk all over and take advantage of.

“Shit, are you okay?” Logan asks, a surprising level of concern in his voice. His knees dip slightly, craning his neck to your level to try and meet you face to face. You keep your eyes to the ground, not wanting to embarrass yourself further by crying in front of your professor just because he teased you a little bit. You’re surprised to feel fingers grasp your chin, gasping as Logan lifts it to so you’ll meet his eyes. Tears haven’t fallen down your cheeks yet, but you’re sure you look embarrassing; flushed cheeks, watery eyes, parted lips inhaling air shallowly. Logan looks concerned, which surprises you. It seems out of character for him, considering he only speaks to cuss someone out.

“You look like you need a drink,” Logan says, not a hint of humor in his face, fully meaning this seriously and earnestly. Like it could solve all of your problems.

“I can’t drink I have class,” you whimper, slightly confused.

“Not now, later, here—you got a paper? Pen?” he asks as he drops his hold on your chin, holding his hand out while he waits for you to hand him what he’s asking for.

You nod, shuffling through your bag for a notebook and pen, retrieving it and handing it to him with a sniffle. He starts scribbling something on an empty page.

“9 o’clock,” he hands you the paper, an address is written on it, “go there, I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Oh, no, I can’t ask you to do that,” you declined politely.

“You’re not asking me to do anything, I’m asking you,” he corrects, a firm tone in his voice making you nervous to say no. It’s almost as if he isn’t asking, merely telling you what you’re supposed to do, but disguising it as an ask to seem less brute.

“Okay, 9 o’clock,” you conclude, nodding your head in agreement.

…

What the hell are you doing here? This is inappropriate. This breaks multiple codes of conduct. But free booze? Who are you to decline an offer like that. The outside of the establishment is like any other mountain-town, backwoods, rural dive bar. It honestly wasn’t too far from where you live either, maybe you ought to give this place a visit more often. You step out of your car and approach the front door, lit with a neon red “open” sign flickering in and out of consciousness. The door jingles and creaks when you open it, causing a few of the patrons to turn their heads towards you before promptly returning back to their drinks and games of pool. The air smells of stale cigarettes and salt, rock music droning through a busted jukebox in the corner. Straight ahead, you see the bar, lit dimly by more neon signs and faulty overhead bulbs. A familiar figure is already there, Logan’s flannel-covered back is to you, hunched over what you can assume to be a drink he’s been nursing. You approach the bar-seat next to him, pulling it out with a sharp scratch to the ground, causing Logan to turn his head in your direction. Before you can even mutter a greeting, the bartender has already intercepted your attention.

“What can I get you?” he asks, scratching at his scraggly beard, a rag draped over his thin, tattooed shoulder.

“Um, Woodford and coke?” you ask as you get comfortable on your stool. The bartender laughs at your request.

“This ain’t that kind of place, missy,” he quips, you try and look at Logan for support but he’s focused on his beer, “I got Maker’s, Jim Beam, and Jack, what’ll it be?”

“Maker’s, I guess,” you concede, watching as the bartender walks down the bar to make your drink.

“Bourbon girl, eh?” Logan remarks, adjusting in his seat to face you.

“Um, yeah, I don’t like much clear liquor,” you say, trying your best to avoid eye contact, “or, it doesn’t like me at least. Some of my worst nights started with a bottle of vodka.”

Logan laughs, catching you off guard, you laugh lightly with him. The bartender sets your drink in front of you, you thank him with a smile.

“Open or closed?” the bartender asks, but before you can even think of a response, Logan answers for you.

“Put her on mine, Jim,” Logan says.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—“

Logan gives the bartender a stern look, and he walks away, no contest.

“Thank you,” you grin, taking a sip from your glass.

“Don’t mention it,” he waves off, the same warning in his voice as last time. There’s a beat of awkward silence. You’re not sure what to say, or why he even asked you here.

“I um—“ you pause, trying to find the right words, “I appreciate you going out of your way to try and make me feel better about earlier.”

“I didn’t go out of my way,” he corrects, turning back towards the bar, his body now parallel with yours, “this is usually where you can find me this time of day.”

“Oh, well, thanks for inviting me, I guess,” you correct your previous statement. You purse your lips, wanting to explain your behavior earlier. But you’re not sure if that’s appropriate, you feel bad that he had to take pity on you just because you got choked up from him making fun of you. “Look, I at least want to apologize for the way I acted earlier and—“

“Save it,” he interjects with a raise of his hand.

“I’m…sorry I—“ you stutter, trying yet again to apologize for your presence, causing Logan to cut you off with a wave of his hand again.

“You don’t need to keep doing that. Have your drink. Relax. I’m not pissed at you,” Logan reassures, his voice stern. You’re convinced that his voice doesn’t fluctuate from that kind of tone too often. But despite the sternness of his voice, you feel your shoulders relax. You’re holding his gaze but you don’t feel like you’re about to combust. You feel…fine. You feel just fine.

“Huh,” you mutter, a curious tinge to your voice. Relax. Have your drink. You ponder the glass for a moment, considering it. Fuck it. You raise it to your lips and chug, swallowing every burn the Maker’s leaves down your throat without a care. Logan’s brows raise at your sudden gratuitous impulse.

“Okay then,” he remarks with a grin.

A buzz floats around your head, your chest heaves from your uninterrupted drinking.

“Rick!” you call, attempting to get the attention of the bartender.

“Jim,” Logan corrects you quietly, smiling in amusement as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Jim! Can I have another?”

…

You’re four bourbon and coke’s into your evening, and you cannot recall the last time you had this much fun. You beat Logan twice at pool and watched him take fruity, girly shooters for each loss, per your request. Currently, you’re in the middle of another game, a tied score bringing out your competitive edge. Logan’s frame is bent over the pool table, lining up the perfect shot. You chew on the straw in your drink as you unabashedly ogle his ass. Damn, he looks good in those jeans. He makes his shot, the cue ball ricocheting off of the edge and barely skimming the 8 ball he was trying to get in.

“Damn it,” he grunts, turning away from the table, his chest rising and falling in frustration. You giggle in excitement, ready to take your turn.

“Jim! I’d get started on that lemon drop if I were you!” you call, your voice slurring slightly as you’re ready to claim your victory over your professor.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, bub,” Logan warns, clearly a bit more annoyed at the fact he’s losing than he’s letting on.

“Oh, don’t you worry about me, baby,” you counter, a teasing, almost sultry edge to your voice. Logan holds his eyes on you, watching as you bend over the pool table to make your shot. You close one eye, carefully trying to line up the cue ball in the direction you want to go. The ball is towards the center of the table, but you’re so sure that you can manage on your own, balancing on your tip-toes.

“Need a hand?” Logan asks, trying his best to hide his amusement at the precarious position you’ve put yourself in.

“Shh!” you snap, “I’m concentrating! 8 ball, corner pocket.” You make your shot, but your feet slip out from under you with the momentum you built. You almost crumble to the floor, but Logan’s hands catch you around your ribcage first. He lifts you onto your feet, but in your buzzed state you’re having a hard time maintaining balance.

“Easy there,” Logan drawls, keeping his hands so temptingly close to the side of your breasts. You’re jelly in his hands, letting him take hold of you in whatever way he wants. You could spin around and make out with him right here, which you honestly consider for a moment. But before you can, Logan leans his face close to your ear, his beard tickling your cheek.

“Looks like you scratched,” he whispers, his gravelly voice reverberating around your skull. Any other day, this would make you wet immediately, but the competitive monster inside of you is awoken. You shake your head in disbelief, turning your focus back to the pool table. There’s no sight of the white cue ball anywhere. You suddenly find your balance, scrambling out of Logan’s grasp to search for what pocket the ball got shot into. ‘Lo and behold, it made it into the corner pocket you were aiming for.

“Goddamnit,” you curse, stomping your foot in frustration, gripping the table with white knuckles.

“I told you not to get ahead of yourself,” Logan taunts, one hand planted on the pool table, the other on his hip. You scowl at him, trying to find a clever comeback, but your liquor soaked brain is coming up dry. The sound of your name turns your attention towards the bar.

“I got ‘yer lemon drop right here,” Jim calls, setting the sugar rimmed shooter on the edge of the bar closest to you.

“Get her a shot of Tito’s to wash that down with, will ‘ya, Jim?” Logan chimes, maintaining eye contact with you. Your jaw drops in shock at the deliberateness of his actions. The nerve.

“Are you trying to get me to be more sloppy just so you can beat me again?” you question, your eyes narrowing as you cross towards him. You stand just a few inches in front of him, squaring up to him with a challenging look in your eyes.

“I think you’re doing a good enough job at being sloppy by yourself,” he teases, eyeing you up and down. You roll your eyes as you brush past him and towards the bar to retrieve your punishment. Lemon drop in one hand, Tito’s in the other.

“Bottoms up,” you chime, maintaining eye contact with Logan as you lick the sugar off the rim of your glass, taking the shooter down with one swift gulp. You wince slightly, before humming in satisfaction, the sweetness masking the vodka just enough. You exhale in preparation for your next drink, closing your eyes and willing yourself to not think too hard about what you’re going to inevitably do to yourself. A single lemon drop is not enough to make you blackout and puke all over your house, but another shot of vodka on top of that might just put you on that track. Swallowing your hesitance, you bring the glass to your lips and choke it down in one gulp. Frowning at the way it burns your throat, sending tingles down your spine.

“Oh, wow,”  you grunt, your face twisted into a pained expression. “Okay, fuck you, m’gonna win this next one.”

Logan snorts at your drunken confidence, already anticipating what might happen next.

You did not, in fact, win the next one.

Logan cockily slams a shot glass of clear liquid in front of you, causing your jaw to drop in surprise.

“Thisn’t fair,” you pout, leaning against the pool table for support.

“I choked down 2 lemon drops because of you, the least you can do is take this shot of tequila, princess,” Logan counters, offering you a slice of lime and a flimsy packet of salt.

“Bitch, this’s tequila?!” you exclaim, too drunk to even comprehend the fact that he just called you princess.

“Bottoms up,” he says teasingly, pushing the glass towards you, clearly quoting you from when you were more confident earlier. “Unless you’re feeling like chickening out on me.”

“No! I jus’ don’ wan’ get too drunk before our nex’ game,” you slur, almost tripping over yourself. Logan sighs, considering your drunken state for a moment.

“Tell you what,” he starts, “I’ll do half this shot with you if you quit your whinin’, got it?” You nod eagerly, accepting his proposal. With your confirmation, Logan takes the lime in his mouth and bites it in half, giving you part of it. You secretly wish he gave you the half that was in his mouth. He rips the salt packet open, and you watch earnestly as his tongue swipe along the back of his hand before he pores some of the salt on it. You follow suit, wetting the back of your hand with your tongue and allowing Logan to pour a bit of the salt on it. Logan goes first, licking the salt up, swallowing half the shot down, and finishing it off with a bite of the lime. You try and stifle a gag when you look at the glass of clear liquid. You sigh, closing your eyes tight as you lick the salt off the back of your hand, choke down the tequila in one gulp, hoping the squirt of lime juice in your mouth will save you. It does not. Your throat burns and you involuntarily shiver at the contact of the liquor on your tastebuds.

“I’m gonna get these back to Jim,” he gestures to the stack of glasses that’s accumulated over the course of your games, “rack ‘em up for me, princess.” Logan nods to the pool balls, indicating for you to get another game started. You oblige, leaning over the table to retrieve the balls and placing them into the plastic triangle. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Assuming it’s Logan, you smile, craning your neck to get a view of him. You startle when you see a complete stranger pressing up against your rear. A yelp leaves your lips as you scramble up onto the table in an attempt to get away.

“Don’t be like that, baby, I was just saying hi,” the strangers gruff voice beckons to you from where your feet are hanging off the table. You scrunch your face in disgust. He has a long, unkempt beard with yellow teeth peeking out behind it. His hairline is thin and greyed, his figure broad and heavyset. He towers over you, making your stomach churn.

“No thanks,” you say, sternly, sobering up slightly in an act of self preservation. The stranger doesn’t let up, though. Still attempting to pull you towards him by grasping at your ankles. You don’t register anything else around you. Not Logan’s shouts from the other end of the bar, you don’t see him rushing towards the stranger either. Your preservation is the only thing on your mind.

“I said no, asshole!” you shout, reeling your legs back before kicking into his chest with as much force as you can muster, your abnormal strength sending him flying all the way into the back wall 10 feet away. He crashes against the wood paneling, leaving a dent in his wake, groaning and writhing in pain on the ground. Your adrenaline dissipates, allowing the realization of what you just did to really sink in. Someone of your size should not have been able to send someone like him flying in the way you did, and the way that Logan looks at you, indicates just that.

“…You okay?” Logan asks carefully, reaching towards you, helping you down off of the pool table. You tumble off the surface, allowing Logan to fully support your weight. “You, uh, seemed to have it pretty under control there.”

“I don’ skip leg day,” you slur, feeling your mouth suddenly fill with saliva, your natural instincts of self preservation just dissipated, and you now are feeling the full brunt of every sip of alcohol you had tonight. The blood drains from your face and a wave of nausea washes over you, “Logan, I think’m gonna—“

You can’t even finish your sentence before you hurl the upset of your stomach all over the floor in front of you, Logan just barely missing the line of fire.

“Shit,” Logan hisses, trying to support you as best as he can without getting your puke all over him, “Okay, let’s get you out of here before you kick someone else through a wall.”

You’d find that funny if you weren’t painfully nauseous right now. Logan slings your arm around his neck, you’re limp around him, like a rag doll. The next few hours are a blur. You’re delirious, incapable of forming a coherent thought. You might recall Logan asking for an address, or directions. But you don’t remember what you said, or if you even said anything in response through your drunken stupor. Which leads you here, hunched over the toilet in Logan’s bathroom, as he tries to shove croutons in your face in an attempt to soak up the liquor that’s strangling your stomach. You’re half awake, ready to fall over and sleep this off. So you do just that, fall over, that is. You’re snuggled into the shag rug on his bathroom floor, reveling in its softness. Oh, this is perfect. You think to yourself, dozing off already.

“C’mon, you can’t sleep on the floor,” Logan grunts, scooping you up off of the bath mat. An incoherent whine escapes your throat at your loss of comfort. You snuggle into his chest, seeking the same comfort you were just robbed of. Your body lowers onto something soft and plush. You sigh in approval, spreading your arms across the expanse of this luxuriously soft bed. Ready to get comfortable, you groan in indignance at the stuffiness of your jeans. You ungracefully unbutton and prod them down your legs, freeing your body from the stiff discomfort of the pants. You hear a throat clear, and feel the comforter get pulled out from under you and then promptly over you, cocooning you in a soft, pillowy heaven. The soft fabric feels so nice and cool against your bare legs, clad in nothing, save for your panties. You silently thank your sober self for wearing a tank top and no bra today, allowing for optimal sleepwear.

“There’s water for you here,” Logan tells you, gently, gesturing to what you think is the nightstand, but you can’t bear to look at it.

“Don’t puke on my bed,”Logan warns. The light gets turned off and you sigh at the peaceful nature of the space. You inhale, reveling in the scent of Logan that lingers on the bed.

“Hm, bed smells like you,” you hum in satisfaction, finally feeling your sleep begin to overtake you. There’s a beat of silence that hangs in the air.

“Night, princess.”

...

A/N: hehehehehehe😈😈😈😈 I hope y'all had as much fun reading the bar scene as I had writing it. I loved writing reader letting loose a bit and not being so anxious, hopefully she stays that way but you'll have to wait and see. I'm getting oral surgery tomorrow so I'm not sure when the next update will be. click here to view on ao3.

Tags: @wolviesgirl @sanemis-piss

[dsknsk]

Mountain and references to The Moon above the Mountains

This is a repost of the article that was previously on Gamepress. I am the original writer of it and decided to put it somewhere again that isn't Gamepress seeing its dead state.

First off, to react on some...less than nice comments...which I still remember being on Gamepress :)

Yes, I know that there are many Asian stories about tigers. This was just the one that came to mind directly and the one that seems to fit the most, as well as the one that seems to fit the most. I think it's also the most publicly known one.

I did not write the story's name wrong, shut the fuck up. I know that 山月記 is also sometimes translated as "Stories/Records of the Mountain/Mountains and (the) Moon" but "The Moon above the Mountains" is the most common.

Without further ado.

At first, Mountain’s codename struck me as strange. ‘Mountain’, such a simple yet slightly unusual codename. However, when Mr. Nothing was released - whose name refers to literature - I realized that Mountain’s codename may as well refer to a certain piece of literature, one named The Moon above the Mountains.

What is The Moon above the Mountains about?

The Moon above the Mountains is written by Nakajima Atsushi, a Japanese author, but the short story takes place in China.

The main character is Li Zheng, a government official, albeit a low-ranking one. Despite his job and his talented reputation, he is not satisfied by it. He wants to make a name and be remembered as a poet. Thus, he resigns from his job and fully devotes his life to poetry. However, this proves harder than he thought. Since quitting his job, he lives in poverty, and he ignores the signs his tired body gives him. Soon, he grows emaciated and irritable. 

He lives like this for a year, and then leaves. One day, he goes mad and no one hears from him after that. The year after that, a man named Yuan Can prepares to set out on one of his official business travels and is warned about a man-eating tiger he might encounter on the way to his destination.

That night, Yuan Can indeed meets the tiger. It attempts to attack them, before suddenly stopping in its tracks and talking like a human. Yuan Can is shocked, because he recognizes that voice as from Li Zheng, his old friend. The tiger confirms that he is indeed Li Zheng, and Yuan Can talks to the tiger, no longer afraid but rather confused.

Then, Li Zheng continues to recap what happened. From the moment that he transformed into a tiger, he has felt the inner instincts of the beast driving him to kill other animals. At certain moments, his human consciousness returns, but these moments become fewer and fewer. He knows that, eventually, he will entirely cease to think and talk like he used to, and be overtaken by the animalistic mind.

As such, he asks Yuan Can a favor. Li Zheng had written several poems, and he shares them with Yuan Can, at least, those he remembers. He writes them down, as Li Zheng asked him to. Li Zheng then talks about how his disconnection from the world and selfishness caused him to go mad. Quoting directly from the story itself (translated):

‘We are all of us trainers of wild beasts, and the beasts in question are our own inner selves. In my case, my beast was my self-important sense of shame. That was my tiger, and it damaged me, brought sorrow to my wife and children, wounded my friends, and, in the end, changed my outward form into this animal that befits my inner state.’

At the end, Li Zheng says he must leave, as he feels his human consciousness fading. The two part ways, with Yuan Can crying as he does so. The last sentence of the story is as follows (and it is one of the only full sentences from literature I know like the back of my hand):

‘The tiger gazed up at the moon, already pale, having lost its brilliance, and roared mightily two times, three times, then jumped back into the brush. They never saw the tiger again.’

Mountain and The Moon above the Mountains

So how does this story relate to Mountain exactly? Well, his codename aside (the Japanese title of the story is 山月記, and 山 is Mountain’s codename in Chinese), and him quite literally being a tiger acting like a human, I did not know until Mansfield Break actually was released in the Global server. While reading the story attached to the event, I found some very familiar themes that also return in The Moon above the Mountains.

Mountain is a very imposing figure, almost 2 meters tall (195 cm, which puts him at 76.7717 inch to be exact), with a rough voice and being really good, both in-universe and in-game, at defeating enemy after enemy all by himself with little to no outside help. It is very easy to think of him as a brute at first sight, similar to how Yuan Can was warned about the ‘man eating’ tiger at first in the story. His codename as well indicates toughness and strength.

However, his character is kind and gentleman-like, to the point that Barton points at him as a model prisoner. Quoting from the character himself (using my own way of wording the original Chinese version):

'Y'all should learn from Anthony here! Block C inmate, but composed and never sees violence as the answer. He spends his day reading, writing, and listening to music. Truly a role model y'all should follow!'

Barton outright says that Mountain is an example everyone should take as a role model, which by the way, comes from the mouth of a lousy guard that only seems to have his own best interests in mind. Even on such a person, he has made a good, solid impression. This is to the point that, during the cleaning shifts, they will always end up cleaning his cell no matter what.

Speaking about names, in the story, Mountain does not use his codename yet. This is because this story is set before he joined Rhodes and gained said codename. This also makes him more ‘human’ during the story.

Later on, after Mountain foils another assassination attempt from HydeBro, the other characters comment on this as well:

Kafka: 'You...ugh, you're an inmate, but you're a lot more composed than the others.'

Domma: 'That's him. Always polite to everyone may as well be his signature.'

Kafka: 'Ah, right. He's not only good in beating people up, but he's not bloodthirsty or anythin'.'

Mountain is really a good, nice person, who has been locked up in prison to protect him instead of him being truly guilty of a heinous crime. (Then again, it has been implied that this is not uncommon in Mansfield). Even his theme song is a calm and jazzy tune and shows him relaxing as opposed to something that befits raw, ruthless strength.

I hope that the pattern here is visible: despite his outward appearance and his admittedly good ability to punch the tar out of his enemies, his character does not immediately match this outright. He’s not a brute through-and-through. He could potentially lose himself by going ham on an enemy, but chooses not to. Even during the final fight, he remains calculated to a certain extent.

This duality is very obviously touched upon by Jesselton/Jayston, and he points it out during said final fight:

'You know, Anthony. From the moment you came in here, there was something...not right. You're constantly acting polite, but you're strength incarnate. And secretly, I have longed to see this. The facade shattering, and finally seeing what lies beneath...'

He encapsulates the duality of Mountain in this one line. Furthermore, Mountain’s fourth archive file and his second promotion quote also talk about this:

‘Doctor, take a good look. That mask of composure, calm, and politeness is off. This is the truest you'll ever find me. Bloodthirsty, violent, and destructive. Look at me and be my friend.’

The tiger in The Moon above the Mountains, or rather, Li Zheng, struggles with a similar issue. His moments of thinking and acting like a human become more and more intersected by the ‘bloodthirsty, violent and destructive’ nature of the tiger that Mountain mentions in his promotion voiceline. At first, Yuan Can was scared by the tiger, until he heard his friend. The story may end on a sad note, but it avoids a possible drama of Li Zheng not recognizing Yuan Can anymore when he’s gone full tiger, which he’s implied to have done at the end of the story.

Luckily, our Mountain doesn’t go down the deep end entirely. He seems to acknowledge what’s below the mask in his second promotion voiceline, in contrast to Li Zheng who only became aware of it when it already took him over (by transforming him into a tiger). As a bonus, Mountain is interested in literature, much like Li Zheng.

I am not entirely sure why Mountain is specifically a white tiger and not just a normal orange tiger, but I think it is to highlight how unusual this specific tiger (Li Zheng) is from all other tigers, having been human before.

The Moon above the Mountains and The Metamorphosis

If the gist of The Moon above the Mountains seems familiar to you, that might be right. The story has been compared to The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. It’s logical why the two are compared, as both of them have their protagonist transform into a creature at the beginning, with the rest of the story dealing with what happens afterwards. Both of them are eventually relegated to give up and resign to their new life as a creature after desperate moments to still act human.

Despite transforming, however, they are still aware. Gregor can still understand what people say. Li Zheng also does so, and converses with Yuan Can as if he was human. The ‘incompleteness’ of both transformations is what shapes both stories, as it’s paradoxical in a way: they’re an animal, but at the same time, they’re not. Gregor dies at the end, and Li Zheng fully loses his humanity when his story ends.

I think that this connection is what inspired HyperGryph to make Kafka and Mountain interact. Nonetheless, I’m happy that both characters are in Arknights as I see them as a homage, to the writer Kafka and to The Moon above the Mountains, to keep them from being forgotten.

References:

- The Moon above the Mountains by Nakajima Atsushi, translated by Nobuko Ochner and Paul McCarthy. The original version in Japanese is here and here on Aozora in public.

- Initial fan translation of Mansfield Break

[brazenautomaton]

concept that would be better than "instead of fighting off the alien invasion humans ally with aliens to destroy earth fascism":

alien emissaries from beyond the stars come to Earth. immediately alien-worship cults arise. one by one governments of the world fall to them and proclaim that the aliens are our allies and there's nothing to fear. the aliens have released a brainwashing virus that converts humans to be their slaves. human resistance fighters dwindle and are pushed back every day. the resistance all know one of their own who has fallen to the alien brainwashing and tried to get them to accept their new masters, and regard it with utter dread. our perspective character makes his spouse / best friend promise that if he falls and becomes one of them, to kill him.

of course he gets captured and put in a prison camp for alien brainwashing. except that... there's no aliens. and it's like a regular prison POW camp like on normal earth. and his "re-education" is just explaining in an increasingly exasperated tone that no, the aliens are not invading, they can't even live here, they want Venus. We're so unlike them that their view toward us is like how we regard hypothetical plants in the Amazon that could cure cancer: worth keeping around just in case it turns out to be useful, if you destroy it then you might be sorry you did. New installations of alien technology are all built and controlled by humans because why the fuck would they expect us to trust them to put up pylons with tech we don't understand. the aliens have been working on negotiations to create a mutual system that ensures we won't attack each other since they know there's so many humans that as a species we cannot coherently make or keep promises. the crazed cultists at the outset were people who were already fucking wackadoo. there is no brainwashing virus because how the fuck would they know how to make one for a species whose biology is so utterly unlike their own? everyone who was "brainwashed" just had someone actually explain to them what is actually going on and realized they were wrong.

so the central metaphor there is the idea that radicalization is good in itself, the fear and disgust at changing your own views -- especially political ones -- even though presumably if you change your views in the future it's because you have a better reason to believe they are true.

after this we have the perspective character try and figure out "how do I reach the resistance with the message 'no these guys are actually not malevolent, like actually, no really, it is actually not a problem' when anything that could possibly convey that concept is discarded as a lie.

then of course our perspective character is killed by his best friend / spouse who promised to do so if he ever fell to the pro-alien side. the guy pleads that he didn't understand before, it's not what he thought at all, there's no reason to do this, but before he'd said "no matter what happens no matter how much I plead or try to justify it or explain, don't listen, it's not really me," so she shoots him dead.

she has also been "re-educated" to see the truth that the aliens are not that big a deal and everything we were afraid of was made up in our own heads, but she considers keeping promises to be the most important thing. we leave on the question: did she do the right thing?

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

do you have heretical thoughts on Rufus Scrimgeour? feel like he got a bit of a bad rap. dumbledore kinda biased harry against him immediately and then he apparently died under torture to protect him. but id love 2 know what u think.

Well, I don't know what people think, so I can't promise how spicy it is.

As it is, I feel much the same way you describe.

He's a minister official who we just see doing his job, and while a bit curt in how pragmatic he is (making it clear to Harry that he should interview for the good of the morale of the nation) his reasoning isn't wrong nor are the consequences of not doing it. He tries his best and it's telling he's killed off because of it, he couldn't be left to his devices as Voldemort needed an incompetent patsy in charge and Scrimgeour wasn't it.

To me, Scrimgeour's the guy who's very by the law, an honest politician and cop, but also someone who's not afraid to be extremely unpopular to do what he believes must be done. And someone who's not afraid to die horribly in humiliation either for that matter.

Harry's antagonism towards him is not very surprising and I can't condemn him for it because a) he's seventeen b) he had a shit time with Fudge the previous year and now fucking Scrimgeour wants him to pretend to support the government "for the people" c) as you note he's completely biased against the man by Dumbledore earlier in the book and for Harry everything at that time is framed as "them vs. Dumbledore". This is a boy who proudly retorts "That's right, I am Dumbledore's man" and doesn't realize that's not something he should be proudly stating like that/that Scrimgeour's insult in that wasn't just about Harry being loyal to Dumbledore.

If Scrimgeour gets a bad rap by fandom, it's because Harry's pull as the narrator is so strong that it's extremely easy to fall into his point of view without question.

[pastelwoolfie]

let me talk about bayverse optimus because i’m always thinking about bayverse optimus.

he is. just. so done. after millennia of fighting and losing so much, it’s this dirtball planet of squishy and entitled humans that does him in. he has prevailed through SO much and these stupid motherfucking organics are the thing that CRUSHES him.

he’s all good in movie one. like, he finds this planet of ‘young’ life and, in their grand scheme of things, they’re innocent - they don’t know any better. yes, they kidnap bee, but like he says - were they so different? and sam, this young organic, the future of his species, he’s - well, he’s odd but he’s kind. to bee. to them. he tries to help them - he advocated for them to the rest of the humans. he trusted them. he was good. lennox, epps, his team, they’re ready to lay down their lives to protect their species - they almost lay down their lives for the transformers.

then the second movie, right? the time between the movies seems to have gone well. this planet who is so afraid of them, so fearful of their weaponry and their war, they allow them safe harbour. they accept more of their stragglers, their friends, and they work together to take down decepticons. it’s good. a mutually exclusive partnership.

then his human friend, the one ho had filled him with so much faith in humanity, he goes ‘nuh uh’ and refuses to help them again. and he goes about it all respectfully- he doesn’t force sam into anything, but he warns him he’s in like, imminent danger and sam sticks his head in the sand.

brother knows what’s about to happen. he sees it coming, he warns the people, he puts up with the government’s bullshit ‘whAt iF tHeYre aFtEr yOu’ with near endless patience.

then the exact thing he warned this small, teenage human about comes to pass. to a t. he gets kidnapped by megatron, he's going to die. but optimus foresaw it. he countered it. he and his autobots fought back -

because sam is innocent. sam just tried to help them, sam saved his life. he saved his life and the autobots then just wanted to live a normal life, free of war. was that so hard to understand?

no. but this little kid ignored his warning, got himself kidnapped, and as a result of that, he gets killed. brother literally dies for this small human who ignored all his warnings and pleading. and he stays dead. for... a decent while.

but then this kid. this kid, man, he goes to the ends of the earth to save him. yes, his planet is at stake, but sam wants to save optimus. he's person-focused, he goes about the entire movie trying to save optimus, focusing in getting him back, not the rest of his species.

sam, who ignored his warning, spent the entire duration of his 'death' struggling to save him. not losing faith in him. sam, this small, young organic, earns the matrix of leadership. he earns it. and he brings optimus back. and, okay, maybe its jarring going from one war zone to another, but - well, it’s the matrix of leadership. it has been lost for eons and this human earns it.

perhaps, that is faith enough.

then the 3rd movie happens. and optimus most certainly loses his shit. on an astronomical, war-crime kinda way he is so fucking done. because these human politics are… they’re so fucking stupid. these humans, who he has trusted the last several years with his life, have betrayed their promise to eachother and lied to him. then they continue antagonising him the entire time. particularly that bitch of a secretary woman oh my god she grids my gears and she definitely grinds optimus’ gears too.

but optimus still has respect. he’s furious with the humans, but he takes one look at buzz - a fellow star-traveller - and he can still have respect. things go up; he gets his mentor back and now there’s two primes. perhaps, it’s not all so bad?

optimus and megatron were brothers once. their friendship ran deep, that’s obvious. when sentinel fucking murders ironhide in the most cruel and cold-hearted way, optimus. he’s so done.

the people closest to him die or betray him. these humans who he’s become close with decide they need to be rid of the autobots, his family, to protect the earth. which is very much a stupid idea to literally everyone because the decepticons are still around? like hello?

optimus can overlook lots of humanities errors as a part of their species being so young. but that move? that was just. so incredibly braindead. but you know what? you know what?

optimus still rises above that. he and the autobots forge a plan to save the earth still.

… a plan that also lets optimus get his revenge and let out some of that pent up anger because oh my GOD does he need to punch something. and punch something he does! the way in which optimus fights in the battle of chicago, as well as many of the other autobots, is borderline feral. they give zero flying fucks about how they go about it, they just want bodies. blood for blood.

just look at how bee kills soundwave. how optimus kills shockwave. how the wreckers kill- well, anyone, really.

optimus is done playing nice. he is done extending his hand for peace and he wants blood. just look at his duel with sentinel and megatron.

and movie 4? oh dear. coming off the betrayal of his mentor, the death of one of his closest friends, and the humans deciding they don’t want transformers at all? being forced into hiding? optimus loses one of the things that he’s clung to thus far. he’s lost hope. there’s no longer an ‘enemy’ around for him to swear revenge on, it’s the humans targeting him now. not the decepticons. the humans, who he has lost so much to save.

he died for them. and now, they want his body once more.

when he finds out they’ve already killed a shit load of his friends? out the window. all of it. noble prime gone, borderline shattered glass prime is in the driver’s seat and, once more, he wants blood. not decepticon blood - no. this time, he wants a human head.

no more is his oath to protect humanity. they have forsaken him and everything he stood for, everything he thought they stood for, and he wants his revenge before he wants out.

it was only a matter of time.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Best of 2024

Welcome to the final rec list of 2024 in which I look back at the best fic’s I read this year--what are YOUR favorite fics of the year? 

Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job… or are they?

Picture This by mistymountainking

“What if—” Steve doesn’t clear his throat this time. He swallows. And oh, Tony watches like it’s happening in slow motion, the tensing of tendons, the roll of Steve’s Adam's apple, the way his suprasternal notch collapses and fills as his esophagus works to, what, keep words down? Saliva? A moan? Steve blinks and the glassiness clears. The blush all but vanishes. “Never mind,” he mutters.

And that…that just won’t do.

Tony leans forward ever so slightly over the foot of the bed, further into Steve’s space by a fraction of an inch. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, but Steve does. He stares at Tony from up near the headboard, a plaintive expression deep behind his eyes, a problem that Tony can’t help but want to fix.

“Would you like my help, Steve?”

***

Steve gets caught attempting to take his first-ever dick pics. It's a struggle, he explains, because it brings up a whole host of lingering body image issues. Tony, very gallantly and not at all because he is in love with Steve, offers to take the photos for him.

how light carries on endlessly by meidui

“I'm fine. I always heal up fine.”

“Do you?” Tony asks, two little words flaying Steve open. Steve looks up at him, and against the dusky light, Tony Stark strangely looks nothing like his father.

-

Between a near-drowning in the Hudson River, a panic attack in the middle of a mission, and a kidnapping, Steve learns to be happy.

business affairs by meidui

It’s two years of wanting him the way he hasn’t wanted Emma since their honeymoon to the pearl of the Pacific, eighteen months of Steve slipping into his hotel suite on business trips away from the prying eyes of New York, and twelve months of staying late after the cleaning staff clock out because Steve will ride him behind his desk with the door unlocked.

Senseless by Scavenge4Dreams

Blinded, deafened, exhausted, injured and afraid, Tony raised himself up into a defensive position, the knife coming up just like Nat had taught him.

“That had better fucking be you, Steve Rogers- it had better be you. Fucking disarm me. If you let me kill you, I swear I will be very, very pissed.” Tony snarled, sure it was Steve approaching. Had to be. Had. To. Be.

What if it wasn’t?

Sunshine on Leith by AvengersNewB, KandiSheek

With the new government law prohibiting the employment of unbonded omegas, Tony has no hope of keeping his job at SHIELD, knowing full well that he has little chance of ever finding a mate. That is until he's officially claimed by a very special alpha: Steven Grant Rogers, also known as Captain America.

In the Springtime of His Voodoo by shaenie 

“I’m removing Captain Rogers from this base, but not from active duty. I want him as SHIELD’s liaison to Stark Industries first and foremost. He’ll report directly to me,” Fury says. “As it is, your identity as Captain America is not public knowledge and it will remain that way until I say otherwise. That said, if you think you can get Tony Stark to work with you if you disclose that information, you have permission to do so.”

talk just right by meidui

The most Tony hears Steve talk is when they argue, but hand to god, that's not the reason Tony keeps picking fights with him.

Well, maybe a little.

As Sharp As Any Thorn by RurouniHime 

It’s four days to Christmas, there’s a city in shambles, and the nation is in mourning because of the actions of a single man.

Double Exposure by shetlandowl

After a brief stint in the third installment of the Captain America franchise, Tony Stark was brought back to reprise his role as Iron Man in the fourth Captain America movie, Avengers Assemble. Tony had spent most of his twenties becoming a household name as a rising star in Mexican telenovelas, and Avengers Assemble is his breakout role on the big screen – and, more importantly, his introduction to the mainstream US audience.

Even after the movie is completed, Steve and Tony’s friendship remains a source of support that they instinctively rely on for encouragement and guidance. Tony’s fearless approach helps Steve break out of his comfort zone, and Steve’s solid grounding helps Tony focus on what matters.

This promotional tour is a new experience for Tony, but with Steve’s help, his learning curve isn’t so steep. Steve’s learning curve, on the other hand, is life changing.

[mockerycrow]

Undercover III (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After your undercover op has been exposed, Soap has to record an interview of your account of everything, along with any sensitive information you’ve learned. You begin to sort through memories that drag you into a dark hole.

A/N: there is usage of scottish slang, such as bonnie. bonnie is a gender neutral term, i know it’s often used in fem! fics, but please note it’s not feminine specific. also, thank you so much for the love on this!! also i’m lowkey making this a slow burn on accident, my bad—

[WARNINGS: angst, flashbacks, panic attack, very vague unintentional self-harm, violence, vague descriptions of corpses - gore.]

“It is not the bruises on the body that hurt. It is the wounds of the heart and the scars on the mind.” -Aisha Mirza.

I keep my eyes on the pillow that’s across my torso and lap, feeling like if I move my eyes to anywhere else, my heart will fucking crawl out of my goddamn throat. I hear Soap shift in his seat ever so slightly, and I think he’s leaning forward because his breathing sounds ever so slightly closer than before. “We had six weeks to prepare our new lives, six weeks to adjust to our government assigned personalities, six weeks to move some personal belongings to different areas of Russia, six weeks to brush up on our Russian, as well as our Ukrainian.” My voice is quiet because I’m afraid if I talk any louder, it’ll tremble.

I have a hard time swallowing whatever spit has accumulated in my mouth, the entrance to my throat fluttering. “I.. I got on the next flight to Russia, said goodbye to my old unit. In the United States, I temporarily, well.. no longer existed. They had to make it look like I never existed in the first place.” I pause for a moment, remembering how much of a pain in the ass it will be to officially exist as a U.S. citizen again after living as a Russian one for a couple of years.

“I was no longer [Name] [Last Name], I was Zhenya Antonenko.” I take a deep breath and decide to risk it; I look over at Soap and he looks.. intrigued, troubled even. His finger twitches over the pause button before deciding against pressing it. “Was’it difficult to get into Makarov’s organization?” He asks, his left eyebrow eyebrow furrowing inwards like he’s hearing something he doesn’t want to—or maybe he feels bad. God. The last thing I want from anyone is pity. “A bit,” I glance at my fingernails to keep myself preoccupied. “He did, heh, ‘loyalty tests’.” My tone is a sneer, and my gut tightens at the memory of what I had to do to show my loyalty to the cause. There’s a heaviness to the air, the tension so thick you would need a meat cleaver and hack at it a couple of times to get through it. Soap is quiet and I reluctantly make eye contact with him, and we both know the unsaid question. ‘What did I do?’ I scan his face, his posture, his body language. Anything to tell me what he’s thinking.

Soap is certainly.. conflicted, like he knows he needs this information but he’s uncertain if it’s right to even ask. I close my eyes for a moment to regain my composure, but that was surely a big fuckin’ mistake because as soon as my eyelids closed, I see the blood of an innocent person spilled, dripping onto the floor, painting a horrifying picture behind my eyes of the different bodies—the different families I’ve torn apart and mangled. I jolt and my eyelids snap open as my heart skips a beat and settles into an unsteady rhythm underneath my rib cage, my heart monitor following along to the inconsistency. Fuck, fuck, why can I smell it?— that mortifying, dreadful smell of metal, licking at my nostrils. I phase out the beeping of the machines, fuck, my chest—it hurts, can’t breathe, I’m sorry, I had to, don’t you fucking understand?? I had to kill them, the world’s fate was on my fucking shoulders!!-

I grab at my chest as my lips part for air, my need for air following into an unsettling similar, inconsistent rhythm like my heart rate. Fuck. I have the sudden need to bolt, so I yank my handcuffed hand, and I barely feel the sharp pain of the metal digging into my palmaris longus muscle, the way it’s slicing through my skin, fucking unlock it, please, just—“Let me gO!”

Warm and callused hands on me—don’t touch me—I think I yell, but I can’t tell, numb, numbnumbnumbnumb—gunpowder, shit-

I form a fist with my free hand and I use all of the strength I can muster—I don’t punch, but I use that strength in my forearm to push them away, hopefully making them stagger. Just fucking leave me alone, please—!

“…amin’ bloody hell, bonnie, breathe!”

Soap’s voice manages to cut through the sheer panic that’s overflowing everywhere around me—his hands are on my face?? Why is he touching my face, don’t fUcking touch my—One of his hands leaves my face and returns with something fucking ICE COLD, sending a shock through my system. “wHa-“ I cough and try to push him away again but I hear a muffled, soft apology before the cold thing moves from my face to the back of my neck. The shock.. feels like my system got reset in a way. I blink rapidly as I pant, my vision flooding back to me, along with my hearing. I have this fucking ugly, heavy feeling deep in my stomach.

My eyes remain unfocused as I look at the man next to me and his proximity makes me jolt; Soap is right up next to my bed but on the other side this time, one hand holding my handcuffed arm and the other holding.. I think an ice cold hand towel? His face comes in and out of focus, and I catch glimpses of worry and concern. “Back wit’me now?” Soap’s voice is a low, raspy murmur as he speaks, like I’ll bolt any second. I nod and shakily take a deep breath to control my breathing completely, and he nods in response. “Good, there ya are.. Take another one, yeah?” I follow his instructions and repeat my last deep breath, the oxygen flooding my lungs, flooding my veins.. Now that my chest no longer aches, or at least ache in the way it does when you have a panic attack there’s this.. stinging pain lining my wrist. I wince with a hiss and look down and the metal ring of the cuff around my wrist is lined with blood, dripping down onto the blanket. “Goddamnit.” I whisper, my voice hoarse. I go to turn my wrist to see if I’m able to view how much I fucked up my skin and joint, but Soap’s hold on my arm tightens and he makes a quick tsk sound. “Don’t’cha move that, maybe it’s a better idea t’let the nurse take a look.” I mumble “maybe” and I try to rest my wrist, but I can’t. No matter what I do, it fucking hurts. Soap stands up which makes me look at him and he reaches over to a button pad near my pillows and presses the big red button, a soft alarm going off down the hall. He situates himself back in his seat.

I make eye contact with him and his gaze is so.. intense. So many questions, his eyes searching mine for.. something. I don’t know what that ‘something’ is though, and it’s bothering me. “We can continue the report tomorrow,” Soap’s hand gently lets go of my arm—which I completely forgot he was holding—but he keeps his other hand holding the small hand towel to the back of my neck to keep me calm and grounded. “I honestly dinnae ken ta’reason why they’ve decided to do this shite so early.” I blink as I try to make out what he’s saying because his accent is thick, but luckily I’ve spent some time around some Scots in my lifetime to give me a head start. “Early?” I repeat back to him in a question. Too early to.. get the report?? Of course they’re going to want the information as soon as possible, it’s fucking Makarov! “Early.” Soap confirms back to me. “You’ve barely been awake enough to properly process this.” My eyebrows furrow together; why is this random guy concerned about that? His only job is to literally make sure I don’t try to do some stupid shit before my evaluation. Like kill myself or someone else, something like that. Before I’m able to retaliate what I’m able to sense in his voice, a middle aged man wearing this green scrub outfit. He gives me a wide and fake, polite smile. I fucking hate this. “Hi, I’m Mr. Sutton, one of your nurses for the day. What is going on?” His tone is laced with faux-politeness, and I can see the corners of his smile are tight, like there’s strings pulling his lips into something that isn’t a snarl. I feel my muscles tense and suddenly I feel lighter—but my heart rate monitor picks up a skipped heartbeat and I can’t feel my fingertips again.

Oh.

Sutton immediately eyes my monitor and furrows his eyebrows, looking back at me. “Are you feeling alright?”

I don’t answer, I can’t.

It’s like I’m fucking stuck in that godforsaken chair again, waiting for Makarov to come up with a new attempt to beat the fucking shit out of me, to wring out my plans.

The adrenaline.

Soap calls me by my name but I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes trained on Sutton.

Fuck, I can barely think.

Why am I suddenly like this? Why is it this particular nurse?

“Maybe it’s best if a different nurse treats ‘em.” Soap suggests to Sutton, his tone laced with a warning.

Yeah, thanks for stating the obvious, captain.

My eyelids flutter open and I stare at the ceiling as I wake up—my wrist was disinfected bandaged, and handcuffed one again. There’s no noise besides the faint beeping of my machines. I was given medicine so I could sleep, I really wish they hadn’t given me that stuff because now I’m laying here with the image of a mutilated body burned into my memory. Her name was Anya Kozlova. She didn’t do anything, yet Makarov had me slaughter her and leave her remains out like I was a poacher. My fingers twitch as I feel discomfort around my abdomen, which is where some of my surgery stitches are, so my pain medicine is probably wearing off. I stare at the fluorescent lights of my room until I can feel the dull pain of looking at a bright light source for too long settling in my eyes. I blink harshly to “reset” my eyes, my free hand coming up to rub my eyes gently, then going up to my eyebrow muscles and apply pressure, rubbing in slow, firm circles to relax the muscle. I freeze for a moment because this is a habit that developed after I successfully got into the organization—a clear sign of stress.

My thought process is interrupted by a loud snore, making my skeleton nearly fucking jump out of my skin. I quickly look to my right side and.. It’s Soap?? He’s still here??

He’s leaned back into the chair in a position that cannot be comfortable—these are the chairs that have squishy padding as a seat until you sit in it for ten minutes and then your ass goes numb. His legs are spread out in front of him in a manspreading kind of way, one of his hands on his chest and other on his lap which is holding a.. book of some kind? Maybe a sketchbook? Looks like it. His head is limp and is resting against his left shoulder, his lips parted with a line of drool, soaking into his shirt. The corner of my mouth twitches. I notice a pencil behind his ear, which he must’ve been using for his notebook, er sketchbook… Maybe. I feel my muscles slowly untense and honestly, I barely noticed how tense I was a few moments ago, how paranoid I felt when I thought I was alone. I glance at the door and then back at Soap’s his snore dying down into a soft rhythm as he adjusts his head’s position in his sleep. I wonder about the story surrounding that chin scar? The scar runs deep into the skin there, so it must’ve been something nasty. My eyes trace the way his nose is shaped, how the beginning of his eyebrows are furrowed inwards. His long eyelashes flutter ever so slightly which I take as my cue to look away, dragging my eyes across the room to scan for anything new, which of course there isn’t.

This is the reason why I hate being stuck in one room for a long time. Of course, the familiarity is somewhat comforting, you don’t have to stare frantically search for something that may be different, a weapon, a bomb, something, but at the same time? It gets me antsy. I’d much rather be able to get up and leave this room, but one, I don’t think anyone would let me—even if I managed to get myself out of these cuffs—and two, I’m not sure if I can stand. Fuck. My chest tightens at that thought; I’m not sure if I can stand. I can’t help but think back to Makarov and what he did to me, how he found out I was not born Russian. A part of me wants to resent Soap and whoever the fuck was in that room, and trust me, a little part of me does because they did a piss poor job at basically slapping a couple of bandaids on my wounds and then decided to try to waterboard information out of me?? If I didn’t say anything to Makarov, what did these fucks think they’d get out of me? I take a deep breath, feeling my chest expand as my lungs fight to make room for the oxygen. I hold it for a couple of seconds and slowly exhale through my lips. I need to calm down.

The door swings open to my room, making my heart rate spike again, my fingers instinctively grabbing the pillow on my front. Dr. Erikson and Mutton-Chops enter the room, and I don’t feel any better. Their eyes land on me and I can see the surprise stretched across their faces, at the fact that I’m awake, but I have a hard stare and I keep it. My shoulders ache as my muscles lock up once again. The door opening jolted Soap awake, my eyes flickering to him once I hear his sharp inhale from being startled. His head is turned and his eyes are also on whoever entered the room—scanned the room like a soldier. I hold back a quiet chuckle because of fucking course he woke up from that, he is a soldier. “You’re awake, [Name].” Dr. Erikson points out as he walks over, holding a clipboard. I don’t respond; my throat feels tight. He pauses at the fact that I don’t respond and he glances at Soap, then Mutton-Chops, then back at me. Dr. Erikson’s hand gestures to Mutton-Chops. “This is Captain John Price. We know you are having some trouble.. recounting what happened on your end, so Hudson thought it might be helpful for Price for catch you up to speed on his, considering you both have similar goals.”

Soap’s groggy yet loud voice cuts in. “What?” His tone is incredulous as he properly sits up in his chair, closing the notebook sketchbook thing in his lap. Mutton-Chops—the man who now has a proper name, Price—shoots Soap a look, like it holds so many words unsaid. Whatever his look said is enough to get Soap to quiet down. My fingers grip the pillowcase again because the silent, unspoken communication causes this weird fucking anxiety to flare up in my stomach. I don’t like it. I don’t respond again. Dr. Erikson approaches the IV machine—an infusion pump I think it’s called?—and presses a few buttons. I panic and I grab his wrist and yank it away because what if he’s sent by Makarov to finish me off, what if—“He’s just adjustin’ yer meds, bonnie.” Soap’s voice is low but close and I don’t bother to look at him, but I slowly let go of the doctor’s wrist. Dr. Erikson’s face has a troubled expression before he writes something down and takes his leave through the swinging door he came through in. That leads me to look at Price, as I’m left alone with him and Soap. He comes over to the other side, opposite of where Soap is sitting. I keep eye contact with the man and I must be unintentionally glaring at him because he’s looking back down at me with a challenging gaze. Gaze that screams ‘you have a couple of loose screws, don’t you?’

I can’t tell if I’m imagining it or not anymore, especially when he finally speaks. Price’s voice is rough, like gravel, yet incredibly soft. Which I hate because I feel like he’s treating me like a ‘civ.

“We need to get your head on straight.”

🏷️; @glitterypirateduck @darling006 @elowynnlane @hardnutpost @boycigs @wolfyland07

[antiwhores]

Surrendered! - Bakugou x villain!reader

——-

A villain who dynamite couldn’t catch? Crazy. Especially a villain that cant even villain right.

This has been sitting in the drafts for months. I just decided to finish it because I’ve been gone for a bit. Short drabble

You were possibly the most annoying fucking villain ever. Bakugou would die on that hill.

You had built quite a name for yourself in the villain society. You were known as Dynamite’s archenemy; or migma. Because you were the only villain he couldn’t get rid of. You were actually rather respected in the villain community for it.

The government calls you a villain but some people would say you’re more of an anti hero than a villain.

Its not as if you kill people or anything. You are no mass murderer - you have never killed someone. Nor do you have any planes to take over the city or destroy all heros. You have never put a civilian in danger. In fact, you’re known to help people. Sometimes during intense battles you’ll even swoop in to get civilians and maybe throw off the villains from a far. You’re just… mildly infuriating.

Your evil doings are just stupid pranks with your stupid quirk that you had no license to use. And it absolutely infuriated Katsuki.

Some of your most well known feats are as such:

you hacked into the Japan news broadcast just to stream a video of you doing horrible karaoke of old 2000s albums.

You broke into hero Dynamites agency, stole some computers and made sure to keep their location on. Then you sent the whole agency on a wild goose chase to find them and what they hoped was you.

You cut the power in the building of one of the most important hero celebrations and award ceremonies right when they were announcing the number one hero.

You planted a harmless but rapidly spreading pineapple species in low income neighborhoods. They spread like flowers in the cracks of a fluorescent city in no time. Apparently its “vandalism” but everyone got to eat for a bit.

Everything you have done, it was to piss off a certain group of people.

Dynamite started chasing you around about 3 years ago when he was climbing the ranks after UA. And in all these years he has never been able to catch you.

You are the only thing that he cant win against because you always have an idea.

So naturally, he’s heavily on guard when he follows you down a busy street. A quirk was imprinted on him to completely mask his identity. He was like a whole new person.

Little did he know that you knew it was him. He can hide his face and voice but he can’t hide his booming presence.

Too bad you didn’t have time to indulge in some teasing with him. You had just done another one of your crimes a week ago and you had to see someone. It wasn’t too bad this time, you just blew up a building that was destroying the local echo system. No one was hurt, you evacuated everyone.

This person you had to see had key information on another man you needed to find. So you hoped that Dynamite would fuck off long enough for the quick conversation to end as you stood in an alleyway.

The man spoke to you in your mind. A telekinetic.

When he was done, he spoke aloud.

He took out a cigarette and lit it, offering you one. You refused. “Also, I’m sure you know this lass but…” He puffs out smoke to the opposite side of you and points directly at the wall Dynamites hiding behind. “That man has been following us for quite a bit!”

Dynamite barely holds back his sharp intake of breath. He thought that he was being to slick! What the fuck is up with you and your friends? At least you didn’t know who he was.

“Yeah,” you giggled, “thats my best-friend.” You spun towards him, lifting your hands to project your voice. “Where are your manners? Following a lady! Come say hello Dynamite!”

Damn it all.

In a split second he’s on you but you’re even faster. You’re suddenly behind him, embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven’t seen you in like 6 months, Dynamite!” You squeal. “I was afraid you moved on to those other stupid villains. Like that bitch Movaro. You know, she tried to kill me!”

He’s been held in this grip before and he knows you have no intention of running away until he cuffs you so he just lets you speak into his neck.

“Serves you fucking right.” He reached behind his back and drags you off by your hoodie with one hand. You just let him hold you off the ground in front of him with a smile.

Although he hates to admit it, he’s grown quite attached to you. These past 3 years have been… weird. All he thinks about is how he wants to jail you already. But jailing you seems so wrong for him. You’re a villain, sure, but no extra has avoided him successfully for 3 years straight like you have.

He slams you against the wall and pins you there, preparing for a move to escape. You just smile at him though, “I have good news!”

You put your hands up and behind your head, “I give up!”

[wathanism]

Your ideals are going to kill people. The only thing refusing to vote is going to do is ensure that the republicans win and their project 2025 gets enacted. This is not a conspiracy theory. They want a theocracy. They want authoritarianism. They want fascism. You and everyone you convince to not vote is letting that happen.

I don't know who convinced you that its impossible to care about two things at once, but abandoning the vulnerable here in the states because you care so deeply about the vulnerable on the other side of the world doesn't make you more righteous.

Refusing to vote for him is a foolish act that will do nothing to stop what is happening. Even if he finally pulls back all aid for Israel at the eleventh hour, no one will vote for him now, which means the vulnerable right here at home are fucked. Thanks.

i was really close to not answering you at all because i have a hard rule about not talking with selfish cunts who are commited to misunderstanding everything a non-white person says to them. but since you had the good sense to realize that you were being an ass right then, i'm going to assume that you're worth engaging with, and i'm going to hope you'll talk with me in good faith and read everything i have to say rather than blow up at me again. if nothing else, i'm going to use this as an opportunity to say all the things i've been wanting to say since i made that post. that said, i'm real pissed and i'm not gonna be all nice and palatable in my answer.

first of all, no i'm not a US citizen. i live in west asia. y'know, where all the wars are? gaza is five hours away from my hometown of damascus, which is also being bombed with your tax dollars, by the way! in fact, i grew up living under a textbook authoritarian theocracy. so don't sit there and talk to me like i don't know what it's like to be afraid of your own government. we're in this shithole world together, and you and i are a hell of a lot more like each other than the politicians putting our lives on the line.

second of all, i should have been more clear about what i actually would like for US voters to do. contrary to small-minded liberals' assumptions, i'm not republican nor am i anti-voting. i'm saying people should vote third party. i even have a preferred candidate in mind, jasmine sherman. they even have strict and well-defined policies to protect trans rights and provide universal healthcare that includes gender affirming care and reproductive care.

this is usually the point when usamericans talk down to me like it's my first day on earth, so let me be clear. i know about the electoral college. i know about the flaws of the first-past-the-post voting system. i know about ranked-choice voting and why that's a better system in almost every way. i know that until there's drastic changes to the US voting system, there is no chance a third party candidate could even win. i'm not delusional about that. and i'm asking you to protest-vote anyway. which, yes, i realize is a big ask, but consider that this is a big fucking problem that requires pretty drastic actions.

several absolute dumbasses who i refuse to engage with said some very interesting stuff that made me realize why so many people are quick to dismiss the idea of refusing to vote for either major party. some examples:

they describe the push to vote third party as us lashing out at biden. in their eyes, we're not politically aware adults with a righteous passion for justice. no, we're petulant children causing problems for everyone whose rights actually matter. maybe a nicer person than me can give them the benefit of the doubt, but i find it extremely suspect that they truly seem to believe that non-white people are irrational, easily-angered, thoughtless creatures with no understanding of the complexities of the situation. there's a complete refusal to consider that there might be an actual coherent strategy behind the activism of indigenous and black people.

and again, because this is not my first day on earth, i know about the "but trump!!" argument. i honestly am BAFFLED that liberals seem to genuinely believe they're offering anything novel or valuable to the discussion at hand when they parrot talking points that we've been hearing since 2016 with quite literally nothing to show for it.

but i digress. the important thing is: yes, i fucking know. i know trump would have a near identical policy on gaza. he'd also have an identical policy on the police, on covid, on immigration, and on most other issues. you worry about project 2025, and you're right to! but the thing is, and you'll forgive me for quoting imani here but she is the most correct person ever always, "everything in project 2025 relies on biden doing exactly what he's fucking doing right now. the more successful this genocide is, the more likely project 2025 is to happen." because at the end of the day, it doesn't require a republican president. it requires a CONSERVATIVE president. and that's what biden is.

i don't know if you're missing it or if you don't care, but democrats benefit from you being terrified, and that's exactly why they'll never keep you safe. you will always be one election away from being killed by the system because that's what keeps you complicit. democrats won't shoot the gun, but they will ALWAYS make sure it's loaded and that you're trapped in a room with the person who'll shoot you. don't forget that roe v. wade was overturned on biden's watch. trans rights were rolled back on biden's watch. covid deaths skyrocketed and protections were dismantled on biden's watch. he'll find every loophole in the book to funnel weapons to israel's military but he'll never lift a finger to fix the problems ruining your life, because he needs you to be as scared as you are. that's exactly what's keeping you from showing an ounce of compassion or solidarity to palestinians right now. and no, your fucking lip service and crocodile tears don't count as solidarity.

liberals have managed to completely forget the most important lesson about social justice: none of us are free until all of us are free. you've been so busy yelling at arabs to even realize that this moment in time is one of the greatest pushes against the two-party system. do you not get how important that is? right now, when damn near everyone who's even mildly left leaning (and many who are right leaning) is so deeply unsatisfied with both major candidates, is the perfect time to be thinking of ways to break out of this system. to organize, to advocate for your mystical fucking ranked choice voting!

palestinians aren't asking you to lay down your life and throw away your human rights so they can mildly spite joe biden. they're asking you to grow a fucking spine and stand on principle and god damn DO SOMETHING to tear apart the two-party system. make people realize that a third party candidate IS a viable one, so that one day they can be.

you're framing this as a matter of pitting palestinians versus americans, which couldn't be further from the truth. maybe instead of directing your hate towards palestinians and their allies, show some gratitude. palestinians are uncovering the veil of all the atrocities and all the corruption in the world, and they're giving the people of the earth a banner to unite under. there have never been so many people (afaik, at least) pushing against the systems of corruption in america. that kind of thing ripples out. standing with palestine isn't easy, but all of our lives will be better for it, including and especially the lives of minorities living in the US.

there is so, SO much more i can say about palestine, and it will inevitably turn into a very spiritual rant about the uniting force of the holy land. but i'm instead just gonna leave you with this tweet that i think sums up everything about this.