#because they make him a better guy than he actually is and make it seem like he just became a fop one day??? when he always was one???

[spravdiukr]

People for some reason believe that because Brotherhood is more action adventure shounen typical story it’s better

Which is so honestly sad

Brotherhood is better if you don’t want to think or get your core beliefs about the world challenged

I get the appeal. World is morally grey and dim and most of the time really unjust place so having this story where doing the good thing always seems to lead to the good result and happy ending exists is pleasant and enjoyable. I like Brotherhood for that too.

Except some of the shit it does is questionable. Why are we focusing so much on soldiers (murderers)? And their pain, but there are literally only 2(!) people of the group that was slaughtered that have a name? They’re the ACTUAL victims but somehow they are being sidelined. Like oh no Maes wanted to live? That’s so valid reason to kill children. Roy is also such a nice good guy for deciding to keep murdering people to allegedly eventually change the system (love their decision to make Roy use philosopher stone made of human lives, lives of people from ethnic group Roy participated in genocide of to heal Roy’s eyes that’s def not fucked up and definitely shows how guilty he is) and there’s a lot of this shit.

How much do we learn about feelings of people from ethnic group they slaughtered? Miles gets Jack shit, because the story is so unconcerned with them. He’s there to show the “correct” way to react to having your people being massacred. And while I do agree that just lashing out at the world causing more destruction won’t help you and your people, the show doesn’t focus nearly as much on how fucking deeply devastating being in Scar’s position is. It’s not just seeing death of a single person, it’s it the same as oh no our lil town is now broke and people sad, it’s that places that were part of your life just don’t exist anymore, they are erased out of existence; it’s that people that did not do anything to deserve it are cut out of existence; it’s that your beliefs about doing good thing leads to more good things are completely snapped in half because not only did it not work it feels like mockery, like reality really just decided to laugh at you. This scars the nation; it completely changes geography, it erases entire cities from the Map, but there’s more as it creates generational trauma for people.The consequences of living through war surrounded by death and destruction and torture and there’s no way out. Nowhere to run.

Unlike soldiers that ACTUALLY have an option to stop and get to return to their home, their country in peace and see children unaffected by death and despair and pain, people of Ishval do not have that Luxury! There’s no choice! There’s nowhere running away! Because it’s your country that is being ruined! It doesn’t change regardless of where you are physically! And you didn’t even do anything wrong for that to happen!

So while yes, it’s bad to just cause more aimless and senseless violence, Scar’s pain is so much worse than that of murderers and yet it’s somehow treated in the same way as Roy’s desire to avenge Maes! Scar’s situation is so deeply horrific it’s just incompatible!

It gets even worse when you think about Winry part of it! We are supposed to think she’s so awesome for not killing Scar and even you know helping him despite him killing her parents even though it’s like basic level of not being a dick if you think about it. Scar did not kill her parents out of love of the game or because of hatred, he’s literally so traumatised he thought they were trying to harm him. Murdering him wound have been just punishing victim of a horrible crime for being traumatised basically. This situation is indeed very tragic because Winry’s parents actually were saving Ishavar’s people and not trying to murder them so yeah, if Scar wasn’t ducked up he would have been grateful. But things turned out the way the did. It’s tragedy.

My only problem is that again we are glazing Winry and her parents so hard and there’s so little time spent on letting you taste how cruel Scar’s reality is that it just feels like such an incredible feat from Winry’s side and not action I would expect from any decent person.

Now back to the only other person from Ishvar (kinda; he’s mixed, but still) they bothered to name, Miles. So he’s supposed to be alternative for Scar, isn’t he? What exactly is he doing? He’s in the North working with the army and that’s it really from what I remember. He’s basically obedient puppy barking on command for the corrupt system responsible for slaughter of his people. So how exactly is this good alternative? What even does it sound like? “Stop resisting or trying to destroy the evil fucking government that was destroying your nation and uh let it use you for its purposes, hopefully they’ll have change their hearts”? Did I get it right? This is extremely torn away from reality and is borderline harmful idea to send.

They also like passively tell you he’s aware of discrimination but they don’t really show people being racist to him. It’s pretty peculiar.

They also dismiss discrimination and problems because Olivia’s point and point Brotherhood makes is how we need everyone’s knowledge to succeed (in saving the world). In other words, why be racist when those people’s skills can be useful. Interesting philosophy there. It’s less that “they are human being too” but more so “their culture and them can be useful to you so treat them nice to get to it”. Very weird.

There are other problems too, like design choices. Scar is given these very sharp and aggressive features and Miles having softer ones is such a peculiar Choice. The lapdog is the one you are expected to perceive more favourably and agree to as the correct alternative.

It’s just in a way kinda undermines what Brotherhood is selling. It wants you to look at truth no matter how uncomfortable and yet it’s trying to make you look anywhere but ugly and shitty, far more terrifying outlook on the situation this story decided to tackle.

Oh and also Homunculus bring responsible for slaughter starting is another way to say see Soldiers weren’t that bad after all! Almost forgot that shitty detail!

Okay but the weirdest thing about the whole "Brotherhood is better you should skip 03" discourse that's become commonplace now, it sort of forgets the world Brotherhood came out in and why you should watch the original Fullmetal Alchemist. When Brotherhood came out, the original Fullmetal Alchemist was one of the most beloved and most watched animes of all time. Brotherhood assumes you the audience have already seen it because of course you have, everyone has seen it, so it skips important information and speeds the story up because it doesn't want to bore you with things you already know. Have you ever wondered "hey why does the first episode of Brotherhood kind of suck, and why am I being introduced to like 50 new characters, and why are they acting like I know what the hell an alchemist is?" It's because Brotherhood thinks you've seen 03.

The first 7 or so episodes of Brotherhood constitute dozens of chapters in the manga, and the first 25 or so episodes of the original Fullmetal Alchemist. The Nina Tucker episode in Brotherhood, in FMA 03 takes up nearly three episodes. Yoki gets a backstory in 03 and it's genuinely one of the best episodes and taken directly from the manga and Brotherhood glosses over it because: duh, you've already seen it. And so if you skip the original you miss out on dozens of really great character building episodes like Ed and Al meeting Hughes for the first time and getting to spend a whole episode helping him free a train from terrorists, or Ed and Roy having a duel that expands on the relationship they have, or episodes where the brothers just help out random people in towns before the major story gets going.

The original also paces itself quite a bit better than Brotherhood and is more in line with the mangas storytelling. In the manga we don't find out about The Gate until nearly two dozen chapters in, and the same goes for the original anime. Like, that's a twist reveal in those stories, and it's weird that the most watched series is the one where they tell you all about The Gate in the first two episodes because they assume you've already seen the original show.

What's more, people don't know that Hiromu Arakawa helped write for the anime while she was still in the middle of writing the manga, and as a result was inspired to write scenes in Brotherhood that the anime did first. That scene of Edward getting impaled by a falling beam? Directly inspired by a similar scene in the original anime. There's a lot of little instances of that and they're great when you can recognize parallels and things in Brotherhood that are direct references to the original anime, but people don't notice any of that anymore. Because the original anime is just an automatic skip these days, and it's a bummer because people don't realize what a giant it was back before Brotherhood was released. They treat it as *bad,* not realizing it was one of the most beloved anime of its time and the problems people take issue with have a lot more to do with personal taste than any kind of actual flaw in the writing. Brotherhood was never meant to dethrone it, and the original anime was always supposed to be part of the viewing experience which is why those first few episodes of Brotherhood are so fast paced. So like, please stop telling people Fullmetal Alchemist 2003 is a skip, or it's bad, or you don't need it because Brotherhood is better. Regardless if you think Brotherhood is better or not, the original wrote Brotherhood's check. It was huge, it was beloved, and Brotherhood is *banking* on the knowledge you've seen all of it and loved it. And trust me when I say there is so much to love about the original series. It's still my favorite branch of the FMA franchise, and it's worth your time, I promise you.

[artemisiasmuse]

princess treatment | rafe x low maintenance gf

cw: fluff, mentions of emotionally abusive family dynamics, slightly suggestive (mentions of sex but no details)

you’d always been treated as some sort of third parent, a therapist, a friend but never what you were: a daughter

that all changed when you started dating rafe

on top of being mistreated by your family, you’d never had a bf who treated you right

the first time rafe brought you flowers you cried, he thought he’d done something wrong but you were so touched you couldn’t say anything as you hugged him tight

he made sure to bring you flowers often, making sure you never ran out. you remember finding a flower from your bouquet in his car, asking him why he had it. “when it wilts i know i gotta get you more.” you’d proceeded to make him pull over.

it was like he was dead set on making you fall even more in love when he said, “as fucking great as that was, i don’t do these things for sex baby, i don’t expect anything okay?” you told him you knew that, which you didn’t actually since all the guys you had been with before seemed to be like that, and proceeded to kiss him some more.

to him treating you like a princess came naturally, he was never good at expressing himself so buying you presents, taking care of you, doing things for you was just second nature

in the beginning he thought it was cute how appreciative you were but when you still got shocked from his actions after months he realized you had just never been treated how you deserve

and that pissess him off

he makes it a point to treat you like an absolute princess, not even letting you open a single door by yourself, you don’t even remember the last time you put your heels on by yourself because he was always crouching down to help you before you could think about it

“rafe if you spoil me so much ill get used to it.” you murmured as you watched your 6’2 gently place your heeled foot on his knee so he could buckle the shoe. his touch was always so gentle, as if he’d hurt you like this.

“that’s kinda the point angel,” he says it without hesitation, brows a bit furrowed as he looks for the best notch that won’t cause you discomfort. you think you might start crying again but you bite the inside of your cheek and kiss him when he stands up

rafe hates how your family treats you, but he holds his tongue because he knows you love them it doesn’t matter to him if your family hates them, he know he should seek their approval but he doesn’t think they deserve to dictate any part of your life

he’s holding back until your mom oversteps her bounds in front of him and he just has to step in, taking over whatever thing she told you to do even though he knew your mother was perfectly capable. he guises it as being a good future son-in-law

“it’s okay rafe-“ you say it without realizing, so used to taking the load off of others.

“you can ask me from now on if you need anything,” he looks pointedly at your mother with a smile you know is fake. you just brush it off and think rafe is just trying to make a good impression. you don’t know he doesn’t give a fuck what your parents think. he even starts hating your sibling.

your brother is older than you but never acts that way. when you mentioned an older brother he expected someone protective of you. he was met with someone doted on by your mother, irresponsible and immature and uncaring of his sister. it seemed like you were the older sibling.

you’d been living with your parents while you both dated, you hadn’t seen anything wrong with it until rafe gets you to move out to live with him. your parents are against it at first but with the help rafe has been they have little reason to refuse him.

when you do move out you realize how much better everything is. you’re not your mother’s caretaker, or your parent’s marriage counselor, or even your brother’s mom. you’re you. and you can finally breathe. rafe doesn’t expect anything from you and it slightly unnerves you, how could he take care of you without expecting anything in return?

he pays for everything, even if you push back at first, he replaces your card in your wallet with his going as far as hiding your card and he knows you have a job and that you can afford it yourself but he doesn’t see why you have to

you’d gotten your nails done and shown them to him and when he didn’t see a charge on his card he pouted for a whole day until you gave in and agreed to use it next time

but rafe knows you’re holding back, he can see that you’re spending frugally. he doesn’t want you to, in fact nothing would make him happier than seeing a dent taken out of his bank account because of his beautiful caring girlfriend

you remember your first date when he got offended that you’d offered to split the bill, he was even more shocked when you thanked him profusely after for paying

when you whine about him taking your card he finally has to speak up, “baby, what’s yours is mine right?” you nod without pause, you loved when rafe drove your car or used your skincare. it felt so intimate and domestic like you were a married couple, the thought bringing heat to your face. “right, so what’s mine is yours.” and you can’t really refute that.

one day when he’s drying your hair after your shower, you can’t help but ask, “why are you so nice to me rafey?”

“i love you, s’that simple”

“i love you too but no one’s ever been this nice to me.”

“no ones ever been as nice to me as you are either, that doesn’t mean it’s wrong right?” he always has a way of making you see his side so effortlessly you have to agree. you could never argue that rafe didn’t deserve the amount of love you gave him or more.

“yeah, thank you for taking care of me”

“‘you gonna thank me for the rest of our lives?” you just stare at him blankly and rafe watches the tears well up in your eyes. “hey don’t cry baby, you can thank me as many times as you want okay? just don’t go thinking you deserve any less than this.”

“i’m never letting you go.”

“i’m counting on it.”

on your anniversary, rafe buys you a car and even though you do thank him profusely and maybe cry a little it doesn’t turn your stomach with anxiety on how to thank him properly or that you don’t deserve it. instead you spend the night loving your boyfriend as much as he loves you. you realize rafe just has a different way of showing it.

a/n: instead of crashing out ab my family i wrote this :)

taglist: @ggraycelynn @clar2aa

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐨

18+ MINORS DNI

a/n: listened to juno in the car and had this idea 😋

summary: based on the song by sabrina carpenter (you babytrap nat); g!p nat, college!au, natasha's kind of a fuckboy

warnings: contains quite a bit of smut (hence the 18+ tag), babytrapping (= mildly toxic relationship?), buff athlete nat because that’s a warning in itself

word count: 11k (i fear it’s gotten impossible for me to write anything under 5k words lol)

✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷ ✷

Initiating public sex in front of your friends should never be a good idea.

When you're as bored as you are right now, though, that opinion quickly begins to waver.

Hand under your shirt, your head on her shoulder. The movie you're watching is one you haven't seen before. Teen pregnancy, Michael Cera, indie soundtracks, yawn. You sigh, first quietly, then a little louder.

Natasha's nose brushes against your temple. Her hand travels higher up, fingers grazing your bra.

"Not a fan?", she mumbles. You lean into her, feeling her bicep against your shoulder. "We can ditch them."

"No." It's been a while since you last had time to spend with your friends. It's also been a while since you didn't sneak off early to fuck each other brainless. "Let's stay", you say, turning your head. "At least so we can see whether they actually fall for each other."

"No offense, but who would fall for that guy? Even I would look better in those shorts."

"Don't disrespect Michael", you mumble, smiling. "Also, you'd need bigger ones to fit everything, babe."

In front of you, Clint rolls his eyes. He lets out the longest sigh known to man and turns his head, his expression lacking any amusement whatsoever. He should be used to this kind of behavior, but to be fair, he just wants one night where your shameless PDA doesn't ruin everything.

"Alright", he says. "One more comment like that and-"

"God, you're a prude." She throws her empty red solo cup at him and he jumps up. "Chill."

He directs one last warning glare at you both, then he plops back down onto the floor. As soon as he's distracted again — drinking beer, talking to his girlfriend — she pulls you closer. Your hand finds her lower stomach, gently pressing against it.

Her breath hits your ear when she exhales, hot and slow. Your hand moves a little lower. Not too far, just enough to flirt with the limit. Her fingers curl into the soft skin of your stomach.

She doesn't say anything, though. Your fingertips dance over the fabric of her sweatpants. They graze the bulge there, prominent even when she's not hard, before finally cupping it. A sharp breath escapes her.

Still, she doesn't stop you. Her eyes stay glued to the screen, where Juno is currently giving birth. The way she's staring makes it seem like she's actually invested in what's happening, but you know the truth. One wrong move, and she'll either embarrass herself — or ruin her pants.

Or both. Most likely both.

You already look irresistible enough, wearing that sinfully short skirt. With your legs tucked under your butt and your vanilla perfume clouding her senses, your hand on her cock can only lead to a disaster.

"Y/N", she whispers through gritted teeth. You palm her crotch and feel her harden.

"Mhm?" You lean in and press your lips to her jaw. Red lipstick stains her skin. It's a sight so satisfying that you keep trailing kisses across her cheek.

Natasha closes her eyes. A noise, muffled and quiet, gets stuck in her throat. You scoff and move your hand to wrap your fingers around her length, only the fabric of her clothes separating you.

"What is it?", you ask, giving a few testing strokes. She shakes her head and you finally hear that soft whimper you'd been waiting for. "Aw, poor baby. All worked up."

In front of you, Steve mumbles something. He gets up, but before he can turn around and catch Natasha and you in this compromising situation, you move and quickly sit on her lap.

Bad idea. This might be worse than the almost-handjob you were about to give her.

Steve doesn't notice anything, but you do. Her head falls forward to lean against your shoulder, her hands grip your waist. You shift and grind against her boner, feeling her tip rub against the wet patch on your panties. At least your skirt hides everything.

You rub against her with more insistence, eyes closing. Her cock, though still clothed, fits perfectly between your folds. If you try hard enough, you can pretend she's inside of you.

"Fuck", she moans. You reach behind you to squeeze her, squeeze any part of her you can reach. "Fuck, I'll come."

Clint pauses, then slowly turns his head. You go completely still, eyes fixed on the tv and your hands folded in your lap. He knows you better than to believe this little act you're putting on, though.

You're surprised he doesn't drag you out by your collars, but you get sent back to your dorms anyway.

"Idiot", you say, grabbing the front of her letter jacket. You pull her into a deep kiss, her hands roaming your body. Salt and butter, sugar and green apple. The snacks of the evening created an addictive taste, and you silently thank Clint for not getting garlic knots again.

"You started it", she pants, trailing her lips down your neck. Your back hits the wall of the dormitory, her hard-on pressing against your hip. Her hand disappears under your skirt and palms your crotch, feeling the soaked fabric of your panties. You're dripping down your thighs. "And I'll end it. Fuck."

You moan, the sound a little too obvious. It's quiet outside, apart from the occasional hum of car engines in the distance. Due to it being a Tuesday night, there are no parties. Most people are either in their dorms or pulling an all-nighter in the library. If anyone's got their window open, they'll hear you.

Natasha sinks her teeth into your shoulder. You cry out, a little louder, and she shushes you by nudging your panties aside with her fingers.

"Quiet", she mumbles, voice gentle like a praise. "Quiet for me, baby."

You writhe when she pushes two fingers into you. They slip in easily, your folds slick with wet heat, and immediately begin thrusting into you. You buck your hips to meet her movements, but she pulls out before you can even get started.

"Hey", you protest, ignoring the fact that she's already got her arm wrapped around you. Fingers in her mouth to lick off excess moisture, she pulls you toward the entrance. "Nat, I'm horny."

"Where's your roommate again?"

"Huh?" You frown, then lightly slap her chest. "Right! Good call."

She laughs quietly, the sound rough and strained, and walks up the stairs. Her hand moves to dip under your skirt. She gropes your ass, kneading the flesh. "I seriously don't know how you got into college, baby."

"Wow. Here I was, considering head tonight, and you made me change my mind."

"Oh, please." She pushes open the door and walks you to the bed. As soon as she's seated, you straddle her and wrap your arms around her neck. Her hands are under your shirt before you can even kiss her. Her tongue brushes against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth.

You grind against her boner, which only makes the ache between your legs worse. Natasha breaks the kiss to tug off your top. Her eyes dart a little lower, zeroing in on your chest. Full breasts, spilling out of a lacy bra with tiny hearts embroidered in it.

Her face sinks to bury itself between your boobs. You feel wet kisses on your skin.

"Taste so good."

"Nat."

"So soft."

"Nat."

She huffs, but doesn't look up. Her hands move your hips, making you rub against her cock. The crotch of her sweatpants is stained with a little wet patch. "What?"

"I want you to fuck me, not make out with my breasts all night long."

You feel the heat of her cheeks. Smirking faintly, you run your hand into her hair.

"Screw you."

"I'm trying." You twist a strand of her hair around your finger and tug. "Come on. I thought of a new position we could try."

That manages to make her look up, though she seems skeptic. It's almost like a game you've been playing — who can come up with the wildest position? Anything counts, as long as it leads to at least one of you having an orgasm.

"You better not disappoint this time", she says and kisses your jaw. Her hands splay out on your ass, fingertips brushing under the fabric of your panties. "That last one was a letdown."

You hum. You have to agree with her here — sidesaddle riding doesn't work no matter how you interpret it, apparently.

"This one's good", you say, getting off her lap. She groans.

"We could pause the game", she pleads, making puppy dog eyes at you. It's a fun game, sure, but sometimes, she wants to see your face while she fucks you. "Just tonight."

You tilt your head at her, eyebrows raised in silent approval for her to keep going.

"I'll let you top", Natasha adds. That's enough for you to be sold.

. . .

When you wake up, it's because of someone knocking on the door.

At first, you don't notice it. Too tight is sleep's grip on you, too warm is your bed. You're curled into Natasha, her arms wrapped around you and holding you close. But then they knock again, more insistently this time, and you sigh.

You squint to block out the sun and get up, stepping over the empty ramen cups you discarded on the floor after a late-night craving. Behind you, Natasha mutters something and rolls over. You slip into a loose shirt and open the door.

Randy, your resident advisor, pauses when he sees you. Messy hair, a thin shirt that barely reaches your thighs, your neck littered with marks. You raise your eyebrows at him.

"Yes?", you drawl. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His freckled face flushes pink and he coughs. "Come on, I don't have all morning."

"There, uhm- there was a noise complaint", he says, fingers drumming against the clipboard he for some reason always carries around. "From one of the other students."

You give him a blank stare. "Okay?"

"No, not okay. Look, I don't care what you do in your free time, but maybe keep it down? The walls are quite thin, and the excessive noise, uh..." He sighs, eyes flitting down your body again. He shifts awkwardly, clipboard angled a bit, and you realize that he's trying to conceal a certain problem he's run into.

If the situation was different, you'd be irritated. But watching Randy, the 30-something guy who started working here two years ago, stumble over his own words and stutter like a nervous first grader, is too amusing to genuinely get pissed.

You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed. "Deep breaths, honey. Don't faint on me."

He tries to glare at you, but fails miserably. "Y/N, I'm being serious. Others want to sleep."

"Yeah, yeah." You wave your hand dismissively. "I'll tell Nat."

Behind you, Natasha groans into your pillow. "Tell them to mind their own business", she mutters, voice rough with sleep. "Or move the fuck out."

He briefly peeks into the room, then directs his attention toward you again. You give him a challenging look.

"Nat", he repeats. The way he says her name does manage to irritate you now. You know what others think of her. You also know they're not entirely wrong. "Oh, yeah, fine. Good."

"Good", you repeat, stepping back with one hand on the doorknob. "Oh, and Randy? I know you've been getting, like, zero action lately, but I just woke up. Not even you can be that desperate. Maybe touch some grass?"

He lets out a choked sound. Before he can say anything, you wave two fingers at him and close the door.

"Buh-bye!", you call, just before the door snaps in. You twirl around and spot Natasha, still half asleep and sprawled out on your bed. Her red hair is loose for once, messy and soft, and you ignore the urge to get back into bed with her.

She hums, stretching like a cat, all lazy smiles and toned arms. An admittedly enticing sight. "Got rid of him?"

"Oh yeah." You run your hand along her arm. "I kinda feel bad for the guy."

"Don't. He's a creep." She puts her hand on the back of your thigh, tugging on it. If you didn't know better, you'd think she's scared you'll just slip away. "Feel bad for me. The abandoned girlfriend."

You huff, not budging. You'd love to go back to bed, but you have other things to do.

"Classes", you remind her, turning away. You take off your shirt and she groans. "Shower, too." Your panties follow. This time, she lets out a full blown moan.

You turn around and give her an unimpressed (albeit slightly amused) look. "And that is why we got a noise complaint."

"Come on", she whines. "Not even professors like their own classes. You can afford ten more minutes, baby. I won't even make you put on your clothes again."

"You say that like it's supposed to benefit me."

"It benefits both of us." Natasha grunts and finally sits up, slouching. Her arms are crossed over her lap as her eyes travel up and down your body. It takes you a second to realize why.

She tilts her head, cheeks pink. The expression on her face is both guilty and hopeful, like she's weighing her odds. A productive day or a few more minutes — maybe hours, if she plays her cards right — in bed with her?

Her chances aren't looking too bad.

"You can't be serious", you deadpan. Of course, she is.

"I'll be quick."

"You're never quick!"

"You can't blame me for that", she retorts. "God, how am I supposed to keep my hands off you for the next few hours?"

"Next few 'hours'? Babe, you have practice today. Plus, I wanted to go shopping."

Natasha flops onto her back dramatically. It gives you a full view of her body, head to toe, with her not-so-little problem included. You bite the inside of your cheek frustratedly as you realize she's chipping away at your resolve.

"Practice isn't that important", she mutters, her forearms covering her eyes.

"Babe, you're team captain", you say, turning around. Focus on something else, anything else. If you cave, you will definitely be late. Or, worst case scenario, you won't leave your dorm before lunchtime — again. "Just...take a cold shower. I'll see you tonight."

She mutters something about 'showers being a scam' under her breath, then finally gets up. You watch her gather her stuff and get dressed, but you keep her letter jacket clutched to your chest. She raises her eyebrows and reaches out her hand.

"No."

"That's mine."

"Nope."

Natasha rolls her eyes, but ultimately just kisses you before slipping into her shoes. She can't help it — she's weak for you.

"I'll get you back for this", she says, then the door falls shut behind her.

. . .

The basketball circles the hoop once, twice, leaving everyone on the edge of their seats.

One leg crossed over the other, you lean forward. Red lips part slightly, manicured nails dig into the thin skin of your knee. All eyes are on the ball, which wobbles — but then it slips off and bounces away. You groan and toss your head back.

"Come on, Romanoff!", someone next to you shouts.

"Damn it", you curse. You go to her games all the time, and usually, you enjoy it. Watching her miss a shot, however, is not the most pleasant part of the experience.

Natasha runs her hand over her hair, clearly frustrated. She's been off her shooting game today, and she doesn't know why. She's not doing anything different.

You watch her trail backwards, bouncing on her heels and her eyes locked on the hoop. When she hears her team's complaints, she turns around. She yells at a teammate, then at a player from the opposite team, before the coach calls for a timeout.

She jogs to the bench, snatches her water bottle, and tips her head back to take a swig. Baby hairs stick to her sweaty temples, the veins on her arms popping. You lean forward.

"Nat!"

She looks up, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenched. Then she realizes it's you and, just like that, her scowl softens. She glances at her team to check if anyone's watching her before approaching you. You're in the first row, right next to the home team's bench, so all she has to do is lean on the barrier separating the seats from the court.

"Hey", she says.

"'Hey'? Are you kidding me? What the hell was up with that shot?"

Natasha frowns and huffs. "Alright, I don't need a lecture right now. So unless you want to kiss me for good luck-"

A girl from her team — one you don't know too well — nudges her. Natasha barely glances at her, but it's enough for you to lean forward and tug at her ear.

"What the fuck!"

"I'm serious! You missed by, like, half a mile."

The glare she gives you is deadly, but you deserve it. You are being a little unfair. For good reason, though: whenever you're there to berate her, she suddenly starts playing much better. It's like magic. She needs a healthy dose of bullying from you for her performance to be at its peak.

"Alright", she snaps. "Be my guest. Suit up and try, if you think you'll do better."

"Oh, no." You reach up and brush your fingers along her jaw before resting them under her chin. "You're the best, aren't you? So show me that's true, and I'll reward you. But losers don't get a reward."

"You drive a hard bargain", she mutters. You smile innocently and tap her bottom lip. "Fine. Fine, I'll...do better, I guess."

"That's my girl", you purr and, with a light push against her mouth, send her back to her team.

The game continues.

Before halftime, Natasha's team was trailing 34-37, but after some strong defense and a layup, the score is tied again. That is, until the opposing team hits a couple of shots.

You're agitated, but confident. At least you're pretty sure you are.

Most of her games are like this. Her team needs to be slightly behind for her to be able to give it her all. You convince yourself it won't be different this time, either.

Eyes zeroed in on Natasha, you watch her every move. How she dribbles the ball, weaves through the defenders, loses the ball again. The game is a close one. They're playing against one of the better teams this time, and it shows.

It's a back and forth between the teams. The opposing team gets a small lead, which is quickly lost thanks to another shot. During the last minute, they're tied again. Teams are trading baskets, but you don't know whether you should stay positive.

For a while, it looks bad. Time is running out. Then, in a split second, Natasha is open at the top of the arc. The pass is fast, almost too high, but she catches it. Your breathing stops for a moment and you barely manage to restrain yourself from jumping up from your seat.

Five seconds left. The team's are neck-and-neck. Natasha has the ball.

Three seconds left. She makes her move, stepping back for a three-pointer. She rises, muscles coiled, and lets the ball fly.

One second left. After cutting through the air and briefly hitting the hoop, the ball swishes through the net.

66-64. The buzzer sounds. Her team has won.

You're on your feet before you realize it, yelling along with the audience. Natasha's team crashes into her the second she's back on the ground, but she only lets them slap her back and punch her arms for a few seconds before she weaves through the small crowd.

You hop over the barricade and into her arms, not caring about the fact she's all sweaty. Her lips press against your neck, her hand rubs up and down your back. She spins you around.

"You did it!"

"Because of you."

"That shot was amazing. More of that, please."

Natasha laughs, low and rough and exhausted, and tips her head back to look up at you. You smile and kiss her. She tastes like salt and Gatorade.

"Still the best?", she teases after pulling away. The soles of your sneakers make a quiet thudding sound against the vinyl floor.

"Always", you promise, pecking her lips once more. Natasha smirks and tugs off her jersey to hand it to you. With the fabric gone, she's almost naked. Only a sports bra and shorts cover her body. You earn a few stares from the opposing team, who isn't used to your little ritual, but you don't notice. It's a nice view, so you'd be an idiot to look at anyone but her.

You put on the jersey and let her pull you into her side again. She kisses you, slow and unhurried, while leading you back toward her team.

It's a last minute decision from the team to go to a bar together. Natasha takes a quick shower before you leave, now wearing something more comfortable. Getting her to dress up is a losing battle, so you don't even try this time. Plus, there's something distinctly attractive about the grey sweatpants she's sporting (or rather, what she's sporting inside the grey sweatpants).

You stay glued to her side pretty much all night. You're in her lap, her arm firmly holding you in place. The bass makes the ground vibrate and the alcohol is clouding your senses, but it's still early enough for you to be somewhat aware of reality.

You lean your cheek against her temple, then turn your head to brush your lips against her skin. She hums and squeezes your thigh, but her attention wavers. Two girls approach her, both of them around your age and probably fellow students.

Natasha glances at them, eyebrows raised. You cup her nape and brush your thumb against her hairline.

The girls smile, a little too brightly, and start talking about the basketball game. They're shameless — even with you, wearing Natasha's jersey and sitting on her lap, they're still going on and on about the game and the shots she made.

With every word that leaves their glossy pink lips, Natasha's focus on you slips more and more. Her hand on your thigh loosens. Her gaze, first flickering between you and the others, starts to linger on them. Her lips curve into that confident little smile you know too well.

You roll your eyes and scoot off her lap. If she has to do this, you don't want to be present. You excuse yourself and go to the restroom, where you freshen up. More lipstick, more perfume. You lift the front of Natasha's jersey and take a whiff to see whether it smells. It's not horrible, but noticeable enough, so you decide to change into the top you brought.

When you return to the bar, Natasha has leaned over to the girls. Arms crossed on the bar's counter, a lazy smirk on her face. The post-game glow is on full display. She tilts her head and mumbles something. It takes you a moment to realize she's flirting.

The girls are delighted. Giggling, shrugging, leaning forward as well. Their expressions indicate they clearly believe at least one of them has a shot. You understand why — Natasha, even after getting into a relationship with you, never quite got rid of her fuckboy-image —, but that doesn't mean you're not furious.

You want to compose yourself, you really do. You're pretty sure this isn't what it looks like, anyway. Fingernails digging into your palms, you watch them for another moment. Then, Natasha subtly bites her lip in that way that first drew you to her, and you've had enough.

You're next to her within seconds, your hand wrapping around her wrist. She lets out a grunt as you drag her away, leaving the two girls speechless and mildly annoyed.

"Have you lost your mind?", she complains, finally finding her voice again. You're already halfway into a bathroom stall.

"Have you?", you snap, pushing her inside and slamming the door shut. Natasha pauses, her eyes traveling up and down your body. The top, almost translucent and leaving little to the imagination, has her more than a little distracted. "My face is up here, you bastard."

"What? Hey!" She frowns. "What happened? What'd I do?"

There's a significant height difference between her and you, but it's not like that ever bothered you. You shove her against the wall, your eyes blazing. Her first instinct is to step forward — she's taller, all shoulders and muscle —, but she can tell you're pissed. Once she realizes she's fucked up, she lifts her hands and almost shrinks under your glare.

"Are you playing dumb? Don't play dumb!"

"What are you even- I was talking to them! They asked about the game!"

"You were flirting!"

Natasha scoffs, her cheeks a nervous-rosy pink. It'd look cute if you weren't about to slam her head through the plastic wall of the stall.

"I wasn't 'flirting'", she argues. "I was talking to them."

"No", you retort. "You were flirting. I could tell. They had that glittery look in their eyes stupid bitches get when you're close to them."

She blinks, caught off-guard, and her head tilts. The word you used is one you usually stay away from. The second you start cussing out other girls? Okay, now she knows you're mad mad.

"Baby", she says slowly, "I swear we were just talking. Nothing else. I don't give a fuck about anyone but you, and you know it."

"Right." You let out a bitter laugh. The sound makes her stomach tighten. "That's good to hear. Maybe it'd be believable if you hadn't tried to-"

The door of the bathroom stall next to yours opening cuts you off. You pause and turn when you hear the quiet pattering sound. Toilet paper rips. The person flushes. Then, shuffling of feet. It takes unbelievably long, and you let out a long sigh.

"Can you hurry?", you finally bark, and the person drops their purse. Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry!", they say, their voice a squeak, and leave the stall. Water runs, more paper towels, then the door falls shut. You turn to Natasha again, whose ears are as pink as her cheeks.

You raise your eyebrows, as if daring her to say something. Her mouth opens, then closes, and she rubs the back of her neck.

"Okay", she says. "Maybe it was flirting, in a way. I didn't mean to, though."

Your fingers tighten on the front of her zip hoodie. Her eyes widen in silent panic.

"You can't flirt without meaning to flirt!"

"You totally can", she says, her back thudding against the wall once more. "Can you stop that?! Jesus, you're scary."

That last bit is mumbled, but you hear it anyway. It's enough to make you laugh — a sound that slips out unintentionally — but you quickly shake your head.

"I can be way scarier, you know. This is nothing."

"I totally believe that", she says, frowning petulantly. "You're turning into a tiny terror."

Despite your anger, your lips twitch again. Your grasp on her hoodie loosens, your scowl softens the tiniest bit. It's enough for Natasha, who first tried to gauge your mood for a few seconds, to take a leap of faith.

"The sexiest tiny terror", she adds, pulling you closer. You sigh. "My tiny terror. Why would I want anyone else when I have you?"

"This feels like manipulation, babe."

Her eyes light up — babe. She's getting somewhere.

"It's not", she promises, kissing your forehead. Her hands roam your sides, your hips, and slip under your top. "I'm being serious. Scout's honor."

"You're so full of shit."

Natasha grins and keeps kissing your face. Your cheeks, your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth. Unfortunately, each press of her lips against your skin softens you further. You'll probably just have to accept she's an expert at buttering you up.

"Come on now", she mumbles, her mouth against your ear. You giggle quietly when her tongue briefly flicks against your earlobe. "You know you love me."

"I must've done something terrible in my past life to deserve this."

She hums, her hands palming your sides. You exhale and lean into her, willing yourself to not give in — and failing. Her lips brush against your neck, sucking a hickey into the sensitive skin, and a shiver rolls up your spine.

Without really noticing, you press closer. Natasha's fingers find the clasp of your bra and swiftly unhook it.

"Hey", you protest, trying to bat her hand away. She buries her face against your neck, but doesn't budge. Her hand slides around to your front. "I can't believe I put up with you."

"Me neither", she mumbles, smirking faintly. "I'm a lucky idiot."

"Well, that's true."

Natasha kisses your neck, then your shoulder. Her hands push up your top and reveal your skin inch by inch. Your breath stutters when, suddenly, the roles are reversed and you feel your back against the wall.

Your hands come up to tangle in her hair. She grips your thighs and mouths at your neck.

"You're not forgiven, you know."

"Sure."

Her teeth sink into your neck. You barely manage to speak.

"I mean it."

Underwear around your ankles, you help her tug her sweatpants down. She struggles with the condom, but once the piece of plastic is wrapped around her cock snugly, she holds your hips in place and buries herself inside you. No time to adjust — she sets a fast pace.

The back of your head hits the wall and you let out a moan. Natasha keeps rutting into you, moaning breathily, your hands in her hair and her hands gripping your ass. She stuffs you up to the brim, cock pulsing and twitching, and pounds into you relentlessly.

Right as you're just about to tumble over the edge, the bathroom door opens again. You feel a moan rise up in your throat and quickly slap your own hand over your mouth, stifling the sound. Natasha laughs breathlessly, but then whines against your neck.

Whoever entered seems oblivious. They're on the phone, talking rapidly, while water flows in the background. You hear the clinking of stilettos on tiles and then smell a faint waft of some overly sweet perfume.

This whole situation usually wouldn't pose much of an issue. You're close enough, and you know from experience that you can keep quiet when needed. But Natasha, being who she is, slows down. Her grip on you loosens, her movements are drawn-out. Your thighs tremble and you groan against your own palm.

"I'll kill you."

"Ssh, baby", she mumbles, dragging her lips along your jaw. Her hips meet yours, again and again and again, but she's going too slow to really achieve anything. "Don't get us caught."

Every deliberate roll of her hips sends shockwaves of pleasure through you. You whimper and bite down on your palm harder, meeting her movements with your hips. The pressure increases, and so does the need to push Natasha to go faster. Your thighs clench around her, but all she does is smile against your neck. You rock against her hips, desperate for more.

"Fuck you", you hiss, but the words die on your tongue when she picks up the pace. She ruts into you, urging you closer to the edge while you wrestle with the impulse to shout her name.

"I love you", she says, each word punctuated by a soft grunt. The bathroom door falls shut, and you finally get coaxed into that sweet high of mindless oblivion.

. . .

The sun is long gone, replaced by the milky light of the moon that's seeping into the library.

Natasha called it a 'study-session', hoping it'd turn into something else entirely. But exams are coming up, and as much as you'd like to hide in the encyclopedia aisle and hook up again, you'd rather she passes.

You're sitting on the table in front of her, with her head in your lap, as you test her knowledge on the subject. Sports Law — something you've only gotten familiar with since dating her.

"That's wrong", you say, running your fingers through her hair. "It's title IX of the education amendments of 1972. You should know that, babe."

She groans and turns her head, burying her face between your thighs. You smile faintly and drum your fingers against her scalp.

"Who cares? I'll pass, anyway. I always do."

"I want you to ace this one, though."

"Pipe dream."

"Nat."

Another groan. She pushes up the fabric of your shirt and shifts, her lips brushing against your lower abdomen. You bite back a soft sound of pleasure.

Not now. You have other things to focus on. But god, her hands start massaging your thighs, and her lips feel warm and plush, and the library seems empty enough. Heat pools in your lower belly and you quickly shove her off you.

"No", say, voice strained. "Study. Now."

"You're boring", Natasha mutters, grabbing the book and skimming the pages. "I know all of this. It's easy."

"You got four questions wrong", you counter, glancing at the screen of her phone when it buzzes. Her wallpaper flashes on the screen — a picture of you, only wrapped into silky bedsheets, with kiss marks on your shoulders and your hair a mess. But that's not what catches your attention. It's the message that just popped up.

A girl named Tara.

Natasha lifts her head and peeks at her phone. You snatch it before she can reach for it.

"Who's that?", you prompt.

"A girl from Sports Economics", she says, sitting up. She tries to grab the phone, but you hold it out of her reach. "Babe."

"Why's she texting you at midnight?"

"Not sure", she replies, irritated, and tries to grab it again. Her fingertips brush against the edge of the phone. "I could tell you if you'd let me read the damn text."

"She always texts you this late?", you ask, glancing up at the phone.

A simple message — hey, you awake? :) — but still unexpected enough to annoy you. You squint and try to look at her profile picture.

"Hold on, is that the girl who said hi to you in the cafeteria the other day? The one with the pink eyeshadow?"

"Yeah", she says, her arm dropping in defeat. "Tara. Like I said, I know her from Econ."

"It's midnight", you mutter, bringing the phone back down. Before Natasha can protest, you've used her face to unlock the phone and opened the chat. Natasha rolls her eyes and huffs, so you pinch her bottom lip. "You should tell her to find some new makeup. I thought she was fighting for her life against allergies."

"You're mean."

"Her makeup sucks."

"Doesn't make it any less mean", she argues, resting her head on your lap again. She sighs, eyes closing, and waits for you to finish whatever you're doing. "Still scrolling?"

"It's a long chat", you mutter, thumb swiping over the screen. Luckily, the messages seem innocent enough. At least Natasha's do. "She wants you."

"I'm pretty sure she's straight."

"Nat", you say, putting her phone aside. "Straight girls want you, too."

She looks up, smirking. You flick her forehead.

"Ow!"

You narrow your eyes at her, watching her rub the spot you flicked. "You're enjoying this."

"I am", she says bluntly. "You're going on and on about some girl I really don't care about."

"She cares about you", you argue. "In the past, that seemed to be enough."

Natasha scoffs and sits up, leaning back in her chair. She studies you for a moment, her arms crossed over her chest, then sighs. Her legs stretch out under the table.

"Exactly", she finally says. "In the past. Not now, not last week, but when it didn't matter."

"I feel like some things don't stop mattering."

"Like my love for you", she flirts. You kick her side and she lets out a quiet 'oof'. "What'd I do to deserve that, huh?!"

"You can't flirt your way out of everything, you know!"

"I'm not flirting my way out", she protests, looping her arms around your waist and tugging you closer. You sigh, thighs snugly wrapped around her torso. "I love you. Nothing can change that."

"No?" You give her a skeptical look. She just shakes her head and leans in, pressing a few kisses to your chest.

"No", she mumbles. "I love you. Period. Now stop worrying."

You stare at her as she nuzzles and kisses your chest, slowly moving upwards. Her thoughts are somewhere else already, whereas you're still stuck. Tara, the girls at the bar, the stares Natasha gets all day long. Your worries, fears, and how easily she can dismiss them. How, when you're mad, she manages to worm her way out of just about everything.

Smooth words and soft touches are her specialty. She uses them like a tool, which can be hot, but also incredibly frustrating. You know why it's so easy for her — because she knows you'll stay. You won't leave. She claims that the same thing is true for her, but maybe she'll need to prove that.

The thought creeps in slowly, dangerously. It's nothing more than a small, fleeting idea at first, but the longer you watch her, the more drawn to it you become.

Natasha says she's yours. She says there's nothing to worry about. You'd love to know whether she actually means that.

She loves you, after all. Logically, she'd love a tiny version of you just as much.

"Hey", you mumble, eyes focused on her. She pauses, lips pressed to your jaw. "You seem distracted."

"Can't help it. I'll need a different study-buddy to be able to concentrate on anything but you."

"Oh yeah?" You glance at the clock hanging on the wall across from you. Almost 1am. "It's late, you know. We might as well leave."

She hums against your skin and looks up. "Your dorm's still empty?"

"Mhm", you say before you're able to reconsider this whole plan. "We got the whole room to ourselves."

"Well then", she says, getting up and pecking your lips, "what are we waiting for? Let's go."

The hallway is as empty as the library was. Natasha presses you against the wall, caging you in between a corner and her body, and kisses you. Hands bunch up your shirt, feel heated skin. You wrap your arms around her neck and hum into the kiss.

Her hand dips into the back pocket of your jeans. She fishes out the key to your dorm, then leads you down the hallway. One arm wrapped around your waist, she unlocks the door using her free hand.

Bodies tumble onto the mattress together. Breathy laughter, stripping of clothes, bare skin on bare skin. Natasha turns, opens the drawer of the nightstand next to you to look for condoms, but you tug her on top you again. She doesn't resist and kisses you, lips moving and messing up your makeup.

You feel her nestled inside of you, every vein and throb noticeable. She grabs and angles your thigh for deeper access, her moans mingling with yours. Lipstick marks smudged on her cheek, hickeys on your chest. The bed frame hits the wall with every thrust, muffled thuds filling the air.

Her hand finds your lower belly, pressing down on it. Natasha feels her own outline through the soft skin and groans quietly. Teeth nip at your neck, her hips meeting yours a few more times. Then, the anticipated release and the relief that comes with it.

Warmth pools deep inside of you. It drips down your thighs, staining the bedsheets, but all you manage to do is turn your head and bury your face in her neck. Your fingers brush against your stomach, and the full acceptance of what might happen starts to set in.

. . .

Weeks have passed. Late spring has turned into something resembling an early summer.

A little '+' confirms it.

You're alone when you take it. It's quite early, not even 6am, but you got woken up by someone yelling in the hallway. The test was right next to you, lying on your nightstand like a bad omen, then you finally grabbed it and got up.

Taking it wasn't hard, but checking the result is. You stare at the test in your hand, your brain too tired and sleepy to process everything. Leaning against the wall of your dorm's bathroom, you try to let reality sink in. It doesn't feel real. Not yet, at least.

Knowing it is real helps, though. You put the test aside and exhale, fingers drumming against the tiled wall behind you. Your thoughts are more of a mess than you thought they'd be.

It was a heat-of-the-moment, impulsive decision. It was also incredibly stupid. Yet you're here, eyes glued to the ceiling, and find yourself regretting nothing at all. At this point, not even the thought of her reaction scares you.

She said she loved you. All you're doing is putting that love to the test. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Bullshit. You know you've fucked up.

You meet her after class, as you agreed on earlier that morning. She seems calm, happy, completely oblivious to what secret you're (literally) carrying with you. Hands on your waist, she pecks your lips, then she grabs your backpack and slings it over her shoulder.

It's a warm afternoon, so you head to the mall. You grab a few things you need — new pajamas, some shampoo, a water bottle to replace the one you lost. Natasha tosses a pack of condoms into the shopping cart and you barely stop yourself from reacting too obviously.

On your way out, you pass a store that exclusively sells baby-related items. Strollers, onesies, highchairs. You avert your eyes and stay close to Natasha's side.

Late evening. You're back on Clint's couch, passing around pizza and trying to decide on a movie. Clint complains about Laura's last pick — Juno — which, apparently, most of you didn't like too much.

Natasha pulls your legs over her lap, lightly massaging your shin. She's only in a white tank top that leaves her shoulders and arms on full display. You'd be distracted if you weren't worrying about other things already.

"I wasn't a fan, either", she says, glancing at Clint. "But I did like what it led to."

"Right. I swear to everything that's holy, if you start something like that again-"

"Seriously, calm down." She raises her eyebrows. "Keep ranting like that and poor Laura will think you're going celibate."

He rolls his eyes and slumps into the couch, one hand swatting at her. She laughs and bats him away. When she glances at you, she notices how quiet you are, and nudges you.

"You're unusually non-hyper verbal, baby."

"I'm good", you say, stretching. "Just...bored."

You're not bored. You're far from bored. But you needed an excuse. However, Natasha takes it the wrong way, and a tiny smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah?", she says, running her hand higher. First it touches your knee, then it brushes under the hem of your dress. "Bathroom's empty. Maybe we'll even make it into the bedroom. I heard Mr. Prude over there got a new mattress."

"Romanoff, I will-"

"Shush." She raises her eyebrows at him before leaning closer to you. Her breath fans your cheek, her voice is a raspy murmur. "If you want us to ditch them, just tell me. I'll get us outta here."

"I'm fine", you assure her. "Just get me a beer."

Natasha nods and turns, grabbing a can from the ice bucket they prepared. She cracks it open right as you realize you probably shouldn't drink it.

"Actually", you stammer, "I'm good. None for me. Thank you."

She raises her eyebrows, but doesn't comment on it. Shrugging, she takes a sip.

"Sure", she says. "I can get you a coke?"

"No, thanks." You shake your head and sink into the cushions, trying to keep the heat from your face. It's difficult, though, and it only gets worse when a character in whatever movie you're watching (truthfully, you aren't paying much attention) is revealed to be pregnant.

You rub your neck, throwing glances at Natasha every now and then. She's still oblivious. Then, she catches you staring, and her head tilts in silent question. You pause before getting up and dragging her along.

"What...?"

"Not in my bed!", Clint shouts.

"We're not having sex!", you yell back, slamming the door to his bedroom shut.

"We're not?"

You turn toward Natasha. "No", you say, awkwardly crossing your arms. "We're not."

"Shame", she says, smirking, and pushes her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She studies you for a moment and her smirk softens. "You alright?"

"I'm fine", you lie. "We need to talk, though."

Her smirk disappears entirely. She frowns, her gaze steady and attentive. Alright, you think. You're mine now. Have fun finding out about it.

"Talk?", she says, leaning against the closet. "About what, baby? Did you do something?"

"Uhm..."

"You did?" She grins faintly. "Wow. Didn't expect that to ever happen. How bad is it?"

"It's not funny", you say, plucking at the strap of your dress. "You won't be grinning like that once I tell you."

"Don't underestimate me", she teases, hands slipping out of her pockets to rest on your arms. "Anything can be funny, if you're looking at it the right way."

"Oh yeah?" You pause. "How funny is us being in this for the long haul?"

"Not very funny, honestly. I wouldn't mind, though."

"Mhm." You tilt your head. Your heart beats faster and faster, but at this point, you have to say it. "Good to know."

"It is?" Natasha hums and pulls you closer, her lips brushing against your nose. "Want to make it official, or why's that?"

"I mean, having a baby is pretty official."

The second those words leave your lips, Natasha freezes. First, she just stares at you. Her hands drop to her sides. She takes a step back, then another, her eyebrows furrowed and confusion etched into her face.

The gears in her head start turning. She tries recalling whether you've been using protection, but then her brain fails her, and she exhales sharply. Silence lingers, heavy and uncomfortable, before she finally blurts out.

"We're what?"

"I'm pregnant", you say. "Took a test. It's positive."

"You...I..." She rakes her hand through her hair, her eyes squeezed shut for a moment. Another step backwards, and her back collides with the wall. "We were careful."

"Oh, no." You watch her, growing more worried. "We weren't. Not that night after the library."

Natasha looks at you. Her brain eventually catches up.

"Oh, fuck", she curses. "Fuck. Y/N!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?!"

"Can you calm down?" You tilt your head. "You said you're in it for the long haul, no?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Uhh, guys?"

You whip around. The door is still shut, but Clint is standing behind it.

"What?", you call, irritated.

"Look, no idea what the hell is going on in there, but if you need help..."

"No help. We're fine."

"Are we?", Natasha hisses. You look at her.

"Oh, relax", you say, rolling your eyes. "You'll live."

She lets out a panicked wheeze and scrubs her hand down her face. You're being too calm, too nonchalant, whereas she feels like she's about to have a dozen panic attacks at once. She's not one to let herself get tied down. At least, that's what she always told herself. You may have changed that belief, but old habits die hard.

"I can't have a kid now! I- I have practice, I have games!" Then, as if the thought just hit her: "This is like a teen pregnancy."

"You're in college."

"Same thing!"

"Absolutely not the same thing", you argue, stepping closer. "Look, it won't be easy, but it could be worse. I mean, you love me — now imagine how much you'll love a tinier, cuter version of me."

She shoots you a glare, her breathing still uneven and rapid. "Don't think you can get much tinier."

"Oh, fuck you."

"Absolutely not", she mutters. "Pretty sure that's what got me into this mess."

"You're saying I should've gotten railed by someone else?"

Another glare. This one shuts you up. Natasha turns, looks out the mirror, glances at the striped bedsheets and the painting on the wall. Finally, she looks at you.

"I shouldn't even ask, since you seem perfectly fine", she mutters, crossing her arms. "But what about you? You okay? I mean..."

"I'm fine", you say, more quietly now. She nods and looks away again. You step closer and cup her face, standing on your tiptoes to litter small kisses across her cheeks and forehead. With every touch, her panic softens into mild anxiety. Then, at last, her arms wrap around your waist.

You look at her. Natasha exhales sharply, like she's trying to make peace with it all. She doesn't smile, but her fingertips graze your lower belly.

"If we're doing this", she mumbles stubbornly, "I get to teach them basketball."

"Fine."

"They get a jersey. A tiny one. With my number on it."

You sigh. "Sure."

"Also, no more junk food. The baby eats what you eat."

You scoff, squishing her face. She gives you another halfhearted glare.

"I will end you", you say, squeezing again. She shakes her head and tries to pull away from your grasp. "I mean it! What's life without fries?"

"Depressing", she says, hands sliding to your front and then back to your waist. "But healthier for whatever is growing inside you."

Your expression turns deadpan. "It's a baby."

"Show me an ultrasound first."

"You know what, maybe I did make this up."

..."Excuse me?!"

"I'm kidding!"

"No", she protests. "Now I want to see a doctor's note."

You let out a long exhale and pull her closer, your face against her neck. You press a kiss to her pulse point to keep yourself from slapping her. Sometimes, you wonder whether she's annoying intentionally.

But then, she softens. Her arms wrap around you, muscles enveloping you in safety and warmth, and her lips press kisses to your hair. Her heartbeat against your ear, her scent everywhere around you, you feel yourself melt a little.

"If this is real", she says, shushing you before you can interfere, "I'll do my best, alright? I'm not good at sticking around. I know that. But you have made me stick around, and I'm sure the baby will only make me stick around longer."

"'Longer'", you mumble, voice muffled, "better mean forever in this case."

"I said what I said."

"Romanoff."

She laughs, still shaking a little, and tightens her hold on you. Her nose is buried in your hair.

"We're also finding an apartment", she murmurs. "The dorm's too small. Can't fit a crib in there."

"Obviously."

"And we're not telling the others. Not yet."

You hum, hands sliding under her top and feeling the muscles on her back. Her skin is warm and smooth, making you press closer to her. She groans softly.

"No?", you ask, drawing shapes on her lower back.

"No. Not until I don't feel like passing out just thinking about it."

You laugh, fingertips pressing into her skin. You look up at her and smile. The smile you get in return is a bit strained, but her hands come up to cup your face. You lean in and kiss her.

First, it's soft and slow. Her thumbs brush over your cheeks. A quiet hum comes from her throat.

Then, you're walking backwards. You feel the mattress against your legs. You pull away and raise your eyebrows.

"Now?"

"Cut me some slack. I need to relieve stress."

You huff, but she's got you on your back before you can say anything else. Your hands fumble with her hair, releasing it from the loose bun, and watch the red strands come free. She hums and kisses your shoulder.

Her hand dips under your dress, traveling upwards until her fingers reach your stomach. She touches it, tentatively, before fumbling with your underwear. You let out a sound of approval, head dropping onto the mattress.

"This baby better not change anything", Natasha says, bunching up your dress around your waist.

"Change what?", you ask lazily.

"This. Us." She leans down and kisses your thigh. "You know what I mean."

"I truly don't."

She palms herself through her sweatpants, her eyes shooting you an unimpressed look. "You can't be that dense. Jesus Christ, my child is going to be a moron."

You scoff and flick her shoulder, but there's a faint smirk on your face. This is good. This is safe, familiar. "Can't believe I let you knock me up."

Natasha smiles. For a split second, her fingers twitch against your lower stomach before she focuses on pulling your underwear down. As if on instinct, she reaches for the condom in the pocket of her sweatpants, but then pauses. She glances at you. A look is exchanged, and you both start laughing.

It's slow, this time. Slow and lazy, unhurried. Your earlier 'fight' scared Clint off, so he doesn't even interrupt you. Neither of you is sure what's coming next, but in that moment, it doesn't matter.

. . .

By the way Natasha is staring at the screen, you'd think she's seeing an alien.

Truthfully, it might be one. You're not sure. All you know is that the white blob does not resemble a human in the slightest.

You glance at the ob-gyn, who seems unfazed. She keeps moving the transducer over your gel-slicked stomach, making the image on the screen waver. Finally, she stops and hits a button. The image freezes.

You squint at the screen. A blob. A vaguely human-shaped blob, maybe, but still a blob.

"There's the baby."

You look at Natasha. She raises her eyebrows, seeming helpless. Where?, she mouths.

The doctor is used to this. She doesn't even need to ask you anything to zoom in and point again, but it only helps minimally.

"Oh, yeah", Natasha finally lies. "I see it."

"Yeah", you add, trying to avoid the ob-gyn's eyes. "It's cute."

The woman sees right through you. She smiles faintly and prints the picture for you, then she wipes your stomach down with a few paper towels. "It's fine if you don't see it", she says, throwing the towels away. "Most parents don't. Babies do look a bit deformed in the beginning."

"But it's healthy?", Natasha asks.

"Completely healthy. Don't you worry." She smiles and tugs off her nitrile gloves. "I'll be back in a minute, alright? Feel free to look at the image and play 'Where's Waldo.'"

You hum noncommittally and glance at the ultrasound picture. Still a blob.

Natasha's fingers twitch against her knee and she shifts. All of this is becoming way too real way too soon.

"It's gonna come out looking like a real person, right?", she mumbles, frowning.

"You're kidding."

"Sorry, but it looks like something you'd see under a microscope."

You grab the first thing you find — your cardigan, bunched into a ball — and toss it at her. She catches it and spreads it out over your legs.

"Nice one", she says drily. "Come on, you can't tell me that looks like a baby."

You roll your eyes and glance at the picture again, fingers brushing over the glossy surface. She's right. It doesn't even resemble something supposedly alive, let alone a human being. But it is a human being, according to the doctor, and that's all you need to know.

"Maybe it's taking its time getting cute."

"That'll take a while."

"I hate you."

. . .

Nobody knows. Not yet. But hiding it is getting harder with every day.

Basketballs bounce, shoes squeak, the air smells of sweat and gym air. You watch the ball be thrown in your direction and you catch it, then toss it aside.

It was a flirty text that led you here. You were in bed, drunk on sunlight and half-asleep, when your phone buzzed. The picture you got was one you couldn't complain about — Natasha, in front of a mirror, only wearing boxers (just slightly tugged down to reveal an additional sliver of skin) and a bra. A picture taken in the locker room of the gym, right before practice. It was enough to get you semi-conscious and shoo you out of bed.

Practice is over now, so you walk onto the court. Natasha wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, her hand sneakily moving to your stomach — still pretty flat, but your shirt hides the tiniest of bumps.

"You did good", you say, smiling, and cup her face. The heat is making the ends of her hair curl, and strands of baby hair stick to her sweaty temples. You scrunch your nose, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. "Really good. But that last shot was...meh."

"Criticizing me?" She scoffs and presses her lips to yours. Around you, her teammates talk and grab their stuff before heading to the showers. "A little more support would be appreciated, you know."

"This is me supporting you", you point out, walking her out of the gym. "What else do you want me to do, huh? Cheer? Fetch some water?"

"I wouldn't say no to seeing you in a cheerleading uniform."

You scoff, your hands wrapping around her lower arm as you lead her across campus. Only a handful of students passes you — it's summer, and most people are either visiting their families or vacationing. Not you and Natasha, though. You're spending your free time looking for an apartment.

"You'll have to wait around 6 more months for that." You pause, quickly re-calculating. "I think. My brain isn't working the way it's supposed to."

"Nothing new", she mumbles, shooting you a smirk when you jab your elbow into her side. "Kidding, kidding."

She squeezes your waist and leads you to the campus parking lot. She's still in her jersey, all sweaty from practice, but you have an appointment for an apartment viewing soon. Actually, you've got a whole list of apartments you want to look at. Natasha is taking apartment-hunting very seriously.

Too seriously, you're starting to think. Suddenly, not only the size of the apartment and the neighborhood where it's located are important, but also a bunch of things that are, in your humble opinion, simply not relevant.

"This next one has a basketball court nearby", she says, adjusting your seatbelt for you. "Good for early practice, you know. For the kid."

You raise your eyebrows. "For our fetus?"

"Hey, never too early."

You keep your thoughts on that matter to yourself.

At the apartment, the landlord shows you around. Kitchen, living room, bathroom, two bedrooms. Everything seems to be going fine. Despite still being in a sweaty jersey, Natasha manages to make a good impression. Then, he dares ask about your current family situation. That's when the usually so composed woman starts stuttering.

"Well, engaged. I guess. I mean, not yet, but in a way. Uh...fuck. Y/N?"

You glance at her, frowning. "Engaged? Where's the ring, then?"

Natasha looks at you. The panic in her eyes almost makes you laugh.

"Are you engaged or are you not?", the landlord asks. "It's fine if you aren't. Not that important, really."

"We're not", you say. "One day, though. Or so I hope."

"Yeah, yeah", Natasha says, still stressing. "One day."

A few more apartments you look at are enough to wear you out. You collapse onto the bed in your dorm, face buried in your pillow and one leg hanging over the edge. Natasha sits next to you and squeezes your butt, smiling.

"Hey", you mutter, voice muffled.

"Hey yourself", she teases. Her hand travels lower, tickling the inner part of your thighs. You squirm and she laughs quietly. "Tired?"

"Exhausted."

"Can't blame you for that, baby." She leans in, pressing a kiss to the sliver of skin between your shirt and shorts. "Want me to order dinner?"

You glance at her, eyes lighting up with hope. "Pizza?"

"We said no junk food."

"You said no junk food."

"Think about the baby", she says, tugging at your shorts. "Mhm, you could take these off."

You snort and kick at her blindly. You manage to hit her in the ribs. She lets out a grunt and pinches your butt cheek. You roll over, one cheek reddened from the pillow, and give her a challenging look. "Ouch! Come on, I'm growing your kid. Least you can do is get me a pizza."

Her fingers trail up your spine. Before you know it, she's lying behind you with her front against your back. Pressed together from head to toe, not an inch of space separates you.

She kisses the back of your neck. Her hand rests on your stomach, rubbing gently. "You're right", she mumbles. "You've trapped me. Pizza it is."

The words trapped me make your cheeks go warm. You snuggle into her and ignore the guilt and satisfaction warring inside you. This is something she'll find out about one day. Maybe. But right now, you're too happy in your little bubble to make it pop.

"I want garlic bread, too."

"So demanding." She hums and dips her hand into the front of your shorts. Her bulge presses against your butt. "How hungry are you, exactly?"

You whine softly. With the pregnancy making your body overly sensitive, every little touch sends sparks of want through you. Heat pools in your lower belly and you shift, grinding against her. She hums, her fingers tugging at the waistband of your shorts. White lace is revealed, and she moans.

"Really hungry, actually", you mumble, squirming. "But I'm willing to wait."

"Thank god", she says, peppering your shoulder with kisses. "I was considering jerking off in the bathroom otherwise."

"Gross."

"Love you too."

Natasha somehow manages to place the order. It's difficult, though, especially when you roll over. One leg hooked over her waist, she whines and rocks her hips against yours pathetically. You laugh and then moan, feeling her hard-on nudge all the right spots.

You bury your face in her neck and place kisses until her entire neck is covered in lipstick. Finally, she tosses her phone aside. You both ignore the sound of your roommate's lamp crashing to the ground and instead focus on each other.

. . .

Natasha was never one to get easily distracted by an audience.

Now that there's a tiny viewer in the stands, though, that has changed.

Niko is barely old enough to stay awake for longer than two hours, but that doesn't mean he can't go to his mom's basketball games and watch. One hand wrapped around your finger and earmuffs that look way too big on him, he's undeniably the star of the stands.

You thought he'd be a tiny you. As it turned out, Natasha's genes are a little too stubborn for that. His eyes are still baby-blue, but the redness of his hair is unmistakable. Paired with the matching jersey he's sporting, you feel like you're carrying a much smaller version of her around.

You ignore the looks and the delighted whispers. As always, your focus is on Natasha. That's something that, even now that you have a baby, never changed. It's her game. She's the important one here.

You watch her dribble the ball as she scans the court. Focus unwavering, she dodges a defender and leaves them stunned. With one leap, she soars into the air and lets the ball swish through the net.

Not too long ago, you would've jumped up and cheered. But you don't want to jostle the baby too much, so you settle for clapping awkwardly while holding Niko in one arm.

Natasha turns, eyes glistening, and spots you in the crowd. You take Niko's hand and make him wave at her. Her smile only widens.

Minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Another victory.

Natasha comes rushing to the stands before anyone can even attempt to congratulate her. She helps you over the barricade, then takes off her jersey to hand it to you. The piece of fabric is swapped for the baby, who clings to her like a little koala.

"Did you see that?", she asks, breathless, and pats Niko's back when he starts fussing. "What a shot!"

You nod, laughing, and kiss her cheek. Sweaty as always. And, also as always, you don't find it in you to care.

"I did", you say, putting on her jersey. "Much better than in that first halftime, babe."

"Yeah?" She looks at the baby. He's still fussy, one hand grasping at her shoulder. "What about you, bud? You like it?"

"Didn't even cry once", you say, brushing your fingers over his tuft of hair. "Which is a miracle."

"It definitely is."

You linger by the barricade, talking and smiling, exchanging quick kisses. Natasha's teammates approach you to ask whether you want to go out and celebrate, but you decline. They leave, buzzing with joy, only for a few girls to introduce themselves to Natasha.

This time, all they get is a brief smile. She kisses Niko's cheek and leads you away from the court, away from the crowds, away from the noise.

"Not gonna stay and talk a bit more?", you tease. It's surprising, how much has changed. Her habit to flirt excessively seems to be gone. It's something you're thankful for — having to fight her about that was tiring.

Natasha shakes her head. You walk through a hallway, sneakers squeaking on the floor, and turn a corner. The locker room is empty when you enter it.

"Nah", she says, sitting down on a bench. She gently takes the earmuffs off Niko's head and watches him yawn. "I'd rather get home. He looks tired."

"He is, yeah."

"You're tired, too", she points out. You tilt your head and smile faintly.

"And here I thought I applied enough makeup."

"Don't worry, you're gorgeous. But you also look tired."

No point in denying that. Niko is merely four months old, and he's far from sleeping through the night. In addition, Natasha is unable to get up most nights, since practice and the games are demanding. She tries her best to juggle college, basketball, and an infant.

"Fine", you admit. "He kept me up all night. But I'm okay, I swear."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I'd look more put together, but you try applying lipstick while holding a squirming baby."

Natasha laughs and reaches up to take your hand. You're on her lap before you know it, nestled against Niko. She kisses your shoulder.

"You look put together", she assures you. "Tired, but put together."

You smile and lean into her. Her arm is strong around your waist, biceps swollen and veins popping, and you turn your head to kiss her cheek.

"All for you", you mumble. Then, you tap Niko's nose. "This' all for you, too."

"Oh, I know." Natasha nuzzles her face against your shoulder. "Lucky me. Lucky you. We're all lucky."

Lucky you, indeed.

[lologoinsolo]

Added after this one, Part 3

Cats and Their Men Masterlist

You stammer at the man as he holds what looks to be a calico. His face looks worse for wear despite how handsome he is. Cut lip and cheek that look as though maybe the cause is from the one wiggling in his hands. “Sir, the uh,” you look down at your phone for the time. “The stores about to close.” You look from him to the kitten and then back to him.

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m sorry. Really, I am but I’ve no idea what I’m doing.” He rubs at the baby’s head and she nips right at his finger. He groans, “why are you so mean? You were all cuddly in my lap and now you’re being hissy.”

You laugh a little at his lament and rub your own face. “Alright,” you can’t very well leave him like this. You’re sure the kitten would be more than happy to chew on something better than the man’s finger. “Come on,” you motion for him to follow. You don’t bother to page for someone to cover the front. The store’s about to close in 2 minutes anyways. “I’ll get you started, sir.”

“Kyle,” he grins when you quirk a brow, “just Kyle, none of that ‘sir’ business or else I’ll feel far older than I actually am.” He rests his kitten against his chest when she starts wiggling even more. “Curious little bugger, found her shivering at my front door.” There’s a glint in his eye as he retells his findings, “she didn’t even notice me grabbing her till I picked her up and look what she did to my face.” He says with dramatic flare when he holds her up to his eye view. The kitten merely blinks at him and her paws prod his nose.

You pull a cart since you have a feeling he’ll need a lot of things. He doesn’t give off ‘I already have a cat’ energy. “Serves you right for spooking her.” You joke about his woes when he gives you a playful glare.

“You’re only siding with her because she didn’t mark up your pretty face.”

You cough at that and push the cart more quickly down the aisle. You can handle getting yelled and cussed at but god forbid a handsome man says you’re pretty. “So,” you manage to say when he gives you a dazzling smile. He caught up quickly to your step and looks neither winded or strained. Why are all the tall men getting kittens? You inwardly roll your eyes, “you said a friend told you to find me?”

His brow raises slightly and he maneuvers his kitten to be more in his arms. “Yeah,” he simply says, “says you know a thing or two about cats.”

“Did he..” you look a bit hopeful, “did he say if he’d come back to the store.” Picking up some cat toys and placing some cute orange cat shaped bowls in the cart. “He uh, he left in a hurry last I saw.” You give a quick reasoning so as not to feel as desperate as you sound. You still feel the phantom touch of his hand. You never got his name…

“Can’t really tell,” he shrugs and he plucks some crinkle toys and tosses them in the cart. He doesn’t seem to care about pricing either. “Man’s unreadable unless you tell him a stupid joke.” There’s a short chuckle and flash of a memory that goes through his eyes.

You deflate a little, it wouldn’t make sense to feel like this. You don’t know mafia guy anyways. “Ah, well. If you see him, tell him he needs to take his cat to the vet.” Kyle nods and he perks up when he sees the cat clothing.

“When you get older, rug, I’m gonna buy you one of these.” He points to a cut pirate costume as if the kitten understands him. “You’ll hate me for it but at least I can get a picture out of it, yeah?”

You smile at his enthusiasm, from what you seem cats have never been a fan of clothing… but then again the clothing here doesn’t look— “wait,” you jerk your head to him, “rug? As in,” you gesture to the kitten that’s starting to meow when he pulls her back down from his shoulders. She must’ve climbed up there when he was looking through the clothes. “The cat?” You blink once then twice when he shrugs once more.

“Not really a naming guy, plus,” he rubs along her ears, “she was shivering on my rug. Figured I’d just say that and be done with it.”

Better than garbage, you think. “Well…” biting on your lip, “that’s unique.” Trying to save face, you don’t want to be too judgmental.

He gives you a look and then snickers, “I’m just kidding, love.” He comes close and you freeze slightly till he plops his kitten down in your hands. “About the rug name at least. I really am shit with names. Johnny’s better at naming animals.” Placing his hand on his hip and you wonder if that’s mafia guy but then you think maybe not. “If you got an idea then I’m all ears.” He turns on his side and he rubs his chin in thought. He mutters something and then walks off to the litter aisle.

You hold her in your hands. “A name, huh?” Bailey was the only name you could think of but that one’s been taken already… “hm,” you rub her nose to the top of her head. She seems to enjoy that as she curls into your fingers. “Pretty girl, what should your name be?” Humming softly in thought and leaning against the cart when Kyle comes back with a tub of litter and a nice looking litter box. You hadn’t expected to see the nice flex of muscle from his arms but you’re certainly not gonna complain about the view. “I got a secret to share, Kyle.” You say as he comes within earshot

“Oh, yeah?” He smiles and places the litter box in the cart first and then the tub. “What’s that? Promise I won’t tell a soul.” He makes an X over his chest.

“I’m shit with names too.”

His shoulders jump and he lets out a laugh. “Really?” Rolling his eyes, “guess we’re both in a pickle. Might have to stick with rug for now.” He rubs a thumb over his kitten's little head. She nips a little at his finger but he doesn’t seem to mind. He pats the top of her head like one would a dog.

“I think she hates that idea.”

“Very opinionated this one,” he takes over the pushing of the cart and you lead him down to the cat food aisle. You check her teeth and you are pleasantly happy that she won’t need formula. “Now,” he turns side to side to check the kinds of food the store sells. “What does my girl need?”

You give him a thorough answer after having learned your lesson with your mystery man. Explaining what he should and shouldn’t do and placing a weeks worth of 3 different foods. You then also speak about how he’ll need to see a vet. You checked her for fleas and you are incredibly happy to tell him that she only had one but that it’s still good for him to get some flea drops. After you give him the runaround once more around the store, checking for items you know she won’t need but she absolutely needs a carrot cat scratcher. You finally take him to your register so he can pay. Your manager looks none too happy about a remaining customer but your manager has nothing to remark when Kyle looks right at him.

“Okay,” you finally say after bagging all his items and placing them in the cart. “Here’s your receipt,” you pass it to him and you give a little pet to his kitten. “Sweet girl when she wants to be.” He chuckles around you and pockets his receipt.

“Only when she wants to, that’s for sure.” He lets out a low whistle, “cost me a high bill but only the best for her.” He tucks her a little closer and gives you a kind look. “Thanks for staying late for me,” he looks like he wants to say more but hesitates. “I’ll see you around?”

You blink and then nod quickly, “I’m always here, Kyle. Gotta make money,” you laugh shortly and his lips pull back so that you can see just a peep of his pearly whites. He takes his leave, chugging along his cart to place it in his car. He mouths something to his kitten when she tries to get out of his hands. Probably a scolding with how he tuts a finger side to side in front of her face. She’s hearing none of it though from how her tail flicks back and forth. You wave him goodbye and he waves back right at you before he steps in to drive away. You hope he’ll come back to tell you her name once he’s figured it out. You wonder if mafia guy will come back too…

[bombshellsandbluebells]

(didn't even get to the part where Ford comes in, but I loved the idea of a sentient Mystery Shack that grows to love Stan - mostly because Stan ends up treating the place more like a home than Ford ever did and goes through all those years alone with him and wrote a drabble)

At some point, Stan realizes he should clean the house. The epiphany comes around the same time he realizes he should also take care of himself—eat, probably, since he can't recall when he last did that. Shower now that he has access to one—even though the thought of using Ford's shower because the man himself can't makes his skin crawl so much he wants to peel it off.

He'll start with the house, then. It feels less like stealing a space that shouldn't be his if he convinces himself it's for Ford's sake—tidying the books and washing out the mugs growing their own ecosystems as some kind of apology. 

As soon as he starts cleaning, though, the mess seems endless. He wonders again at the state his brother had been in—at the barbed wire and panic, at the blood stains in the bathroom—and he wonders if the fear had come from Ford knowing what was beyond the portal, if he'd known the nightmare Stan was dooming him to, if he was even still—

He loses a few hours cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing everything from the floors to the inside of the fridge, but that's a few hours not spent tearing his hair out over the portal, and it feels nice to succeed at something for once. Even the house seems to breathe a little easier in the space he clears—though he can't really explain what he means by that. 

It's just a building, obviously, but it seems…happier. Like it's proud of the changes he made. Whatever, grief is weird, he knows that—their Ma had hit denial so badly after their Bubbe passed it took a full two months for her to even admit she'd died. If he feels better because he tells himself Ford's house is happy he cleaned it up, who cares.

 At least it will help him get out of bed tomorrow. 

-------

About two months in, Stan realizes there are probably bills of some sort he's ignoring. He's never owned a place of his own, but he remembers the whole song and dance with his parents, pouring over electricity and water bills at the kitchen table and debating which ones would be easier to argue—arguing with each other about who had dropped the ball on making enough sales that month.

Considering his new business is based out of the house, he can't risk losing power, which leaves him hunting around Ford's stuff for old utility bills—with no luck. His brother is probably the least organized person he knows, and it looks like that hasn't changed much. Somehow the man can keep up a meticulous system for his bookcase that doesn't make sense to anyone else but can't keep important documents in a folder somewhere. Hell, Stan would take a messy drawer.

He practically tears the house apart but can't find anything, getting increasingly pissed with every upturned cabinet—pissed at Ford for not taking better care of his house, pissed that he's not even here to deal with this, pissed that Stan's now actively seeking out bills to pay like some kind of lunatic. By the time he finally finds a number for Gravity Falls' one electricity company in the yellow pages, he's mad enough to curse out the employee on the other end when he informs him they have no record of an account for Stanford Pines.

"Then how the hell do I have power?!" he yells before realizing it's probably in his best interest to not reveal the fact that Ford has somehow slipped through the cracks and ended up with free power this whole time.

When the guy tries to talk Stan into setting up a new account, he quickly hangs up. 

So it's a mistake, probably—one actually working out in Stan's favor. Or Ford set up a generator somewhere he's yet to find. Either way, he just has to hope whatever's keeping the lights on doesn't decide to crap out on him soon; he could use the extra money he'd waste on bills right now. The Hut isn't that successful.

"Please," he says weakly, not quite sure who or what he's talking to. The concept of electricity itself, maybe. "Just—don't go out."

Maybe it's just his imagination, but the light above him seems to burn a little brighter in response.

Whatever. Grief works in weird ways.

–

It becomes harder to shake it off as just grief. 

Sometimes when the endless slog of the portal is getting to him, the lights burn brighter. Despite never paying a gas bill of any kind, the house stays warm around him. He never seems to lose anything, either—no matter how many times he misplaces something, it turns up right when he needs it. Sometimes it's not even something he's looking for: painkillers on the kitchen table after he smashes his fingers, Around the World in Eighty Days sitting innocently on his bed just when he starts thinking he needs to take his mind off of things for a bit. Once, he mentions missing the ocean out loud and turns the corner to see a painting of just that where he knows it wasn't before.

Terrifyingly, the first thing he thinks of are ghosts. Maybe Ford hadn't even made it to whatever lay on the other side of that portal. Maybe he'd just stuck around where Stan couldn't see him anymore.

He dares to ask one night, sitting in the kitchen where he'd first felt the feeling of not being alone, almost too scared to get an answer. The room ripples around him in reply. The light above him flickers. Stan watches it, trying to swallow down the sudden dryness in his mouth.

"Blink once for yes, twice for no," he says.

No, the house flickers.

He drops his head into his arms and just breathes. Squeezes his eyes shut so they stop feeling so wet. "Okay," he says. "Not the weirdest thing I've seen, I guess."

The way the light flares feels almost like a laugh.

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[dreamerimpossible]

Ive been obbsesively reading all your Tokyo Revengers works and I REALLY love how accurate they are!! Ive got maybe a strange request, just a bit fluff bit imagine afab reader who loves to sleep topless and let them free, can you rate how much (Souya + Kazutora and whoever else you like) they enjoy it on a scale? :33

His reaction when you sleep topless

Thanks for your request! Unfortunately, I don't write for Souya. I hope you like it, anyway!

Warnings: +18 content

Characters: Mikey, Kazutora, Sanzu, Izana, Ran Haitani, Rindou Haitani, Kisaki, Hanma

Mikey

6/10

At first, he would be a constant distraction and temptation. So, he wouldn't be able to control himself at first, and that would lead to a lot of sexual situations between the two of you, even if he's tired. However, the more time passes and the busier and more tired he is in general, I highly doubt he'll be able to physically show you his enjoyment. Which doesn't mean he doesn't like you, just that he's just not in the mood. If he's too tempted, he'll make you ride him.

Kazutora

10/10

He likes you too much. He's obsessed with you. He'll take it as an invitation every time, so you have to tell him expressly if you're not in the mood. Actually, if you like to let yourself go, he's the perfect guy for you. But that makes him think he has access to you all the time, so it can be good or bad depending on your preference. It doesn't take long for him to touch you and say lewd things in your ear. He doesn't mind being sleepy or tired. Seriously, he doesn't mind. He's passionate and obsessive; he won't miss a chance to have you.

Sanzu

9/10

He behaves well every time you sleep together. He doesn't get the full score because I don't think he always sleeps with you; there are times when he's busy doing something illegal for fun or working on something even more illegal. So when he is with you, he is always willing to provoke you and let himself go with you. Most of the time he'll get high on your tits or some shit like that. Better for him if you're always there for him.

Izana

5/10

I'd like to give it a higher number, but it's really 50/50. He likes it; he really does. You easily make him lose control, but for that same reason, he hates it at the same time. There are times when he just doesn't want to or can't physically take you properly. So he deeply hates the feeling of lack of control you seem to give his body. I feel, too, that he likes being in control of everything too much, and the fact that you can disarm him like that doesn't make him feel so happy.

Ran Haitani

8/10

You distract him from his sleeping hours. But he likes it, since he can see how much you fall apart with his teasing. I think he has a high libido, so it's very easy to tease him. He focuses a lot on your tits until they're sensitive enough to hurt. He's shameless, so he won't care if you both make too much noise in the night. Honestly, poor neighbours.

Rindou Haitani

8/10

It's a pain when he genuinely wants to sleep. But he just ignores it and focuses on you. It usually ends in an uncontrolled quickie that easily escalates. He'll be much more passionate if he hasn't given you any attention in other aspects of the relationship. He tries to please you as much as he can, so physically showing you that he wants you more than anyone else is a good way to remind you that he's yours.

Kisaki

4/10

He hardly sleeps with you. He's always working or doing something related when you're sleeping. He would like it better if he slept with you all the time. But that's not the case. He sleeps with you from time to time, in case he doesn't have a meeting that day, and even in that situation, he is a reserved person; you will have to show him that you want something more or to pay attention to you in that sense. If you tell him, he'll do it. But if not, he has to be in a certain mood to provoke you.

Hanma

10/10

Even better if you provoke him yourself. He likes it quite a bit, but that situation will make him degrade you much more sexually, which is good if you're into that stuff. He will always take it as an invitation, and if you don't want to, he will be very confused. In case you do want him to, it doesn't take long for him to get sloppy. The only one who could make a show of fucking you in the window or something. Good luck.

[moonzzip]

coffee and nail polish | kwon jiyong

a/n — i wanted something fluff with jiyong, less angst for you guys, I hope you like it! feel free to correct grammar mistakes kindly!

summary: you and jiyong haven't seen each other in weeks, you two relax

pairing: jiyong x gn!reader

warnings: discreet mention of body shape, orange hair jiyong (i love it) , idol!(?)reader, mentioned bigbang, reader is kind of self-critical, slight comfort, fluff, slight crack

lowercase letters, word count: 1,4k

"jiyong, if you keep moving, i'm going to hit you." you say, biting your tongue in concentration, holding the tip of jiyong's finger with the tips of your own, while your other hand grips one of the brushes from the eight nail polishes you'd be using to paint his nails. he's sitting in a small armchair, and you're on the floor.

how did you two end up in this situation?

it had been about three and a half weeks since you last saw each other in person. bigbang had just made their latest comeback, and the promotions for it were much more intense compared to before—not that it was a bad thing, just overwhelmingly exhausting. the m/v had absolutely blown up, and you would consider it your favorite song of theirs if it weren’t for (your bigbang fav/ song), but that’s not important right now.

it wasn't just him who had been busy. you were tirelessly working toward your own debut, spending countless hours perfecting your dance, vocals, rap, and all the other things idols do as trainees. god, if only you had known how long m/v recordings took, you might have thought twice before becoming an idol. but seeing the final result made the exhaustion disappear almost instantly.

the fact that you both missed each other was undeniable.

you’ve known jiyong for a little over five years now. the difference between before and now is obvious—not just in his appearance, but in his personality as well. you remember that 2010 boy whose style was completely different, whose voice and personality had made a full 360-degree turn. his opinions changed, and he seems much more relaxed, much freer than when you first met him. especially now that he's focused on his new project, 'peaceminusone'—if you’re remembering it correctly.

you support him in everything he does, just as he supported you through your difficult trainee days—because he went through it too.

out of all the hair colors he’s had, this orange one is by far your favorite. you think about making a cute leaf-shaped hair clip for him so he can look like an actual tangerine.you chuckle at the thought.

"hey, what's so funny?" jiyong asks, looking at you.

"nothing, just thought of something funny," you reply. he gives you a slow once-over, his gaze filled with silent judgment.

"you're weird.", you pinch the top of his hand, nearly smudging the polish.

"i'm weird, but you're my friend, so you'll have to put up with me for a while longer. i'm not giving up that easily." you say confidently, met with silence. jiyong doesn’t deny it, just lets out a sarcastic scoff.

"i'll think twice before talking to weird trainees—" you pinch him again for moving, and he falls silent.

the atmosphere between you two is relaxed and calm. talking makes it even better, but the silence is just as comforting. neither of you feels the need to fill the space with constant conversation—it's just cozy.

"are you nervous? you know, about debuting?"

hearing his voice, you glance up at him before returning to painting his nails.

"a little… but i'm working on it." you exhale lightly, and jiyong watches you in silence.

"i want to give my best in this. i feel like there are expectations i need to surpass—i need to surpass myself, in general. i feel like i have to improve, i know i have to improve. not just for me, but for the group."

without realizing it, you release his hand.

even before meeting jiyong, you had always been an incredibly dedicated trainee (and you still are). you'd wake up before the practice room even opened, stretching in the hallway until they let you in. you followed a balanced diet—not starving yourself, just keeping yourself healthy. you always helped other trainees with their struggles, answering questions and giving advice based on what you had learned. you always had new tips to share because of your nightly study sessions, though you never stayed up too late. always punctual.

how did you meet him?

well... that’s a bit embarrassing.

on one of those late-night study sessions, you knew you shouldn’t have stayed up so long, but you felt like you were on an unstoppable roll, so you pushed through. but not before grabbing a coffee.

you silently left the dorm, careful not to wake anyone, and opened the door, planning to head to the vending machine at the end of the hallway near the practice room. one coffee wouldn’t hurt, right? …ah, such naivety.

it was dark everywhere except for a dim light coming from inside the practice room. you managed to navigate the hallway thanks to that weak glow slipping through the slightly ajar door.

since the door was old, it usually got stuck. you leaned against the wall and carefully made your way to it, leaning your body on it to continue on your way, but what you didn’t count on was the door deciding to function normally that night.

and on top of that, you tripped on a loose tile, throwing all your weight onto the door, and—

now—

you hit the floor with a loud thud, like a sack of potatoes.

you didn’t even think. your whole body ached, but you didn’t make a sound. your forehead hit the wooden floor, leaving you a bit dizzy but still conscious. and then you made a split-second decision: you'd just… pretend to be unconscious.

no one would bother you, you wouldn’t have to see who witnessed your humiliating fall, and that would spare you from any embarrassment. the position was even kind of comfortable, so it wouldn't be hard to keep up the act, and—

"i saw your foot move."

internally, you died. of shame, obviously.

oh. my. god.

you felt like the stupidest person alive.who, in their right mind, falls and then just stays on the floor pretending to pass out? you wanted to disappear, to die, to evaporate into thin air and be carried away by a nearby fan.

enough thinking.

"ahh…" you groaned, slowly getting on your knees, staring at the floor. "i think i blacked out for a second, hahaha."

you let out an awkward, robotic laugh, placing a hand on your forehead before looking up—and seeing him.

your eyes widened, not just because g-dragon, bigbang's leader, was standing in front of you, but because you were wearing the worst pair of pajamas in your closet.

why did you even come down in pajamas? you had no idea. but that was all your brain could focus on. your hand slid from your forehead to cover your eyes instead.

the universe hated you, you concluded.

the man just stared at you, confused, while his practice music still played softly in the background.

you shook your head, snapping out of your old memories.

you looked down at jiyong’s hand, but before you could grab his finger again, you felt a hand gently stroking your hair.

"i don’t think you should worry," his voice was calm.

your eyes lifted to meet his in silence.

"i don’t think there’s anyone i know who deserves to debut more than you. you’ve always worked hard, and you deserve this more than anyone. so don’t doubt yourself."

you just stared at him for a moment before letting out a soft, amused scoff.

"i guess so…"

and then, silence settled again. but jiyong's hand remained in your hair.

his chest ached hearing you speak about yourself like that. he didn’t fully understand the feeling, but he knew none of your efforts had been in vain. only he truly knew how much you pushed yourself.

just as you knew everything about him, he knew everything about you.

your bond had always been close—full of unconditional support and deep connection. hugs were common, physical touch between you two was natural. he loved hugging you and being hugged by you, just as you loved his hugs and giving him yours. you were always helping each other, always doing little favors, sharing an incomprehensible partnership filled with warmth and affection.

"jiyong, if your nail polish smudges because you're messing with my hair, i will kill you."

he said nothing, just rolled his eyes—but didn’t move his hand.and he smiled.

he had never been more grateful for an unbought coffee that night.

a/n – thanks for reading! I hope you liked it, I think all the ideas I have come from beyond... this time I wrote it listening to 'interlude : shadow' by yoongi, I love this song so much... feel free to correct me of any grammatical mistakes!

[seaborgium-dazies]

the cut that always bleeds

how mha characters' unrequited feelings would manifest and how they would cope with them

gn!reader, angst, unrequited feelings because they convinced themselves you don't like them

🌊: deku, bakugo, shoto, iida, denki

deku:

His pain manifests as a pit in his chest that routinely gets bigger and heavier. He cannot look at you without feeling this pain dragging him down. And yet he wouldn't even try to deal with it. He already convinced himself that you would never, in a million years, like him back so he tries to ignore his bleeding heart. Using forced smiles and fake positivity as a crutch; anything to keep his guard up. Still he cries at night :(. He listens to sad love songs for hours and gets up the next morning with the same fake smile as the day before :(.

bakugo:

His unrequited feelings for you ignite a neverending fire in his chest. Whenever, wherever, he feels this intense anger in his chest. His method of dealing is distance. As soon as he sees you he's super pissed and even though he takes every chance to openly and safely fight you (sparring, tournaments etc) it's never enough to completely alleviate his burning pain. When you actually start fighting or even when you have small disagreements in class his anger bubbles over and due to his sharp tongue he ends up saying harsh things that he regrets. So he figured that avoiding you as best as he could was the way to go.

Shoto:

He's pretty unaware of his feelings and his pain manifests on the low. He's not really outspoken about his feelings so no one helps him connect the dots on why he's feeling so down. His unrequited feelings just drape his day to day life in a soft blue hue. Everything seems a little more hopeless and useless than before. He notices one thing though. Whenever he sees you his feelings of sadness get more intense. He figures that it's because he just cannot understand you. He observes you a lot and just cannot wrap his head around how someone can be so beautiful, so cheerful and so upbeat in such a shit world.

iida:

The pain presents as a constant feeling of being on edge. And in response he tries to rationalise. He pushes his annoyance to the side and acknowledges that he just feels on edge because of the rise in anti hero sentiments lately and he's just feeling a bit under the weather and he just hasn't been sleeping well lately and his schedule is overwhelming and and and. Once the though of him liking you comes up he tries to rationalise that too. He doesn't really like you it's just the hormones. And even so you guys could never work out because his upbringing was so different from yours / your personalities are so different / you have different visions of the future / etc.

denki:

Denkis pain manifests as amplified insecurities and he tries to joke his way out of it. He cracks self deprecating jokes from dawn till dusk and from dusk till dawn. He is constantly the butt of the joke and he cannot stop himself from making 'you'd never go for such an ugly worthless guy like me. You deserve someone better' type comments. He routinely calls himself stupid, ugly, worthless and whatnot and whenever you correct him he cringes deeply because he realizes what type of position he put you in.

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025

[calliecopper]

Honestly, I think Connor might have been a deviant from the beginning.

Cause why would Connor be able to actively break the law by picking up a gun or entering an android-free zone (both of which Kara is only able to do after deviation) unless he was not held to the same rigid programming as his counterparts? Why is he able to defy orders (both by Hank, whom he is NOT technically obligated to listen to, and by Amanda, whom he IS obligated to listen to) and make decisions at his leisure depending on his personal priorities, which may put his mission at risk? Why is he able to make decisions for himself in a way that Markus and Kara are not able to, or are far more uncomfortable doing? Why does he show vanity?

I believe that all androids feel to the same capacity no matter if they have broken free of their programming or not. A non-deviant android is equally alive as a deviant android - something the Kamski test seems to touch on. But deviant androids are undeniably capable of expressing their emotions more freely, and in the case of human-facing androids like Markus and Kara, more genuinely.

Connor, from the very beginning and throughout his story, shows a level of autonomy not found in other non-deviant androids. For an android to be capable of what Connor is, he would NEED to be, quite literally, built different.

Why would Amanda be there to monitor an android that should, by all means, monitored by his own code? Why would Amanda track the emotional state of Connor and ask him about his thought process if he was incapable of expressing emotion or making his own decisions? Why is Amanda there as a failsafe if Connor were to realize his personhood?

I don't believe it when Amanda says that Connor was created to deviate so that he can act as a sleeper agent within the rebellion. But I think he was perhaps created as a deviant so that he wouldn't be held back by the barriers in his own coding, and so that he could be utilized as Cyberlife saw fit without having to deal with the red tape.

They already have cop and military androids. Connor is more than that. He was built for purposes that an android confined by the red wall would not be capable of.

So, yeah... Connor is a vain little shit because he's actually given enough (circumstantial) freedom to express his emotions.

(There's also something to be said about Connor literally being built to look like a friendly non-threatening guy, so perhaps regardless of deviancy or non-deviancy he would be more aware of his appearance in order to "better facilitate [his] integration.")

I'm replaying the game and there's such a neat little detail I haven't noticed before - all three characters have a chance to look into mirror in their introductory chapters - prior deviancy.

Kara and Markus don't react.

But!

Connor does.

Vain little motherfucker (affectionate).

[rainbowpiss34]

MELVIN AND ERICA ARE MORE SIMILAR THEN THEY SEEM GUYS PLEASEEE

alright look. ik the show tries to make it seem like melvin is the stuck up lonely nerd and erica is the aloof cool guy, but i feel like they have so much in common that it feels kinda weird that the show continually tries to get us to hate melvin but like erica; even though they have so many similar flaws

first, lets talk about the most obvious common traits between them

for one, they both antagonise george and harold multiple times, melvin obviously more times then erica. erica is meant to be their "wise older sister figure", while melvin is supposed to be "the kid that thinks he's wise but is actually stupid".

but honestly, it doesnt really make sense to me why george is "friends" with erica in the first place.

george is known for disliking people who are stuck up, self absorbed, overconfident, and who think they know everything. but honestly, erica does fit these traits if we look at it from his perspective.

for one, in the comic that george and harold made to slander her, they mention how erica has told them in the past that "tomatoes are actually a fruit". not only does this imply that erica has told them these types of facts that can lead to pointless arguments before, this implies that they see erica having the attitude of a know-it-all (esp because the narrator literally says that lol).

the implication of her "sucking the joy out of everything", saying the types of comment of "you're so wrong", "you eat too much cheese", are very similar to the things that melvin says too. even the choice word of the word "actually" is a very stereotypical word that "nerds" use when they correct people on stuff that no one cares about.

logically here, you would think that the show would point out how technically similar melvin and erica are in this regard, yet its never really brought up?

when erica says something, with her always believing she's right, (like when she didn't believe captain underpants could fight crime without her, or when she didn't believes in vimpires, or the hundred other times) she's never supposed to be seen as annoying. yet when melvin says something in a similar attitude it's seen as stuck up.

and even when she does get called out for saying something only to be proved wrong later, she never has an overly emotional reaction like melvin does. she's always cool, self assured, and when she makes a mistake it is barely touched on or the show moves on really quickly. but when melvin makes a mistake its rubbed in our faces, to remind us how dislikeable he is.

the double standard between melvin and erica always sticks out to me whenever i watch the show... it always feels so weird to me. why is erica allowed to be cool and confident but melvin always has to be the butt of the joke, always has to be a little too nervous, a little too wierd?

like when melvin tattletales (and while tattletaling is annoying, george and harold honestly deserved it) and they made an entire comic slandering him, he gets upset but we as the audience are expected to laugh at him. however, when erica points out a valid critique in their comic and they make a whole comic slandering her, suddenly everyone at school cares and we as the audience are supposed to see it as something bad and in bad faith.

apparently erica is so smart that melvin has a crush on her because of her "beautiful big brain", but how much bigger can her brain be atp????

melvin has created multiple time machines, has created things the world isn't even ready for, is so intelligent he gets perfect grades in everything, and shouldn't even be in school atp. yet erica is NOT supposed to be a braniac, she actually seems like a normal person, and we're supposed to believe that she's so smart that HE would be impressed ?? THE melvin????? the one that thinks he's better than everyone ???????

if we got a scene where erica does something super cool and he falls head over heels this would be easily solved, the fact that we get into the show and we don't even know WHY he likes her makes their dynamic all the more confusing

i wish the show would be more clear on exactly how smart she is because its so infuriating >?? okay so she is apparently VERY smart, so smart in fact that she can be equals with MELVIN, yet we never see her mention studying and we never see her getting good grades and we never see proof of that. she's apparently a prank master, even better than GEORGE AND HAROLD themselves, but where is the proof of that too? is her idea of a prank to trick two of her classmates into getting suspended ?? because that doesnt really sound like a "prank" anymore, that just sounds straight up mean.

A huge reason why many people hate erica is also because of her "know-it-all" attitude, similar to why people may hate melvin, but atleast with melvin, the narrative points it out and picks fun at him all the time. erica is never supposed to be seen in a negative light in a substantial way, we never see her develop as a character, never have flaws that are treated like flaws. she just hides in the shadows and somehow knows stuff that is literally inhumanely impossible to know and can be sooo infuriating

also like??? the way they were the only ones not affected by the spaceship taking off theyre so corny i hate these damn kids 😤 /JOKE

and keep in mind, i havent even MENTIONED their future selves because thats a whole thing in itself

BOTH OF THEIR FUTURE SELVES WENT BACK IN TIME DUDE. and theyre also the ONLY future characters we see. melvin is the only one we know who can make time machines, so did grace and melvinborg go together in an invention he made himself? what is their relationship in the future because it seems so confusing, apparently melvinborg didn't know that grace was erica or did he i forgot??? i wish the show explored this and explained this better because it was so all over the place.

okay essentially, melvinborg wanted to go back in time to kill george and harold and to have his past self go to elitani so that he wouldn't end up the miserable cyborg he ended up as. i think? i'm ngl i haven't rewatched the show in a hot minute, because then someone else told me that no, he went back in time TO secure the future that he already has, so is melvinborg in an infinite loop of always having to go back in time to put himself in elitani ? also apparently melvinborg says "now we leave george and harold here, like i did!!!" did HE have his OWN melvinborg who also did the whole shabang and for some reason this specific melvin decided "fuck it" and decided not to kill his rivals ??????

time travel plots are always so fucking confusing dear god

and apparently, grace went back in time TO prevent melvinborg from murdering george and harold. but this was so stupid to me ngl, because girl, you are the PRESIDENT OF THE EARTH. you CREATED WORLD PEACE SOMEHOW. like don't you have other priorties other than george and harold and this stupid murderous cyborg>?? and i know for a fact that grace/erica cannot make time machines, did she use one that she could've possibly stolen from melvinborg??????? god this is so convulted

also I DONT CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS but i fully believe that grace wain DIED. okay. if melvinborg had to die when melvin changed his future grace has to die too IDC ALRIGHT.

ughhhhhh i just hate how erica just KNOWS EVERYTHING ALL THE TIME i hate how the show just treats melvin and erica as very convenient writing devices and nothing more JUST KILL ME NOW

ive spent wayy too long talking about this and its funny because i started this on November last year so this has been on my mind for like WAYYG tooo long

lets make a bullet list because im falling off the deep end rn

Why they're similar:

they're both "know-it-alls", overconfident, cocky and self assured. often stubborn, once they land on an opinion it can be hard to get them to think of other opinions or perspectives

while george and harold tend to be more cheerful and upbeat, theyre the more "sarcastic" and deadpan ones

so smart that its ridiculous (for melvin its in terms of invention making, for erica its how she somehow knows everything all of the time for no reason)

both seem "more mature" than other kids their age. (its also interesting to note how they both have adult voice actors while george and harold have child ones, so scenes with the four of them sometimes sound a bit weird to me because melvin and erica not only ACT like theyre more mature but they also sound like it too) (i know the other side characters also have adult voice actors but idc alright)

also about the "more mature" part, they tend to team up with other adults for some reason ...... like when melvin teams up with krupp or other adult villains, it parallels when erica teams up with toilette ree or moxxie swaggerman. almost like theyre "so mature" that they dont fit in aswell with their own classmates who tend to be more childish or stupid

theyre lowkey obsessed with george and harold like they wanna be a part of the adventure SO BADDD!!! the FIRST CHANCE erica saw she took it and got harold to make a comic with her SHE WAS WAITINGGGG. and dont even get me started on melvin he went full simp behavior and made an entire robot for george in like seconds because he asked and proceeded to make up their ship name in the same episode like CALM DOWNNNN. also erica wanted them to make a comic about her so bad dude.... mf made an entire self insert superhero oc and made herself super cool and badass (and i definitely think melvin would've done the exact same thing with a superhero self insert oc) and i love that for her honestly

(oh and ofcourse they made harold happy with erica but george be annoyed by melvin the entire time... do you guys see a pattern)

theyre both amazing at singing, dancing, writing AND drawing. like this is insane to me you can't be good at everything guys why are they good at everything wtf 😭 okay i dont know if erica is good at drawing specifically because she never does that in the show but from past experience with the show i can assume that she's probably amazing at that too. (but her being horrendous at drawing could be a funny headcanon lol)

i might reblog and add more if i feel like it but i feel this has already gone too long LMAO

[ordinary-barbie]

i would give you the moon.

Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

tags: fem!reader, lots of sap, rafe and reader are in their 20s, pet names ("babe," "baby"), some suggestive references but no actual smut, a mention of drunk driving but nobody actually drives drunk!

summary: Rafe was never one to care about Valentine’s Day—until you came into his life.

word count: 1.1k

note: I know Valentine's Day is over with but I had to get this out of my system lol.

fic title from "Moon Song" by Phoebe Bridgers!

Rafe Cameron never used to be a Valentine's Day sort of guy.

He'd buy chocolates or stuffed animals for past girlfriends because he felt he had to. Because they'd chew his heads off if he didn't. He personally didn't give much of a fuck about the holiday and thought it was lowkey corny.

Then you walked into his life—so casually, like you had no idea how much your presence made Rafe's world shift—and he started feeling differently. You made him want to spoil you rotten any day of the week, but especially on Valentine's Day. Sarah and Wheezie teased him for being "so down bad" for you after only a few months of dating, but he didn't care. You were so kind and caring, but also funny as hell, and didn't take any shit from anyone. How could Rafe not utterly simp for adore you?

When Rafe had asked about making Valentine's Day plans, trying to seem nonchalant, you'd laughed and shrugged, admitting that you weren't much of a Valentine's Day kind of gal. And Rafe got it. If you'd talked to him back in high school or college, he would've been relieved to have a girlfriend who didn't want him to put forth an effort. But you were you, and Rafe was determined to give you the day you deserved.

Butterflies danced in your stomach. It was Valentine's Day, and you were excitedly waiting for Rafe to pick you up for whatever plan he'd concocted for the night. Rafe told you a few days ago to clear your calendar for Friday because he wanted to do something for Valentine's, but his lips were sealed despite your constant badgering. All he'd told you to do was "dress cute," which you did, donning a burgundy wrap minidress and a pair of black pointed-toe ballet flats.

You'd never been excited about the holiday before. If whatever boyfriend you were dating bought you a plushie and chocolates, or took you out for Italian food, cool. But it was never something you anticipated until now. Your past boyfriends had been a mixed bag (some were definitely better than others) but Rafe was proving himself to be the best. When you moved to Kildare last year, you were initially unsure of him, feeling intimidated by his stunning looks and impassive exterior. However, you managed to unravel the enigma that was Rafe Cameron and found someone who cared, truly and deeply.

You grinned when Rafe's truck pulled into your driveway. When Rafe stepped out of the vehicle, he paused, his jaw dropping as he noticed your ensemble.

"Baby...you're beautiful," Rafe murmured, making you feel warm inside.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you joked, but you were practically swooning inside. Rafe looked incredibly sharp, wearing a black long-sleeved button-down, khakis, and brown loafers.

Rafe smiled fondly at you, giving you a peck on the cheek. "C'mon, princess. Your chariot awaits."

"Well? What do ya think?" Rafe asked, looking at you expectantly.

Rafe Cameron had truly outdone himself. He'd brought you to the marina, where his yacht was decorated for Valentine's Day: fairy lights casually strung, some rose petals scattered about, and a candlelight dinner for two on the deck.

"Oh, Rafe—this is amazing," you gasped, your voice overcome with emotion. Before Rafe had a chance to respond, you launched into his arms, burying your face in the side of his neck.

"Only the best for you, baby," Rafe said, kissing the top of your head. "Now let's eat—I'm fuckin' starving."

Dinner was so delicious that you had to restrain yourself from scarfing it all down in five minutes. You and Rafe dined on cacio e pepe—one of your favorite pasta dishes—along with roasted asparagus and a glass of Chablis. (Rafe opted for a sparkling cider because you would kill him if he ever drove drunk.)

"This is so good," you raved, swallowing your last forkful of pasta. "What restaurant did you get this from?"

"I made it," Rafe admitted, smiling bashfully. "Well—Sarah helped, 'cause I was scared of fucking it up."

And suddenly, there was a tug at your heartstrings. Rafe had admitted that he hated cooking and insisted that you were much better than he was. The fact that he went to the trouble of making a homemade meal, especially one of your favorite dishes, meant the absolute world to you.

You looked at Rafe like he hung the moon in the night sky. "You really are something else, you know that?"

"Hopefully you mean that in a good way," Rafe quipped, wearing a playful smirk.

You rolled your eyes at Rafe, trying and failing to hide your grin. "You're such a dork."

"And yet, here you are," Rafe said, lightly stroking your cheek. "Just admit it—you like me."

You responded by kissing him deeply, wrapping your arms around him. Rafe pulled you closer to him, running his hands down your sides as he returned your kiss. Making out with Rafe was intoxicating—you could never get enough of the thrill it gave you. Still, after a few minutes, the two of you broke apart, taking the time to catch your breaths.

"Night's not over yet, princess. Why don't we take this to the bedroom?" Rafe suggested, his voice sounding deliciously husky in your ear.

You've never moved more quickly in your entire life.

"Can they just fuck already?" Rafe grumbled, staring at the man and woman bantering on-screen.

You rolled your eyes at Rafe, playfully shoving his shoulder. "Rafe, it's called romantic tension for a reason. Now shut up and enjoy the movie!"

After a passionate night on the yacht—and once more in the morning—you and Rafe were back at his place, cuddled together on the couch as you watched a rom-com. Though Rafe had scoffed at romantic comedies in the past, you convinced him to watch Set It Up, one of your favorites. (He'd also ensured you had your favorite movie snacks stocked in the pantry, so yeah, he was a keeper.) It tickled you to see that even your sarcastic boyfriend wasn't immune to the charms of Zoey Deutch and Glen Powell.

You felt Rafe's eyes on you and turned to your boyfriend, raising an eyebrow. "Rafe Cameron. You're supposed to be watching the movie, not me!" You tried to be stern with him, but you ended up giggling.

"Can't focus on the movie when I've got a beautiful woman right next to me," Rafe replied smoothly.

You focused back on the screen, visibly flustered. Why did he have to be so damn charming? Rafe chuckled softly and wrapped his arm around you, paying attention to the movie again.

Both of you had the same thought: maybe this whole Valentine's Day thing wasn't half bad.

[desreads]

warnings; mentions of drugs, implied sex, suggestive, angst?? fluff?? idk yall im just a girl

was listening to sunsetz by cigarettes after sex and got inspired honestly just couldn't help myself. if this has been done before, feel free to tag the person, but this is all from my noggin

lowercase intended & not proofread so bear with me guys <3w.c; 2k

it was late, too late, but you didn't care. what you did care about? getting high with your best friend, the one person in the world who seemed to understand you, the night before graduation.

twelve years. you couldn't believe how fast the time went by, how in less than a week you'd be driving across the country to go to college. it seemed just like yesterday, you in preschool, two pigtails on your head with a big, toothless (mostly) smile. innocent, young. crazy how things change since then.

the playground where you and matt were currently sitting in was empty, quiet. almost still like a picture, a place frozen in time of youthfulness and fun. you'd think the silence would be eerie, but it was almost 2 a.m and the lack of noises save for the wind rustling through the trees and the crickets served a peaceful scene.

god, you needed this. you couldn't sleep that night as the weight of the future seemed to be the only thing on your mind. who wouldn't be terrified of it? the unknown possibilities, the what-ifs, the impending doom that was adulthood and getting your life together. you've never had your life together and with graduation being tomorrow, technically today, your brain just wouldn't shut off to sleep. you knew you needed to get high which wasn't a problem given the two joints hidden in your shoebox in your closet; thanks to your mother finding your last stash in your sock drawer and throwing away what you had.

what you needed even more was matt. when you drove to his place and threw rocks at his window since he wasn't answering his phone, you thought he'd turn you away so he could go back to sleep. but after begging the boy, your platonic soulmate, to come with you so you wouldn't be alone, he just couldn't say no with you standing in the garden below his window. he didn't even bother to get properly dressed, just threw on a hoodie and left his pajama pants on and hopped in your car.

the playground wasn't your usual spot where you'd go to get high, but it felt… almost right to be there. when you were driving by, you just couldn't resist the pull it had on you, the irony of two graduating teenagers spending their last night of high school in a park meant for children. it was perfect. it made it even better that you could smoke freely without the worry of getting in trouble.

matt wasn't smoking with you, he never did. he and his brothers prided themselves on being sober and not having the need to do that stuff to have fun. they never drank or got high, but they didn't judge others for doing it. matt never judged you. you never pressured him into joining you, either. it just felt nice having him around in these moments when you'd get pulled back to earth, your mind slightly hazzy and no longer spiraling.

no, you two were just sitting on the swingset, just talking. about? well, everything.

about graduation. college. reminiscing on the past. drama that was currently circulating around. talking to matt was always easy, simple. his sarcasm and bluntness of things making you laugh more than usual since you were under the influence.

he made a joke about some girl in your senior class stumbling on stage tomorrow since she was known for her clumsiness which made you cackle, throwing your head back as one hand held onto the stinger of your joint, the other gripping the chain of the swing to hold yourself upright.

matt smiled at the sight, small giggles leaving his mouth that went unnoticed by the volume of your laughter. “y’know, i always wonder if i’m actually funny or if you're jus' laughing because you're on cloud nine.”

you caught your breath, the occasional chuckle escaping you as you did, before you looked back at your best friend with a small shrug. “it's probably just the weed. i had to get a new batch than i usually get because sandra threw away what i had left and then fuckin’ dom didn't have what i wanted, meaning i’m left with, god, i don't even know the name of it, i wasn’t paying at—”

“yo, rambler, maybe take a breather between words, yeah?” matt cut you off with slightly widened eyes, mainly amused by the way the words were just flowing out of your mouth.

you simply just rolled your eyes and took the last hit you could before you burned your fingers, letting what was basically just ash fall from your fingers onto the sticks below your feet. you regretted not bringing a second joint, but there was always tomorrow after the ceremony. after inhaling and letting the smoke fill your lungs, you allowed the rest to exit your nose, speaking with a hint of amusement in your tone. “i’m gonna miss dom when i’m forced to leave.”

“you're going to colorado,” matt scoffed as he began to softly rock himself back and forth, his inner child not letting himself pass up on the opportunity of using the swing. “there are gonna be dealers there. hell, i wouldn't be shocked if there's one on your dorm floor. or every floor, for that matter. plus better weed, probably.”

“yeah, but it won't be the same,” you whined, a small pout on your face, as you kicked up your feet, joining him in his actions, the wind building as you used the swing, making your hair fall behind your shoulders.

“how?” he asked with a hint of skepticism, slowing down on the swing now, his eyes lingering on you.

you shrugged, not necessarily wanting to explain to him how it would be different because you wouldn't be getting your weed anymore from dom. who lived in somerville. your home. it would be different in denver, everything would be, and you didn't feel like ruining your buzz just yet. matt seemed to sense this in the way you avoided his eye contact, but he wasn't going to push you. he knew better than to poke the bear.

“i’m sure he’ll miss you, too, kid,” he sighed after a moment of comfortable silence between yous, now just sitting on his swing as he watched you go back and forth, your eyes closed as you enjoyed yourself. “but he'd have to get in line.”

he said it jokingly, making sure to add a chuckle after for good measure. but it was there clear as day, the unmistakable hint of vulnerability. it was something he'd been thinking about a lot ever since he found out you got accepted into colorado college. heck, you weren't even gone yet and he already missed you.

he missed you like crazy.

you didn't catch it, though, and instead just smiled with your eyes remaining close, one of those toothy smiles that usually made matt's heart flutter. “i think i’m gonna fuck him before i leave.”

his eyebrows furrowed almost immediately and he eyed you like you were growing three heads, not that you saw. he didn't like the idea of you and dom, a high school dropout who sold drugs to teenagers at the ripe age of twenty-three, having any type of intimacy outside of buying drugs. he didn't like it one bit.

“is that the weed talking?”

“i mean, why not, right? he's pretty nice to me and i haven't hooked up with anyone since christmas when we were all at christine's party, and i don't really want to leave before getting one last good-”

“yeah, ‘kay, i get that, but dom? you can seriously do better than that.”

the way he sounded so sure of your ability to attract men in that way, that he genuinely seemed to believe you could do better, made you giggle and you opened your eyes to look at him, slowing down your movement on the swing before coming to a stop. “really? ‘cause need i remind you, i fucked tyler holmes at that christmas party. y’know how desperate you have to be if tyler holmes is your last resort for getting fu-”

“is that really all you're lookin’ for? just a fuck?”

“pretty much, yeah.”

“okay…” matt stared at you intently before forcing his mouth to catch up with his brain, not being able to hold himself back anymore. “well... if options is what you lack... you've got an option right here.”

“right where?” you blinked at him cluelessly, your expression nonchalant as the weed rendered your thinking slightly weak. though, he knew if you were stone-cold sober, you'd go apeshit over what he said.

but he couldn't back out now, not when he finally had the courage to do what he's been only dreaming of the past year.

he sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs, a futile attempt to ease his nerves as his voice wavered slightly. his ‘fight or flight’ didn't know the difference between suggesting to sleep with you and being held at gunpoint. “right here… me, doll. i'm the option.”

your eyes widened slightly as you finally comprehended what he was getting at. matt, the kid you've known since third grade, offering to hook up with you? you must've been completely stoned.

“matt, don't even play around like th-”

“who said i’m playing around?” silence followed after he cut you off, the only emotion you could really feel being shock. he saw it written all over your face and he took a second to turn his body towards you, one of his hands gripping the chain of the swing as if to ground him. “it wouldn't have to mean anything… if you don't want it to. but you're my best friend, i care about you a lot, kid, and you know i'd do anything for you. fuck, i came with you tonight, didn't i, despite the ceremony being in 6 hours and id rather risk our friendship over us sleeping together to get your fix than you resort to that loser just because he's nice to you, if anything, i’m nicer and way more respectful than him-”

“who’s rambling now?”

your interruption caused a small smile to break out on his face, the sight of you looking at him with affection easing the nervousness he was filling as well as making his cheeks flush. he didn't speak, afraid he'd ramble again about how it wouldn't be personal even though that would be a total lie, but he didn't have to because you were feeling in a good mood that night. after looking like you were contemplating your options, you finally spoke, your tone balancing between amused and resigned.

“wanna do it now?”

the question almost gave him whiplash, his balance on the swing faltering slightly as he looked at you like you were playing a trick on him. but all he saw was you, pushing yourself up from your swing and taking the step to stand in front of him, hands on your hips with an oddly neutral expression.

you weren't going to go apeshit on him?

“you kiddin’?”

“no, not kiddin’.”

“you actually wanna… do this? here?”

“why not? nobody's around.”

he didn't get the chance to question you one more time before your hands gripped the hems of your hoodie, easily lifting it up and taking it off. sure, he'd seen you naked a few times, those times being accidents when he'd walk in on you changing in his house or you not being aware that the bathroom door was never fully shut. but seeing you stand before him, your tits behind your lace bralette that held them up perfectly, your nipples already hard and poking through... it was enough to turn his semi into a full hard-on.

“c’mon, we can probably get a good angle on the slide.”

-----------

desspeaks! honestly yall i rlly like how this came out and im not sure if id make a pt.2 to this, but don't be shocked if i do. hoped you lovelies enjoyed it! >3

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Companion exits, ranked from worst to best

Only counting what happens on screen, so Ace won’t be here, and also only exits I’ve seen so no missing episode ones (sorry Stephen, Vicki, Victoria, and Ben/Polly)

Peri: NOT ONLY did she just get inexplicably left alone forever in the middle of an adventure, she was left with the only option of going home with (and marrying apparently) a guy who had been nothing but sleazy to her

Dodo: she just decided to stay behind, off screen and with no goodbye, and it was both anticlimactic and disappointing

Leela: if we’re not counting eu stuff, her meeting a random guy and deciding to just stay behind with him is…well, random, and kind of out of character

Susan: again with the random guy thing. If they hadn’t made it about sudden romance, her being pushed out of the tardis to grow up would have felt more real

Jo: random guy, with added sudden environmentalism (that she has never mentioned before)

Bill: yeah they saved her a bit with the puddle girlfriend thing but she needed SO much more agency in what happened to her. Also stop trying to make cybermen interesting, they are not

Liz: only this high because the explanation of going back to her old job made sense, but it happened off screen and very suddenly. Although I suspect there wasn’t much they could have done about this one

Rose: trapped in an alternate dimension because she would have never left on her own, but it did feel just a bit contrived

Harry: just decided not to get back on the tardis. Kinda meh but also in character and made sense

Turlough: decided to go home and be responsible. That’s fine. I have no strong feelings about it

Mel: decided to leave and travel the universe alone with this jerk conman they kept running into, which seemed both sudden and ill-advised. Not entirely out of character though, so counts as middling

Dan: decided to leave. It was fine

Romana: leaving to help aliens on her own is definitely both in character and much better than a sudden romance, but something about her exit felt a bit disappointing so I’m putting it on the high end of middling

Sarah: left behind suddenly, but in the context of the episode plot that did make sense, so it was fine

Tegan: kind of sudden but also totally valid after everything she went through

Amy/Rory: the tragedy felt a little shoehorned in at the end of a successful adventure, but it wasn’t bad

Adric: blowing himself up to prove his worth was as in character as anything could be with his characterization

Martha: decided to actually do what was best for herself and her family and her own mental health, which was the best thing she could have done

Ian/Barbara: after two years of trying to get home, took the first opportunity to do so, even at great risk. Involved agency and consistency. Solid exit

Mickey: yes he’s also in an alternate dimension, but he chose to stay which was the first time in the show he got much agency, so that was cool

River: the fact that he knew how she was going to die before he got to know her was so delightfully timey-wimey (also self sacrificing character denied self sacrifice)

Nyssa: found an outlet for using her skills to help people survive, in a way that felt inexplicably relevant to losing her own planet. Good job, no notes

Clara: dying but refusing to actually die and basically becoming the Doctor is so in character

Yaz: I love how sad but chill it was for once

Graham/Ryan: excellent. Left on their own terms and did the Sarah thing of watching out for the world without having to go through a few extra decades of trauma first

Donna: lost all memory of not just the universe but who she had become, and it was wonderfully tragic (yes I know she came back but that was her exit for like 15 years so it counts)

Jamie/Zoe: torn away from the Doctor by the Time Lords and had their memories erased; the show knew they would never leave otherwise. Delightfully tragic. No notes

[copepods]

ok arcane s1 act 1 misc thoughts (SPOILERS)

-i like that a lot of the rich characters (cait's family, some council members) have transatlantic accents. i didnt really notice at first but upon rewatch of ep 2 it was super apparent and i love it

-i never got super into vander's character bc by the end of ep 1 i was like Yeah this guy is super dead. the 2 other kids who died as well (never even learned their names lol). also there was a lot more vander + silco than i thought there would be? like they laid it all out at once. i kind of knew they knew each other in the past from fandom osmosis but i expected it to be more of a slow burn reveal i guess

-im interested to see what the show does with ekko specifically. i know he becomes more prominent later on AND has stuff going on with jinx/powder, which i was honestly expecting them to set up more? like have them be friends or like talk to each other once lol. anyway he was pretty minor thus far so im intrigued in what they're gonna do with him

-i know vi goes to prison after this, but the guard who chloroformed her seemed to be trying to save her??? so i have no idea what's happening actually

-i knew silco was gonna adopt powder but i was honestly expecting it to be more? calculated? on his part? like he finds out powder was the one who blew up the building, and is like ooooh new talent. hey kid. do you want to join my gang of evil drug warlocks. but nope he genuinely reached out to her in a moment of grief against his better judgement. kind of a baller move mr. lesbian i respect that

-also powders eyes turned purple for emotional reasons and not magic drug reasons? cool. didnt know peoplw could do that

-Heimerdinger War Flashback last episode was kind of really funny im sorry i cant take this guy seriously. but i also got distracted because there were horses in the flashback and for some reason that surprised me? it did not occur to me that horses exist in the arcane universe. they just don't fit the vibe. also this guy is transparently what if yoda were lorax

-also i wanna know how the fuck jayce and his mom and the wizard (viktor probably) got to piltover after all that in the flashback. did the wizard summon a honda civic to drive them home or what. also, what were they doing there??

-and jayce keeps saying "magic real. ive seen it" but refusing to elaborate??? if i got saved by a wizard who warped space and time then gave me a cool rock i would make it my personality. which i guess he kind of did but you'd think he'd be telling people about it more. maybe he thinks people won't believe him? silly jayce. magic tech isnt real. you escaped the siberian tundra through the power of science. athiests on christmas waiting for charles darwin to come down the chimney etc

-i cant tell if mel is just one councilmember and not like above all the others OR straight up the president or whatever? she clearly has influence but i cant tell if she's everyone elses boss or not. maybe they said something about that in dialogue and i missed it. also is piltover an oligarchy or do they inherit their council positions or what? somehow i don't feel like normal democracy is on the table here

-what is it exactly jayce (and viktor) were trying to do WITH the magic? this always bugs me in tv shows when they just say "im working on some Science Tech Inventions" and dont elaborate on what those inventions are. are the magic balls a source of infinite renewable energy??? please tell me what you're actually doing with the sparkly zero-g machine

-vander's dying words being "protect powder" and vi immediately doing the opposite of that is crazyyyyy sure hope that doesnt haunt her for the rest of her life lol

-was genuinely distracted by the cool ass crab logo on the abandoned building. that was sick as hell. i love crabs

[emma23]

You keep being my problem :

Jake lockley x reader

The night had been quiet. Too quiet, actually. You couldn’t place your finger on what felt so wrong, but Jake hadn’t called. Not even once. It was a rare thing—almost unsettling—when Jake Lockley wasn’t blowing up your phone with a random excuse to talk to you or to complain about someone else getting on his nerves.

You were used to his quirks by now. His constant sarcasm, his unfiltered thoughts, and the way he always found trouble even when he wasn’t looking for it. It was part of why you loved him, though sometimes it also made you want to strangle him.

Tonight, though, the silence was deafening.

Until your phone finally buzzed on the coffee table.

You grabbed it with relief, half expecting to see his name. Instead, it was a text from Layla.

"Have you heard from him? He’s acting weird."

Weird? Jake acting weird wasn’t exactly groundbreaking news. It was almost his default state. But something about Layla’s tone felt... off. You sighed, typing back quickly:

"Nope, not yet. But I'll check on him."

You hit "send," grabbed your jacket, and slipped on your shoes. Jake’s place wasn’t far, and you knew better than to wait for him to reach out when things felt this strange.

The bar he was haunting wasn’t a surprise. Jake had his usual places, and you’d learned all of them in the months you’d been together. You walked in, spotting him immediately in the corner booth, hunched over a whiskey glass like it owed him money.

“Jake,” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady.

His head lifted lazily, those dark eyes locking on yours. A slow grin spread across his face. “There’s my girl.”

You sighed. He was drunk. Obviously.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again,” you muttered under your breath, walking over to him.

“Doing what?” he asked innocently, tilting his head.

“Playing babysitter,” you shot back.

Jake laughed, the sound rich and carefree, though there was a slight slur to it. “You love it.”

You rolled your eyes. “What the hell are you doing here, Jake? And why is Layla texting me like you’re on the verge of imploding?”

“Layla’s dramatic,” he said dismissively, taking another sip of his drink.

“Jake,” you said firmly, placing a hand on the table. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his face. “You,” he said finally. “You’re what’s going on.”

You frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means…” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You keep being my problem.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious. “You. You’re my problem. You keep being my problem, Y/N.”

“Are you drunk?” you asked, folding your arms.

“A bit,” he admitted with a shrug.

“And why are you calling me your ‘problem’ exactly?”

“Because,” he said, leaning back with a smirk. “No matter how many times I tell myself I don’t need anyone, you keep proving me wrong. And I hate it.”

You stared at him, your heart doing a weird little flip. “Jake…”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “You make me feel like I don’t have to be the guy I’ve always been. And it scares the shit out of me.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Jake Lockley, the man who faced danger without a second thought, was scared of you?

“You’re drunk,” you said again, mostly because you didn’t know how else to respond.

“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “But it doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Come on, Jake. Let’s get you home.”

“Only if you’re coming with me,” he said, standing up.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“And you love it,” he shot back.

Back at his apartment, Jake was quieter. The usual sharp edges of his personality seemed softer, dulled by the alcohol but also by something else.

“You didn’t have to come get me,” he said as you helped him onto the couch.

“Yes, I did,” you replied, sitting down next to him.

“Why?”

“Because I care about you, you idiot.”

Jake blinked, like he wasn’t used to hearing those words. Slowly, a smirk curved his lips. “You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, but there was no bite to your words.

He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“Probably,” you said with a teasing smile.

Jake laughed, leaning closer until his forehead was resting against yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But you’ve got me anyway.”

And for the first time in a long time, Jake Lockley didn’t have a smart-ass response.

[sahaquiel43]

Realization: Morgott was genuinely favored by the Erdtree/Greater Will. And Marika is the True Villian.

So, I’ve been thinking, especiallay after the Events of Shadow of the Erdtree. And Goldmask's ideals. I feel like a lot of interpretations of Morgott, are Wrong. from him being hated by everyone Golden-colored, form the rank of file of the Golden Order, to Marika, to the Greater Will itself. And also a Lot of romanticization of Marika, treating her as the good-guy, and having somehow having her being forced to throw Morgott into.

But I've realized that with SoTE, its virtually confirmed that Marika is the Ultimate source of Omen Hatred, it's literally all her Fault, even if it's tragic. In fact, I think she doesn't have a grand plan at all, she's just a broken person.

 Greater will/erdtree/true golden order == GOOD.

Marika’s Golden Order = BAD.

 It’s Marika’s golden order, defiend by her falliable and fickle nature as suggested by Goldmask, that shuns omens and threw him into the Sewers, meanwhile the true order of the Greater Will/Erdtree, described by goldmask, actually favours morgott. And Marika, though tragic, is the true Villian.

Like Goldmask said, the issue is the fickleness of the gods, Marika, the demigods, that is the problem.

One, if he was really hated, how does morgott have one of the most powerful holy-magic abilites in the game? that surpasses almost every other Golden Order. He has to be blessed in some way, by the “true” golden order/greater will.

And Goldmask suggests the fundamentals of the Greater Will/Erdtree do not discriminate against it, rather, it is the fickle, mortal order set up by the Fickle gods that discriminates. Aka, Marika.

And with shadow of the Erdtree, it’s made so Obvious. Omen hatred really is All Marika’s fault, it all originated from her even if it’s Tragic. The omen hatred almost certainly stems 100% from Marika’s (to be fair, quite justified) hatred of the Hornsent. Anything crucible-related was shunned by the Fickle god, Marika. Of course, what the Hornsent did was horrible, to the point that I’m still a bit ambiguous on messmer’s crusade being 100% evil. But Marika was the one who gladly threw her twins into the Sewers, And seemed to tolerate far worse behavior by other non-omen demigods.

Ideas that she somehow was forced to do it are just stupid given, well, SHE’S GOD, and she could have at least just kept them in hiding. No. it was Marika. Marika hated Omens. She wanted her kids to suffer, honestly, the only thing stopping her from killing them was probably her own Fickleness, or the Greater Will stepping in. She probably encouraged Omen Hunters.

As for why morgott was barred from entering the Erdtree, I think it's because, whilst separate, prior to the shattering, the Greater Will gave Marika a LOT of power over the actions of it's power, so it may even Marika's Lingering Influence. Plus Radagon's blanket-security measure to protect the Erdtree.

And Godfrey was definitely overruled given he was the junior in the relationship, he just had to roll over and take it, given his love of his soon, another victim.

And this leads me into the greater theory that Marika doesn’t have some grand plan, she’s basically just a faliable, human, broken, wrecked person. The greater will really chose the wrong person to be their representative. Who has been through too much. And her shattering the Elden Ring wasn't some grand plan, just basically her Snapping and going ballistic after Godwyn died. Shadow of the Erdtree showed that she really was just a traumatized and hurt woman that got involved in something too big. Heck even what Miquella was trying to do makes sense, basically trying to do better than his Mother, and even trying to get rid of his own fickleness.

As for the fact that the Greater Will has already abandoned the Lands Between, I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t really matter. Despite being gone for so long, it’s extensions, which are godly and sentient in and of themselves, are still something powerful and worth fighting for, more than any of the other outer Gods.

as for morgott not improving conditions, aside from the well-known issue of his self-hatred, given the entire world was crashed into a post-apocolypes by marika, with him barely holding Leyndell together against multiple rival factions, he may not have had the space to do much.