#been wanting to acknowledge this ask for ages now lol. Now that the kids are pretty much ready to go. I finally can

[burningcheese-merchant]

im betting a whole cheeseburger that one of their kids is gonna be named pepperjack cookie watch

Alright, FINE. YOU GOT ME. YOU SUNK MY BATTLESHIP, ANON

I actually made the kid up super early. Then later, I saw someone else on here also make a BurningCheese kid named Pepper Jack, and I thought "ah shit, I have to change everything now. I don't want to seem like I'm stealing from somebody". Then a little while later, I was looking at fanart on Twitter, and I saw, like... 3 different Pepper Jack Cookies lol? All sons, too. So my train of thought derailed into "ok so we just all agree that Spice and Golden would have a son named Pepper Jack, ok cool 👍" and I decided to keep mine the way he is lol. Consider it my version of the defacto BurningCheese child. I'm throwing my own hat into this ring today, might as well come clean about it

What kind of cheeseburger do you want? It better not be expensive, I need money to pay for the battleship you sunk with your ask

[darling-i-read-it]

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight 

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it. 

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin. 

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress. 

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away. 

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look. 

“We’re in for one.” 

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head. 

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel. 

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.” 

“Don’t remind me.” 

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely. 

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant. 

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment. 

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing. 

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.” 

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said. 

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you. 

“Taking my 15.” 

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile. 

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered. 

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.” 

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot. 

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.” 

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?” 

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food. 

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh. 

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift. 

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.” 

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you. 

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.” 

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation. 

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off. 

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it. 

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town. 

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.” 

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.” 

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock. 

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.” 

-

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway. 

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered. 

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.” 

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded. 

“How was the chief?” 

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?” 

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest. 

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?” 

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!” 

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all? 

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!” 

“You seen my phone?” 

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there. 

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water. 

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use. 

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table. 

Right onto the stove. 

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand. 

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink. 

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!” 

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down. 

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained. 

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else. 

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee. 

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window. 

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said. 

“She what?!” 

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine. 

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car. 

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say. 

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest. 

-

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted. 

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting. 

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor. 

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy. 

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said. 

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted. 

“I don’t think-” 

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded. 

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat. 

“I had coffee spilled on me.” 

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason. 

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him. 

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him. 

“A stove did this?” 

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.” 

“And that’s okay?” You nodded. 

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him. 

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.” 

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently. 

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off. 

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book. 

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you. 

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head. 

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body. 

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.” 

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again. 

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb. 

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?” 

“Five.” He applied more pressure. 

“Now?” 

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit. 

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.” 

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there. 

“You’re good at this.” 

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.” 

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly. 

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.” 

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained. 

“Son?” you asked. 

“Edward.” 

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger. 

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described. 

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away. 

“Sounds like a task.” 

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner. 

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle. 

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?” 

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.” 

“You’re such a wingwoman!” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.” 

Part 2

[louisisalarrie]

honestly you have to shake your head at these naive people. The TikTok shows the kids face unaltered. Some Freddie accounts froze the frame and he looks identical to how his brother looked at that age. But that’s the whole key to this farce, the Freddie’s don’t know what Austin looked like at 9/10 even though T has it up so you can do a side by side.

I’ve had some serious bbg feelings and thoughts clearly bubbling to the surface because this turned into a longer one than I thought. Anon, welcome to the show!

It’s just such a lack of critical thinking. But it’s also, like all these stunts, a massive thing of trust with the fan to artist relationship. Fans don’t want to be lied to. They don’t want to believe that their idol is lying to them, they don’t want to believe that the industry is capable of such stunts, and they don’t want to believe question this all because my god it is so much easier just believing everything you’re fed.

There’s also this weird toxic superiority complex that happens within this fandom, where all these solos/people who believe F is his son, believe they are better fans and that that is going to make louis like them more (which is lol). That Larries aren’t real fans because they “disrespect Louis’ family”. And let me tell you - when this all comes out, or any other scandal/stunt happens, Larries are gonna be the ones who stick around. We always have been. The most devoted and kind and loving fans are larries, and I’ve seen that for the last fucking 13 or so years.

Larries, these days at least, don’t gift louis presents related to Larry, we dont ask directly, we don’t push those boundaries because we understand privacy. Giving gifts to him for “his son” and making Instagram accounts for said child, who is still very much a minor, is creepy as fuck. If louis was posting this kid all the time, or was actually being a “super dad” (which like… if you believe louis’ a dad, he sure as hell ain’t a very good one and we’ve discussed that before with those folks just fucking celebrating the bare minimum) and was just… like.. had this kid on Insta all the time and was very loud and every day we’d have content of him, sure. Maybe it’d be a little less weird because he’d be plastering this kid’s face everywhere and making it 100% known. BUT if you believe he’s a dad, you should respect privacy, because louis is a private person, etc. and anyway they contradict themselves every second of every day and it’s extremely amusing, yet sad, to watch.

The narrative of who they’ve decided louis is, strays far from the 1d days. They just entirely don’t acknowledge what he was like back then, what he and Harry were like back then, the radical shift of him being a party boy, BLATANT evidence of stunts and that pregnancy being fake, and just roll with who he is now. And that just doesn’t make sense to me. Harries do it too. They choose what part of their idol exists, what part of their idol’s life matters, and disregard all the stuff those dudes said years ago about privacy and family values and what they wanted for their future and who they are, and were, and wanted to become.

It just also baffles me that they think F is his son because he kinda looks like him. Well… you’re hiring a kid for a closeted artist who’s pretending to be related, you’re not exactly gonna choose a kid who’s gonna look massively different, right? They’re gonna look at the parents and siblings baby photos and go “yes, we could work with this, they look similar”. It’s not rocket science.

And that kid does look soooooo much like his actual blood parents and sibling that it’s indisputable. But no, we get these random DNA family experts or whatever who decide he’s definitely louis’ because clearly everyone’s a professional these days. They ignore the facts and the photoshopping and everything that has come out over the last 9 years to keep up with their narrative.

Also, you simply cannot convince me that kid’s real name is “Freddie Reign”. Louis could sit me down and tell me himself and I wouldn’t believe him. He “named” him that to take the piss out of the whole thing, and prove it’s fake.

[insufferableprotagonistpoll]

Propaganda why Bella Swan is insufferable:

Feels like low hanging fruit, but characters that are supposed to be self inserts will always be bland boring bad ideas if you want to make a truly interesting character. Especially self inserts that go along with things like stalking and abuse from their love interests for the sake of continuing the story, because it kinda makes them seem like a mannequin who just there to be passed around like the punching bag in super smash bros, you know what I mean

complete bland character that all the boys somehow fall in love with. just gets pushed around by the plot. she's interesting as cardboard while everyone around her is more interesting.

She spends the entirety of three books looking down on others, being completely braindead, worrying that she's old at age 18 for an entire book, has a horror movie pregnancyand birth, and then becomes the most specialist vampire to ever vampire. And through all that her personality and thought processes that she had page 1 of Twilight she has on the last page of Breaking Dawn.

She has the personality of a rock, but for some reason everyone is obsessed with her.

Propaganda why Tony Stark is insufferable:

She’s a hypocrite who is ready to restrict the freedom of others when they make one mistake, but when he makes a mistake he figures he’s able to handle himself

Super long, sorry lol

Thinking about how in Homecoming when Peter accidentally caused that boat to get split in half because the Vulture’s gun exploded and Tony was acting like as if Peter was completely in the wrong for going there just because he did it without his permission. He was acting like as if Peter was out of line and “disobeyed him”, trying to act like his father. And then I remember how in CACW he’s the one who scouted Peter in the first place just because he saw he might be useful against a personal squabble between him and Captain America despite knowing that he was a kid and he’s just now acknowledging how dangerous it is because Peter “acted on his own”

Completely hijacking Peter’s superhero story and trying to control his every move (Training wheels protocol and baby monitor thing he put in the suit), acting like Peter should’ve known that Tony would send someone in despite the fact that he’d been ignoring him for 2 months since Civil War and not keeping him updated on anything!!

How the hell is peter supposed to know Tony is going to listen to him when he treats him like a kid instead of a superhero when it’s convenient for him? And when Tony loses his temper after Peter says he’s 15 not 14 like “the adult is talking” bitch he could literally flatten you without your suit!!!

I guess in a way he is acting like a father but like the absentee kind. He’s more like a sperm donor father trying to act like he has any rights over Peter’s life smh.

It’s not that reprimanding Peter for the situation is bad, but the way he makes it seem as if Peter is irredeemable as if Tony wasn't a literal weapons dealer lmfao. He could’ve said what was the truth about it without completely invalidating him saying shit like “no thanks to you” after Peter asked if everyone is okay when it’s literally thanks to Peter finding a lead on those guys in the first place that they were even noticed and it’s not like the FBI being there could’ve in no way caused a similar situation.

And then near the end of the movie when he’s getting crushed by the building rubble screaming and crying for someone to help him where the fuck is Tony?? That scene just proved that he never needed Tony’s suit in the first place to be Spider-Man since he had to use 100% his own strength to lift it off of him. I know he would’ve found the motivation even if Tony hadn’t been involved in the first place to give him the suit, take it away from him and have the words “if you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it“ echo in his head. Why did Tony even take the suit away? Like as if he expects Peter to stop being spoderman without it??? Holy fuck. This is why you don’t make it out of endgame /j /srs.

When Tony took this suit away from Peter he was like “God I sound like my dad“ shouldn’t that be a red flag to him? Wasn’t he literally just saying that he wished his dad was better than he was?? Lmfao

Tony is so annoying. When they first meet he straight up bullies Peter into fighting for his personal bullshit, insults and objectifies Aunt May in front of him, spits into his trashcan and is in general being pushy af. He blackmails Peter when he doesn’t wanna come to Germany with him AND HE DOESNT EVEN EXPLAIN WHY HE WANTS HIM TO COME. Uncomfortable vibes lol.

Tony being the one to tell peter “if Captain America wanted to hurt you he would’ve” when Peter was trying to state his case, yet HE’S also the one who put Peter in harms way when he didn’t even want to go with him???

Telling Peter that he should stick to being a “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” (stealing his thing once again) when that’s what Peter _was_ doing before Tony took him out of his zone and filled his head with grander things to be apart of….bitch? Die. Ohh waaaait (jkjk) but yeah

There’s the usual “he’s a war criminal who only felt bad about it when he realized his weapons were killing white Americans as well as Arab people” reason, and also he’s just super annoying. You had to be there for the original Avengers shitty dialogue a la “we have a Hulk” that had Tumblr in a vicious chokehold. Also he was supposed to FINALLY go away after destroying all his suits in Iron Man 3 but he just… didn’t! Which is bullshit.

Portrayed as a hero because? He chose to no longer mass produce war weapons and bombs after suffering the consequences. Huge hypocrite. Doesn't care about anyone but himself. Will backstab people if they believe in human rights when it's inconvenient to him. Seen as a hero while he's the personification of privileged people saying they're not privileged

>Makes weapons

>Billionaire

>Made multiple AI Surveillance Robots

>Gaslight a child into fighting a super soldier in a foreign country for him

>His fans are annoying

[littleplasticrat]

Writer Interview Tag

I'm grateful to have been tagged by @tellmeallaboutit, @my-favourite-zhent and @beesht. Sorry it took so long for me to get around to. Honestly I am blown away that anyone would put me in a 'writer' bucket with the other word crabs

Tellmeallaboutit's interview

My-favourite-zhent's interview

Beesht's interview

My answers below the cut for some NSFW discussion

When did you start writing?

The most recent bout of writing started in December 2023 and was prompted by being insatiably horny for Gortash. This is the first time I've written fanfiction.

I wrote a short novel from 2012-2013 and would put that in the fantasy YA category about a magician who falls in love with a phoenix.

As a kid, I wrote a lot, up until around the age of 16 or so when I realised that I didn't want to live the life of a struggling artist and so set my sights on getting work with more consistent pay than writing books.

I actually do quite a lot of writing for my current job. It's industry-specific instructional writing but I feel that some of the meta-skills are applicable between the two genres.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I really only read horror short fiction recreationally, and I've only written one horror story - which I found super challenging and wouldn't really want to tackle again. Luckily, I'm able to excise the horrors by running TTRPG games and thus don't have to deal with the difficult challenge of making something sound scary.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I haven't been compared to any writers - I simply haven't written enough stuff that isn't solid filth XD

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

Up until I moved house last week, I had a dedicated home office with a large drawing tablet and my mother's boarding school desk from the 1960s. Until I can get an office set up in the guest bedroom of the new house (I'm in no rush), I'm on my laptop at the dining table downstairs or a local cafe.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

I try to preach that a hobby should be treated like self-care and so not be a source of stress, but I have the heart of a procrastinator and the bones of a perfectionist; if I waited for the muse to strike me with creative stuff, I wouldn't get anything done.

So, if I'm feeling wigged out about life, I'm not going to force anything, but otherwise I have a 'smash it out' approach of breaking down the work as much as possible and going from there. Any writing I do therefore starts life as a series of bullet points of what exactly I want to happen and in what order, and I build out methodically from there.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

The thrill of fancying someone a lot? Horniness? Butt stuff? LOL

What is your reason for writing?

I want to be the freak I want to see in the world.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Any comment I get is like JAZZ HANDS. Seriously! It's so flattering to have someone slow down and look at my stuff, let alone acknowledge it.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I once read a shitty horror novel where the villain was able to destroy the protagonist's life, because she'd read all his books and so knew him. That rattled me so hard! There's no way I'm skillful enough to develop an authorial voice that isn't my own. So, like, don't think about what my disgusting fanfics say about who I am as a person please [jk]

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I'd say the action is pretty clear, and I can crack a joke at the right time. What more could a reader ask for?

How do you feel about your own writing?

I would like there to be more of it but my art will take priority for now <3

I think most people I know write on here have already been tagged several times, so I shall not tag further.

[lookingforhappy]

Same anon as before (name anon I guess, lol) Lila calls out for Coco in the first scene we have her in (around 10:35) and now that I watch it again (I wanted to see if there's more kids than the twins in that car) Coco might actually be the son. Lila goes "You need to share with your brother. Coco, stop crying!" The little girl in the scene isnt really crying, meanwhile the boy is reaching out and looks more upset. I did not mean to follow up on the last ask but, here you go! Interesting thing I just noticed that I wouldn't have posted about myself cause fandom scares me!

Also no, I totally agree with you on the names. It felt like the writers really didnt care about any of them. I was pointing out that we have the mothers names as a thing of "they named all the mothers yet here we have unnamed son."

oh sorry! yea thats where im standing rn lol like you go to the effort of naming 6/7 mothers who appear for maybe 3 seconds each but not the main character's children??

i went back and found the scene

and yeah it does seem that coco is the boy's name as there's not anyone else in the car

(nobody in the front, only the twins in the middle behind the balloons, and the pinata in the back seat, i guess grace arrived with her grandparents or maybe Diego??)

but he's also not ... at all upset

he's just reaching?? i guess they couldnt or didnt want to make the kid cry..

but like.. i hate that actually. If you're gonna go to the effort of giving one kid a tribute name (grace stanley), which is notoriously not liked by fandom (im thinking the disaster that was the epilogue of HP) then at least go the full mile and give the other kids tribute names as well?

like ik Lila's family is alive now but we never acknowledged that she wasn't raised by them beyond age 4, and that she witnessed their deaths and loved them and carried their memory into her adulthood and was devastated to learn that they had been targetted not just randomly killed

like.. for them to be randomly alive now doesnt make their relationship automatically good, they're strangers now whether they like it or not.

so i don't see why Anita and Ronnie couldn't have had kids named after them. lots of people do that for their very much alive parents as well?

or even just name the boy twin Ben?? umbrella Ben is 100% dead. double dead even. maybe even triple dead.

and isn't Coco from the spanish name Socorro? which is female??

just. i feel like this was underthought and bad.

[hewantshisbrideback]

Modern AU Jonrya + Divorced!RhaeLya Snippet

Test-running this the same way I did NHAT's first chapter! Keep in mind, this is not specifically RhaeLya or anti-RhaeLya. That said, Rhaegar, by virtue of being raised as more of a 'boy prince' than actual prince, has a characterization you may not agree with! But I don't care, it's my fic lol. Not a lot happens in this first snippet, it's more to establish the home-life Jon is coming from, the dynamic between Rhaegar and Lyanna, and because I find writing from this perspective funny. There is not a lot of Jonrya and only the set up for conflict. Enjoy! Please, tell me what you think.

It’s an age-old story. A real crowd favorite. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy sings a sad song. Girl cries. Boy gives her roses. Girl looks pretty with flowers in her hair. A classic love story, one for the books.

Things may have progressed a little quickly after. But, still, nothing truly out of the ordinary. Girl got pregnant. Boy proposed. Well… Boy had to get a divorce first. But it was a quick divorce.

Sure, maybe after the shotgun wedding, Boy and Girl had to hide out in the desert for a while, disappeared from the public without telling anyone where they went, resulting in a media-fuelled frenzy, a nation-wide search party involving everyone from paparazzi to armed police to private investigators…

Maybe her family had publicly accused him of kidnapping before the dust had settled. Acquitted of all charges, both in the legal court and that of public opinion.

Still, when Rhaegar looks back at how he and Lyanna first met, first fell in love, it really did feel that simple, that… uncomplicated, at the time. The politics, their respective family drama, the music scene and the industry bullshit, the age gap that was only a little less scandalous at the time…

He hadn’t cared about that. Neither had magazines, or newspapers. If anything, they’d eaten it all up. It only made them more sympathetic. For the most part. According to all the important publications, anyway.

Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen had been... the love story to end all love stories. Had been, as in, weren’t anymore, because, as anyone could tell you, they hadn’t been married for, say, like… a decade now? Somewhere between a decade, and thirteen years, four months, and twenty-one days.

And yet, it still smarts to think about it. Better not to, if he can help it.

Unfortunately, there’s nothing in the great, empty expanse of fucking woods he’s staring down to distract him. Why does Lyanna live out here again? Shouldn’t someone running a non-profit live somewhere with actual people around, in need of help?

Frankly, he never understood why they divorced in the first place. But I respected her wishes. Because I loved her.

Obviously. He wouldn’t be leaning against his car, waiting for his son to finally emerge from his aloof (second) ex-wife’s cabin in the woods if that wasn’t the case, all so he could spend a weekend enjoying the kid’s brooding company, pointedly not asking questions about how his mother was and what she was doing in her spare time when she wasn’t too busy saving the world and ignoring his calls.

Rhaegar taps his foot. Crosses his arms. Checks his hair in the passenger window. Uncrosses his arms. Checks his phone, again. Nothing. He texted Jon about his arrival three minutes ago.

Maybe, sometimes their conversation verged into discussion-of-Mom territory. But there was only so much for him and Jon to talk about. The kid was almost sixteen, permanently unimpressed with him, and he made no secret of the resentment he felt for him.

Rhaegar wanted to connect, he did, but he also had to acknowledge certain limitations to his position. The one thing they both shared was Lyanna. It made sense to fall back to common ground in lieu of any other options.

And he’s curious. Sue him. The woman is a bank vault when it comes to her personal life. Always was. Just ask the press. They'd tell you.

Rhaegar checks his phone. Four minutes. He thinks he can get away with ringing the doorbell. There’s literally ice on the ground. Even his openly embittered son doesn’t actually want him to freeze to death.

Well, he assumes. But the void of interest in Jon’s gaze as he opens the door and claps eyes on him might make him reconsider.

“Hey, champ.” Rhaegar forces out, and pretends like he isn’t internally grimacing at his own words. “Uh, I texted, but…”

Jon nods, already turning around, walking away and leaving the screen door to drift shut on his father. “I know.”

Rhaegar wedges a foot in before the heavy screen can shut him out completely, then shifts awkwardly in the doorway, propping it open. “You ready to head out?”

“Almost.”

He takes that as an invitation to step inside. Jon’s disappeared into a door beyond the stairs - the den, or the dining room? It’s been a while since Rhaegar got to really see the place. He’s never gotten an actual tour, technically, has maybe been in the kitchen twice, ever, let alone the rest of the place. Technically, it's a converted ranger station from back when the family held private ownership over the woods. For all he knows, it's an armory back there.

He glances around surreptitiously for a second, wondering if he has enough time to poke his head around - innocently, of course - only for Lyanna to skid into view before he can even move past the wet room. His pulse quickens, but before he can pull out a greeting as equally as cringeworthy as the first, she interrupts.

“Oh, good. You’re here. I’m heading out then.” She pushes an earring in with lethal precision and force, not even sparing a glance at the conveniently-placed hall mirror, calling back into the house, “Jon? I’m heading out! Did you hear me?”

Rhaegar almost has a heart attack when Jon pops his head in from the nearest room - he could’ve sworn the only way to the back was through the main hall, last time he was here - with a furrowed brow and a playful scowl on display. “Yeah, I’m right here. You don’t need to yell.”

Lyanna is doing her eyeliner, but she pauses to raise her own brows at him in warning. “Sometimes I think you could do with me yelling at you more, actually.”

He rolls his eyes. “Is that even possible?”

She smacks her hairbrush in his general direction in response, a fruitless gesture so familiar to Rhaegar it hurts. “Would you get out of here? With your… teenage… attitude? Ugh.” She fixes her lipstick then shoves her tools in her purse.

“Brutal, mom. Do you have my charger?”

“Our charger,” she insists. “It’s in the den. Go watch some dumb, scary movie, would you? Have a good time with your dad. And get out of my hair!”

Jon gives her a brisk salute as she hurries past.

“We will! Uh, have a good time,” Rhaegar assures her, but his eyes get caught on her cocktail dress, as she scoots past him, adjusts the skirt, and grabs her coat. “Where are you off to? Didn’t think you were even allowed to leave the woods.”

She gives him a slightly withering glance, then shrugs, smiles. “I have a thing.” By now Jon has joined them in the wet room, and she turns to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Lock up when you leave. I’ll see you two later.”

“Gross.” Jon waves from the door as she sidesteps the ice in her heels on her way to her truck. “Bye, mom. Be safe!”

“No worrying, kiddo! Have fun.”

“I know. But still.”

“Thanks, honey,” she clambers into the truck, blows a big, fat kiss from the window, intentionally over-the-top. “Mwah.”

Rhaegar follows her out, takes advantage of her patting around the front seat to plug her phone in. “Seriously, we never talk anymore. What’s the big occasion?”

She gives him a look he decides is indecipherable, then sighs. “Just meeting up with old friends of the family.” She finds the right chord to plug in her phone, then shoos him away from the window. “Okay. Really, this time - I’ll see you guys later.”

By the time she’s pulled out, and he’s shaken himself from his suspicious stupor, Jon is joining him out in the driveway. He shakes his head, then turns and gives him a fond, knowing look. “Where is she actually going?”

Jon, shrugging and hiking his backpack up his shoulder, returns the knowing look, if... decidedly less fond. “Some kind of double date.”

“What?” Rhaegar scoffs. “With who?”

“Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn.”

Interesting, but irrelevant. “No, who is she going with?”

“I don’t know. One of the Baratheons.” Jon is walking toward the car at this point.

“Shit!” Rhaegar jolts to follow, stops and curses as he almost slips on the ice, resumes his path with more caution. “Shit. Which one?”

“I don’t remember,” Jon says, popping open the trunk. He throws his luggage in the back.

Rhaegar rubs the back of his neck, exhaling a little in relief at just making it to the car without face-planting. “It can’t be Robert, is it? That’s insane.”

Jon pauses getting into the passenger seat to slip his backpack off his shoulder and spare his father a faintly exasperated look. “Dad…”

“Look, I - I know your uncle and him are friends, I’m sure he’s… fine, but… your mom hates him,” he rushes to clarify. Jon rolls his eyes and gets in the car, and Rhaegar scrambles to follow suit. “She always has.”

“I mean, it’s really none of your business.”

“Right, but… Right. I’m not saying she can’t. I’m just saying it would be stupid, and I hope your uncle hasn’t convinced her to give him another chance, when -”

“Are we going?” Jon interrupts, then sinks into his seat with a strange expression. “Arya and I have been waiting to see this for ages.”

“Uh…” Rhaegar blinks. Thinks. Starts to dig out his keys. “Yeah, we can go…” He starts the engine, but doesn’t take it out of park. “Just, let the engine warm up… How is Arya doing, lately, by the way? She wants to see this film?”

“Yeah,” Jon answers, slouching in his seat. “Has wanted to, for a while, now.”

“How’s she doing? You get to see her much, now she’s getting older?”

Jon turns to pretend to look at something out the window. Rhaegar knows he’s pretending. He was staring at the same goddamn woods waiting for a text for four minutes, so. “Not as much.”

Rhaegar takes this as an opportunity to change the address on his phone. “Is she busy tonight?”

“No.” No uncertainty. Not even a pause.

“You want to invite her along?”

“Seriously?” 

“Why not?” Rhaegar starts backing out of the driveway. “She’s allowed to watch scary movies, right?”

“Yeah, we watch them all the time.” Good. It was a fifty-fifty bet, considering what Catelyn and Ned are respectively like as parents.

“Why don’t you text her? We’re early anyway. We can start heading down that way, and if she says no, we’ll just… You know. Course-correct.”

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll text her.”

“Good. Great. We’ll just… head for your uncle Ned’s.”

And if they happened to run into Lyanna when they got there, well... that's a non-issue.

❦

Thanks so much for reading! Hope it piqued your interest, even though there wasn't a ton of Jonrya right away. It's partly written but not enough to share for feedback. I'm curious to get feedback on the Rhaegar and Lyanna dynamic - I know the characters have huge fans and huge antis and frankly I'm half curious and half worried as to how either party will be reacting to the situation, lol! Anyway, thanks again.

[ohem1111]

no one acknowledged roslyn’s birthday, not even her mother, the one who gave birth to her on that very day all those years ago.

during eden’s little 4am trip downstairs for something to satisfy her pregnancy craving she notices roslyn sleeping outside. in that moment she is furious, storms out and wakes her up.

eden: “roslyn ivy elmore what do you think you are doing out side at this hour, and sleeping even, you are going to get sick and i can’t have that around me right now”

roslyn: “mom, i-”

eden: “get to your room i don’t want to hear it”

roslyn: “no mom, you will hear it, whether you listen or not, you will hear me. you wanna know why i’m out here? aside from the fact that i literally sit out here to watch the sunrise every morning, not that you’ve ever cared or noticed.”

eden: “roslyn don’t y-”

roslyn: “mom i am out here right now instead of in my own bed is because i’m letting bram sleep there. because guess what, you never bought him a new bed that he can actually sleep in.” eden’s face instantly realizes how greatly she has been neglecting her own children lately.

roslyn: “maybe if you’d take a break from popping out kids, you would be able to pay attention to the ones you already have. and you don’t have to keep pretending we don’t know mom. we know you are pregnant again right now.”

eden: “ros… i don’t know what to say”

roslyn: “you could try ‘happy birthday’ but you’d be approximately 4 hours and 53 minutes to late for that to still be accurate.”

eden: “we were waiting for the right time to tell you.”

roslyn: “right time to tell me what?! that you are pregnant? why do you think i care that much, it’s barely even anything knew at this point. could you even tell me any of your other kids birthdays or is it just mine that you forget.”

eden: she stands up defeated, and says something roslyn would have bever guessed she’d hear next, “come inside i’ll have the butler put together the guest room” not an ‘i’m sorry.’ not a ‘happy birthday.’ not even that she would be the one to get the guest room together for herself. she didn’t even use the butlers name.

roslyn: “i already told you, i am watching the sunrise”

eden walks back into the house without another second of time put into trying to righting all of the wrongs that we’re just addressed during their fight.

as eden watched the late night sky beginning to slowly fade into early morning she sends up a signal to space for anyone, anything to take her away from this nightmare she is in.

who knows, maybe the stars will do more than just listen this time.

previous || next

i wish that tumblr had more text color options because i’m bummed that i won’t be able to have a special text colors for the next two gens. also surprise, we are about to start gen 4!

also also: im mad at myself for not checking mccc occult section for what ages could be abducted, (because of course that is something you can change with mccc) i wanted to do it while she was a child but i assumed that because teens could attempt to contact aliens then she could possibly get abducted but i was wrong there too, the default is only young adults and up so if you are doing this challenge, i recommend editing that setting before you unnecessarily age up your sim like i did LOL

also also alsoooo: (also is basically my ps. at this point lol) eden is basically done with her gen. all she needs to do is keep having babies until she is an elder which i don’t care to stay in the household until she is an elder, and she can get married now that she is an adult. her and dorian were already engaged by accident because dorian called odin when he was a child saying he found a ring in eden’s bag and asked odin what to say but i didn’t know that saying he should say yes would automatically make them engaged LOL so i don’t even have screenshots of that. i’ll just have them elope eventually, i don’t care to do a wedding with them.

[wizardofrozz]

OC Introduction

I finally decided to make a reference sheet for my oc in my current wip To Be Free. (technically this is kind of an introduction to this fic as well lol) 

*the very quick art is mine*

Name: Nali Bosac

Nicknames/Codenames: Red, GZFC45426 (slicer code)

Species: Zeltron

Time Period: First Order/Resistance Era

Birthplace: Zeltros

Age: 28

Gender/pronouns: female, she/her

Occupation: Slicer for the Resistance

Myers-Briggs’ Type: INTJ - The Mastermind

And because I have no self-control and I’m excited, here’s a little sneak peek of To Be Free 🫣

         Nali sighed through her nose, sneaking a look at Mak over the top of her cards. His face was wrinkled in concentration, eyes trailing over his cards for the thousandth time as his free hand traced the shape of one of his dark horns. This was why she fucking hated playing sabacc with him.

         “Maker above, Mak, I’m gonna keel over before you take your turn,” she groaned, flopping over the back of her chair. 

         “Hey, I don’t rush you, now do I?” he countered primly. Nali groaned again, reaching up to scrub at her face, pressing her cards against her forehead. Mak hummed quietly and she had the urge to kick him in the shin until the soft rumble of Ren’s voice caught her attention. Ren’s office was large enough that they could sit at the small table in the corner opposite his desk and struggle to hear his conversation if he wanted privacy. Ren’s soft greeting piqued her interest and she let her hands fall away. Even from her inverted view, there was no mistaking the blue-tinted holo of General Organa. 

         “Okay, go ahead,” Mak cut in, sounding pleased with himself.

         “Shh,” Nali snapped, sitting up fast enough to make her head spin. She twisted around in her seat, pulling one leg up as she very obviously eavesdropped on the meeting taking place. The general’s back was to her but she’d become an expert on reading Ren’s lips over the years. 

         “Wonder what she wants?” Mak mumbled, leaning across the table and making it groan quietly under his weight.

         “Poe told me Leia sent him to pick up someone interested in joining,” Nali explained, squinting at her adopted father figure. She definitely didn’t jump when clover green eyes darted in her direction. Mak hummed in acknowledgment, blatantly staring at the conversation taking place; the pair shared a look when the general’s head turned slightly. She looked…amused from what they could see of her face, however, when the feed cut off, Ren didn’t look very happy. 

         “You two are insufferable,” Ren grumbled, leaning back in his chair and untangling a knot in the fur under his chin. Nali tried to arrange her face into something resembling guilt but Ren knew it was a facade. “You know, there are certain things that you two may not be allowed to know.”

         “‘Course,” Nali chirped, sliding off her chair and making her way across the room to perch on the corner of his desk. Mak followed close behind, dropping into the chair opposite Ren. “You just never tell us to leave.” Ren rolled his head in her direction, pinning her with an unimpressed look that only made her smile. 

         “What’s goin’ on?” Mak asked, folding his hands behind his head.

         “General Organa asked me to keep an eye on someone,” Ren explained, rubbing at one of his bloodshot eyes. Nali wondered how long it had been since he’d actually slept in his bed.

         “Why?” the Devaronian pressed, his forehead wrinkling.

         “The new medic,” Nali realized out loud, looking to the old Bothan for confirmation. “Makes sense; we’re on base regularly. Well, at least Mak and I are so she wants us to show him around, right?”

         “Him?” Mak hummed and Nali didn’t like the glint in his eyes when he turned his head in her direction. He grunted when the toe of her boot landed between two of his ribs, one large hand immediately coming down to cover the area.

         “Kids, play nice,” Ren said absently, already preoccupied with something on his datapad. 

         “Wonder if he’s cute?” Mak mused, holding out a hand to protect himself when Nali pulled her leg back to kick him again. “Who told you about him?”

         “Probably Dameron,” Ren cut in, side-eying Nali.

         “You two are like catty Jawas,” she hissed, rolling her eyes. Ren shrugged but she didn’t miss the way his snout wrinkled with a half-smile; Mak on the other hand unabashedly shot her a toothy grin. She really hated them sometimes.

         “Are you gonna greet them at the landing pad?” Mak teased. Nali immediately bristled, baring her teeth; she took a tiny bit of pleasure when the bulky Devaronian shifted in his seat. For some reason, she loved the big idiot too much to ever actually hurt him but knowing he was at least a little scared of her almost made her smile.

         “Calmak,” Ren warned with a sigh. 

         “I’m just wondering!”

         “No, you’re picking on her,” Ren huffed, pressing his knuckles into one of his eyes. 

         “That’s what brothers are for,” Mak chuckled, nudging Nali’s leg with the toe of his boot. She turned enough for him to see her eye roll but it only made his smile grow wider. Asshole.

         “Well it’ll be a little while before Dameron’s back with our new mystery medic,” Ren informed, blowing out a harsh breath through his nose. He sucked in a clean breath and propelled himself to his feet; Nali and Mak bit back their smirks when he groaned, reaching for his lower back. “Get out of my office, fuckin’ laserbrains.” 

         “Old man,” Mak and Nali chorused, although they sounded far too fond for it to be an insult. Ren grumbled under his breath, playfully bumping into Nali as he moved past her and she leaned into him, forcing him to stop or let her tip off the edge. Ren huffed and puffed about dealing with the pair constantly but they knew deep down that the old Bothan cared more than he wanted to admit. Ren made a familiar growling sound, one Nali knew was meant to be affectionate, and she smiled to herself. Nali was pushed forward slightly by Mak’s extra weight when he leaned against Ren’s other side.

         “Love ya, old man,” Mak sighed, resting his chin on the top of Ren’s furry head.

         “Yeah, yeah, love you both too,” Ren grumbled but Nali could hear the warmth in his voice. She leaned heavily against him and let herself enjoy one of the few moments of peace in their hectic lives.

A/N: Even though he isn’t in the snippet above, this is a Kix/OFC fic that includes two of my other OCs Calmak (Mak) Jemman and Ren Fay’limi (Nali’s found family). This fic has been consuming my thoughts for so long and the fact that my writer’s block is in full swing is killing me 😭

[xo-edwinspaynes]

Okay, second controversial ask. Half the fandom has a shit opinion of Grace. On both sides, the people who don't like her, and the people who defend her.

For the people who hate her. I feel like, they cannot see beyond the fact that she is an antagonist, and they do not want to see the full picture. She had been groomed from a young age by her mother. She grew up isolated, alone, with a ghost, who as much as he wanted to protect her, could not do much. She was failed by everyone in the Clave ( it's kind of a thing for the Clave to fail kids anyway), and she did not know better. She is fucking 16, and people cannot see that some of her actions were her only way to protect herself.

Now for the people who defend her. I cannot stand the opinion that the fandom hates/dislikes Grace just because of the ship, and then branding the misogyny card on every person who has reasons to dislike her. For the 1st time, we have a brown female protagonist in a fantasy book. For a lot of readers, they finally saw themselves in an adventure story. And the person who is in a way responsible for some of the sorrows of said brown protagonist, is the most mediocre (at best) white female character, who has a tragic back story. Stories are not written just to be in a weird vacuum world. For a lot of these young brown readers, including myself, the antagonists were white women, and some of them had tragic stories. And I feel like reducing the dislike for Grace to a ship war is just ignoring/erasing the feelings and sentiments of a lot of young non-white readers.

Same with the SA, and what she did to Matthew, Charles, and James. There should not be an "I know what she did is wrong BUT", " "her brother should have been kinder when she learned what she did", and "the other characters don't have to accept her apologies but should not be rude to her" rhetorics. There is no need for the but in these cases. I'm going to go a little personal here, but as someone who is in her 20s now, (and kind of sees beyond my nose), do not care about the tragic back story of the person who SAed my sister when she was a preteen. And I can acknowledge that maybe they grew up in an abusive household and that it's a disgusting cycle. It is still not the job of the victims to accommodate the feelings of the assaulters once they realise they fucked up.

Overall, I do believe the character of Grace was ruined in cot. I always thought that she should have killed Tatiana and that she should have left London by the end of the series, for her own sake and healing, and the sake of the other characters, who will always remember her as the blade of Tatiana. The fandom needs to see that she is one of the biggest victims in the series, while being one of the worst characters. Both can mutually exist.

I'm a massive Grace stan, lol. Please keep that in mind when reading my response.

There's a lot here, and I agree with some of it but disagree with a lot of other stuff. (This is a great ask, btw - I am SO GLAD we're in the age of fandom with nuance. Because the Grace situation is SO NUANCED and I think we should talk about it.)

Starting off on a positive note, I 100% agree with your takes on the people who hate her. She was a child that was PURCHASED by a batshit crazy woman that enchanted her when she was like 11 and pimped her out in Paris to practice the powers that were forced on her. Grace Blackthorn is actually one of my favourite TSC characters and I will always be in her corner.

Moving on, I actually haven't seen people say that they think others just hate Grace because of the ship. Where have you seen that? Not saying it didn't happen, bestie! I just haven't seen it.

OKAY SO let's get on with the Grace/Cordelia stuff.

I am a huge Cordelia stan and will defend her to the death. I have a lot of controversial opinions about her, specifically the way that the fandom treats her. My opinion is "yeah she's the main character but she's super overlooked/sidelined by basically everyone and I think we should address that because she's really awesome." I make a point to post about her sometimes because I think she doesn't get the love she deserves, and always want Cordelia-related asks (so go for it, anyone reading this!)

I do disagree with your assessment of Grace as "mediocre at best," but I'll get to that in a minute. I do agree that it's really fucked up to dismiss readers of colour for siding with one of the few main WoC protagonists in mainstream books.

This is a good segue into my next point. I actually am 100% on Cordelia's side in this particular situation. I do not think Cordelia has any obligation to befriend Grace, and I do not think she has any reason to, either. If I were Cordelia, I sure as hell wouldn't forgive Grace. I also do feel irked when people act like James and his loved ones should all accept and embrace Grace with open arms because, like, no. She totally violated James, and Matthew and Charles, too. No one in the main TLH group has any obligation to forgive her whatsoever, though I have a different take specifically on Jesse (you can read it under the cut because I hardcore dislike that character). I do hope that she can find friendship with Alastair, because I think he can understand and empathize with her, but he's sure as hell not obligated to.

You're right about the fact that there shouldn't be an "I know what she did is wrong BUT" for them. They owe her nothing.

Grace does, however, deserve a second chance. I adore her and will die on that hill, too. Not a second chance with this lot, but with other people. I will die on the hill of "Grace should have been sent to another Institute never to see any of these people she's traumatized again." Both because she's triggering for them AND because she deserves a better situation where she has the chance to be forgiven and loved and heal.

Back to Grace SAing people, yeah, you're right. She did that. It's shitty, and we should talk about its impact on James and Matthew and even Charles. I was absolutely furious with her after ChoG specifically on Matthew's behalf because Matthew is precious to me. Like, I cannot put into words just how precious Matthew is to me. And I hope James and Matthew aren't forced to interact with her anymore. They don't need to care about her backstory. They should not accommodate her feelings.

And yet.

YET.

I love the character of Grace, and I love her personally despite her actions. I definitely did not feel like she as a person was ruined in ChoT, and I love the character even more after the book. (ChoT hit a REALLY good place for me that I don't think it hit for a lot of people. It's my favourite TSC book, and probably my favourite-ever book.)

HOWEVER, I do think that the character, as she was written, was handled very, very badly. Her storyline is the only one I'm super dissatisfied with in ChoT (and Kit's, obviously, though my problem was more how the death was handled than the death itself). Grace should have killed Tatiana and left London; that's the arc I wanted for her, too. Grace also should have been able to rely on Jesse for support, and she should have been allowed to go start over at another Institute. She also should have gotten more development. It was very clear that Cassie just got bored with the character and didn't know what to do with her, so she just winged it.

I'm sorry I have ADHD so I ranted a lot but I'll stop here.

At this point, I'm also going to talk about Jesse/address him. I'm doing this at the end so I can put it under a cut. Devoted Jesse fans, exit stage left. This is not Jesse friendly.

In my opinion, Jesse is the only person in the main cast to owe Grace support. She did everything to resurect him, and he knows that he is the ONLY thing she has. And, even more importantly, Tatiana fucked him up, too. She made him an anchor for a prince of Hell. She left him half-dead for years. He of all people should understand what she went through, and he of all people should know that she didn't have a choice (as he didn't when Belial possessed him and murdered a bunch of people). Jesse was such a huge fucking asshole to Grace, and the ONLY reason he was not treated as she was is that he is a) a boy, and b) biologically related to Tatiana, which only may have made the difference. If I were Grace, I would never forgive Jesse for what he said. I hope she doesn't. After everything she has done for him, after everything he has gone through, and after all he knows her for, he OWED her compassion. Once again, a great reason for her to cut ties and be sent somewhere else. I'm captain of the fuck Jesse Blackthorn crew, especially since he has 0 canonical personality traits besides "jackass to Grace."

[mayabruhbruh]

Oh man oh man😭😭 Jonathan lying about college acceptances, Joyce and Murray lying about Alaska, ROBIN "LYING"(hiding, technically) TO VICKIE RAHHHH the list goes on and on.

I think what all of these have in common is that they're all of characters that are lying to the people most important to them.

If they actually meant for this to be a continuity within the season (eg. a theme that gets referenced by a larger plotline) I think it could very well be something they intend to address subtly next season. By sort of singling out Mike in this instance, giving us something to want answered, it really seems to imply that it will show up later. In this specific case, the truth, I guess, as opposed to the lie he led with this season.

(To be clear, it's quite obvious in s4 that the lie has something to do with El and his inability to say the L word. As a matter of fact, the lie may as well have been the confession itself, but for now we're under the impression that he is the odd one out for some unspecified reason LOL.)

An example of this happening in previous seasons is season 3, when everyone was sort of acting unlike themselves. El was going to the mall, wearing unfamiliar bright clothing, trying too hard to be like Max. Mike was also wearing brighter clothing, ignoring things he used to love, and being abnormally teenager-ish. All of the kids were being annoyingly teen-ish lol. But in that season, I think they most singled out Will. By showing him as still stuck in his old ways and wanting to be kids and getting mad about all of the change going on, it made him the character that was distinctly different. They later addressed it with the plotline about getting older and additionally the one about his sexuality a season later.

Basically: "hmm, everyone here is being weird for some specific reason. wait, what about this guy? why isn't he being weird/what is his reason for being weird that we can't see?" lol.

This is just one of many theories that simply state that Mike's internal conflict is not over yet. It happened with Will, where we/the general audience assumed the plot of his coming-of-age was simply having to grapple with growing up, only for it to come flying back at us full-force with the acknowledgement of his sexuality. Giving reason to the conflicts shown in the previous season. That's what I can only assume they might also be doing here with Mike. But then again, a lot of my recent posts' basic points stem back to the fact that everything we don't know yet will be addressed next season. So there are plenty of other ways to back this up, in fact, you can see them on my page lmao, but this is just one of many ways to interpret it.

There is always a reason for patterns. In the case of screenwriting and storytelling, and the use hidden meanings within a framework to tell, it's true that plenty of things happen by accident and just happen to work out for the story. Apparently, based on how many surprise hints and patterns we see in the show that aren't always on purpose, there's really no way of telling what is intentional or not when it comes to theories that are this far from the objective fact. The Duffers are smart, but they also have a lot of happy accidents, I'd say.

Definitely keep that in mind, whether you're developing theories or reading up about them, there's always a certain spectrum that ranges not-so-vastly between plausible and wishful thinking. In the case of this post, it is RIIIIIIIGHT on that line about to cross into wishful thinking territory. Sorry lol.

Me theorizing solely off the desire for it to be true:

To be clear, I try MY VERY BEST to avoid that LMFAO lmk if I'm doing a good job.

Thanks for reading!! Love hearing y'all's observations bc all perspectives are insightful and thought-provoking!! Feel free to drop your opinions/asks/etc. in my inbox and I'll offer my best response. LOVE YALL SO MUCH OKAY BYE.

thinking about that post i saw when s4 dropped about how every character was lying/hiding something during the season (lucas lied to jason, dustin lied about his grades, el lied about angela, will about the painting, max lied about her trauma, etc etc) and the only character who’s “lie” wasn’t ever shown directly was Mike’s

[aewrie]

i've had this thought ruminating and i'm attempting to words

wrt "i cannot be traumatized, i never show any signs of being traumatized" and then years and years later i find myself researching things for No Particular Reason

i have an example situation but throwing under cut bc long + talk about child death

so.

when my baby brother (same dad, different mom) died my grieving process looked like me crying for maybe two minutes when i got the news, and then i was done. my other brother and i did not get to go to the funeral or anything (not sure what my dad's logic behind that was). we did get to make a 'final message' to be burned with him for the urn. that was nice, but that was also just one relatively small thing. i don't remember how long it was before we even visited the grave with my dad.

this was the first time in my life that i was old enough to really understand and remember a family member dying. with my great grandparents i was so young i barely remember the ones i did meet.

it was never really discussed. my mom was the only one who even asked if i was doing ok or wanted to talk. and i just say nah i'm good. the only other time any relative brought it up was months, maybe a year later when i was visiting my (paternal) grandma and she said how she believed juho never talked bc he 'knew' he was 'only visiting'. which i said nothing to bc it was helping her grieve i guess, but this was basically the only time i remember anyone acknowledging him not talking and it weirded me out tbh.

(he was almost four. i don't remember at which point it clicked that oh yeah kids usually talk at least a little by then. no fucking clue if it was ever looked into. im like 99% sure he did vocalize some, but didn't even cry/laugh/etc much? i actually struggle remembering him doing so. he was very quiet even beyond not talking.)

about a year after his death at school we had a writing assignment to make a short autobiography and like. of course i mention this! two fucking years of a sibling dealing with cancer that unfortunately ended in death kinda was a notable part of my life at that point. and when we got graded and my teacher had added a note on the margins offering condolences and i was weirded out bc i didn't know how to deal with that. i just felt like i should comfort this completely unrelated person bc i'm Totally Fine and there is no need for fussing about it, why should she feel sorry for me in the first place??

anyhow. it was this year that i bumped into videos about how to talk to kids about death and how well kids at a given age understand death and suddenly i was extra interested in death related stuff (certainly wasn't before /s). and i remember wondering, way back then, if juho understood what was going on, or if anyone even tried to explain anything to him.

(i started typing more but it was getting into actually upsetting enough territory that this would turn into a proper vent/rant so let's just leave it there for now.)

i've had to learn not to bottle up and repress everything as an adult. it's an. ongoing process. but like. this^ sort of things have been happening for a few years and then when it does and i connect some dots, and proceed sit there a bit like

(but like half the time only on the inside.)

like even now it's like. i'm fine? but at the same time not, not in the sense i thought, before it hit me how much this and that in fact did impact me while i was busy brushing everything upsetting aside for later (read: to never be thought about ever)

((also in case anyone's wondering bc hk is the dead baby pit fandom, i'm good, the dark humour etc is fine and probably helps tbh. been really thinking about dead and dying children for the first time in ages and do i have thoughts that have been marinating for a while lol.))

[introvertbard]

Overslept, had a great fanfic idea!

I had a Ridiculously Coherent Star Wars dream again!

--

At some point before Order 66, Anakin finally went "screw the Jedi AND the Sith, I'm leaving so I can finally acknowledge being married in public." He told Palpatine to shove it, but not without losing the lower half of his legs from the ensuing fight. Obi-Wan had to drag him to the nearest place he could find for a half-decent human medic, and then frantically hunt for Padme while Anakin was howling in pain in the operating room. MY FANFIC DREAMS LOVE TO MAKE "IT'S SIMILAR BUT DIFFERENT!!!" SCENES, LOL.

Ironically, their relationships got a lot healthier on the run. Since a war just happened and everyone ELSE in the Galaxy was getting out of Dodge as well, nobody asked many questions about Ani Planetfall, the suspiciously pretty Tatooine man who hates authority and has three prosthetic limbs, his suspiciously pretty and HIGH-CLASS wife Padme, and his clearly unrelated "brother" Ben.

Padme and Ben are constantly horrified that since Ani's now one of many runaway slaves from Tatooine, people are fine with joking about what KIND of slave he used to be, and how Padme must have stolen "the important parts" once she got pregnant. They are especially upset if Ani's right there and he just seethes but doesn't say anything. On the other hand, their cover story is a lot easier to deal with now that they aren't in DIRECT warfare, or keeping their actual relationship secret.

Unfortunately, Ani thinks that they're overreacting. Given that his old master used to gamble with him in pod-racing, and his most recent master was going to order him to kill his former brethren, he finds dumb quips about how he's a "bargain" to be unpleasant, but bearable.

Once the twins are born and people start making "buy one, get TWO free" jokes to Padme, he starts getting the will to fight people. Say what you want about him, but his kids were NEVER slaves and they will never touch another grain of sand if they have to walk on his dead body to avoid it, you stupid motherfuckers.

--

Chaos happened once Luke and Leia were nine or ten years old, so the Planetfalls got separated from Ben and ended up crash-landing on Earth, in Texas, by the border. Ani cannot get a break from SANDY PLACES, omg.

The Hutt Clan's reach apparently extended to Space-Texas and people yet again pegged Ani as a runaway slave from Tattooine, lol.

Speaking of the Hutt Clan, Space-Texas also had a gigantic arena/coliseum for pit-fights. A couple weeks after the Planetfalls settled in, the landlord told them that at least one person of age in a family had to watch every week, barring emergencies or schedule-conflicts, or else the government would make EVERYONE attend. But politely, you know.

With Padme not being a fan of state-sanctioned pit-fighting, Ani grudgingly said he'd go. He then immediately drank two beers and told everyone nearby that he's already been in a war and he doesn't want to see MORE fighting. It's outrageous and unfair that rich people are staging fights using poor people as toys, and if THEY were the ones who risked losing three out of four limbs, he bets the whole arena would be torn down next month. WANNA SEE MY METAL ARM??? I GOT IT FROM CORUSCANT!!!

--

One scene-cut later, Ani is driven home by the cops. A fighter's wife complains that he's WAY too drunk and upsetting her daughters with his war-stories, and they're supposed to be switching to a new city next week.

The cops just decide to give Ani a warning and tell Padme to remind him that about half of his weight is PROSTHETICS now, so he doesn't have his former alcohol tolerance and he might accidentally put himself in the hospital next time.

When the cops leave, Leia says that Ani just spilled beer on himself so he'd smell more drunk than he was, and the other family asked for help because they know he's a Jedi.

Ani winces and goes "Honey, remember that strangers get creeped out when you know too much. Also I'm not a Jedi anymore, so you get a time-out for telling people. Go play with Luke or something."

So Padme is like, "No, Ani, time-out is the OPPOSITE of letting the kids play with each other. Is this why Leia doesn't care when I do it?!"

He frantically changes the subject and explains that he's just going to get the family to a space-port so the team can all head off the planet together. He's only going to be gone for one or two weeks, he swears. And he doesn't need the lightsaber. What kind of firepower would Space Border-Patrol send to arrest a jumped-up sports team--wannabe gunslingers, who mostly fight people that don't have any guns? Pilots whose main fighting style is "firing shots in a civilian ship's general direction?"

--

SPOILER ALERT, Space Border-Patrol had too much firepower! :P Padme heads out after a few days because the twins tell her Ani's going to be in trouble soon. She brings them and the lightsaber to find Space Border-Patrol in a dogfight with Ani, who has taken one of the shuttles to draw them off.

Unfortunately, he's now too busy to GET the lightsaber unless Padme tries to like, throw it to him between ships. He tells them to get on the main ship, where the pit-fighting team is dealing with a Space-Border platoon that has vibro-weapons.

Padme has gotten some emergency lightsaber training and holds up against the first couple of Space-Border Patrol agents, but without the Force, she's rapidly outfought and decides to stick with the pit-fighters and use her blaster. She refuses to let the twins use the lightsaber because "two ten-year-olds do NOT equal one grown-up! Call your dad right now!"

"HELLO THERE!" Ben calls after he cuts through a door with HIS lightsaber. "Padme! Why is Ani trying to fight from a shuttle, and why do YOU have his lightsaber?"

The twins are ecstatic and go "UNCLE BEN!"

Padme's like "Ben, you're alive! AND I TOLD HIM TO BRING IT! *tosses it at him, sad/angry tears*"

[frodo-with-glasses]

More Reading Thoughts: The Steward and the King

New chapter, let’s go!

Dude Eowyn chill out lol

Eowyn: “I’m bummed because I tried to commit sudoku and it didn’t work.” Faramir: “Please don’t do that. You’re too pretty to die. But hey, if it makes you feel any better, we all might die anyway, so you might as well rest up if you wanna be able to fight.” Eowyn: “But they want me to stay in bed. And my window doesn’t look eastward :’-C” Faramir: “Oh! I can fix that! :-D”

AND NOW MERRY AND FARAMIR GET TO CHAT!! DUDE!!

First Bergil, and now Faramir!! This just in: All of Pippin’s friends eventually become Merry’s friends. When am I gonna get my scene with Beregond and Merry, huh??

(I probably won’t but a girl can dream)

Tbh I think the Warden ships Farawyn

Faramir: “I’mma give you my dead mom’s cloak ‘cause it’s beautiful and sad like you”

Faramir: “Man, it’s been great hanging out with you. I really hope the world doesn’t end now, ‘cause I don’t want to lose this.” Eowyn, a genius: “This what?”

This whole scene plays out like a cheesy Bollywood movie. It’s so over-the-top. I love it X’-D

And then everybody MAGICALLY STARTS SINGING AT ONCE

“And his duty was to prepare for one who would replace him” 👀 John the Baptist is that you??

And here we see the healing power of love *throws confetti*

YOOOOOOO WE GET MORE GONDORIAN MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS WAIT

Okay so we have trumpets, bells, harps, viols, flutes, and horns listed so far. I’m gonna want to answer that ask more thoroughly at some point won’t I?? ‘Cause I have didn’t have this information before but NOW I DO

Heyyy there’s somebody named Hurin! Hopefully his life has been better than the original one

(I can’t imagine naming your kid after someone who’s best known for having a son with the Worst Life Ever. Like, okay, sassing Morgoth to his face is pretty cool, but is it worth it?? Is it really?? Like the only thing worse would actually be naming your kid Turin. … They’ve done that too, haven’t they?)

ELFHELM!!!

ELFHELM SURVIVED!!

ELFHELM OF DAD JOKES I LOVE YOU

Hahaha hi Ioreth

“They are dear friends, I hear.” HECK YES THEY ARE

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW RIGHT YOU ARE IORETH

Listen one of my favorite tropes is when people in-universe acknowledge the bromance as An Official ThingTM, so this is PEAK. THANK YOU TOLKIEN

Faramir: “I give you my stick.” Aragorn: “No u”

Goodness GRACIOUS that is a whole paragraph of titles for Aragorn. What the heck. Who is it in my notes that always tags Aragorn as “local man has too many names, local authorities report” because you are RIGHT

“Now according to tradition, he should take the crown from his father, but given that his father didn’t have the crown and is also very much dead—”

Faramir: “I give you the crown” Aragorn: “NO U”

And now Frodo does the task of a ring-bearer in an actual wedding, which is to carry the shiny thing to somebody so they can give it to somebody else

“HEY! LET’S HEAR IT FOR CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

Woohoo King Aragorn!

WAIT

HOLD UP

‘ITS GATES WERE WROUGHT OF MITHRIL AND STEEL’??

YOOOOOO!! That’s a 100% METAL DOOR!! In a MEDIEVAL SETTING!! Even WE don’t have huge metal doors for most things, and we’re in the modern age!

First of all, imagine how shiny! Secondly, IMAGINE HOW FREAKIN’ SCI-FI—

BEREGOOOOOOOOND

HELLO MY BOO I’VE MISSED YOU

“And the king said to Beregond: ‘Beregond…’”

Pffft

I must be slaphappy, ‘cause for some reason I find his name being written twice in a row to be very funny

Aragorn: “Okay so you’re not in trouble, but you’re also not allowed to be a Guard of the Citadel anymore.” Beregond: “😨☹️😭” Aragorn: “…Because you’re gonna work FOR FARAMIR! GET PROMOTED ON, IDIOT!!” Beregond: “😧 … 🤩🥳🎉🎊🎈”

Aww haha Aragorn and Eomer hug X-D

Eowyn, to Faramir: “I’ll be back later, I promise.” Eomer, probably: “👀😨😡”

Aragorn: “Pls stick around, friends, I love you guys”

Frodo: “Pippin, you were wrong, Gandalf is keeping secrets again.” Gandalf: “excuse”

Aragorn, excitedly: “LE GASP!! A TREE!!”

Okay so lemme get this straight: Aragorn wasn’t allowed to marry Arwen until he found a tree??

Right. Okay. 🤣🤣🤣

I’m sure this is very symbolically important and whatever but it’s almost 3 AM and I just think it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all night

GLORFINDELLLLLL

GLORFINDEL HI!!

I’VE MISSED YOU FRIEND!!! 8-D

I guess all these other elves are here too but I don’t really care ROFLOL

This chapter really is the epitome of Tolkien going “oh shoot I guess I’d better include some romance in here huh”

[hanmasghost]

Hey! Could pls write a Hanma x male reader

So kisaki is obsessed with hinata, but hanma is obsessed with hinata cousin. They met by accident when he saw hinata takemichi and reader going for a walk. Kinda yandere, like i could imagine him Kidnapping reader in the future when takemichi discusses with naoto about what changed and all.

P. S I loved the way you answered my last request!!!

Hanma Shuji x Reader

Please look at my page before requesting

Pt.2 here

Pt.3 here

A/N: I’m really glad you liked what I wrote for you last time. Not sure if I can write as well as I did last time because I’m low on writing skills and motivation, but I can try. Hope ya enjoy. Also sorry I’ve been gone for a month, I was working on a Quotev quiz lol

Pronouns: He/Him

Warning(s): Not proofread, Hanma is delusional

Hanma was bored.

Kisaki hadn’t contacted him at all, and there was no meetings today either.

He did come across some wannabe gangsters and a few small time gangs, but they were so easy to beat.

It wasn’t enjoyable at all.

It was only nine in the morning and he already felt like jumping off a building because he was so bored.

“Hey! Wait for me!”

Hanma turned his head towards the shout.

That sounded like that kid..

Uh.. what was his name again?

Takemikey?

Mitch?

Mitchy?

Takemichi?

Oh! Takemitchy!

He was shouting at Mikey in the middle of their fight.

To be honest Hanma almost forgot about that part. He was too busy having fun fighting the so called “invincible” Mikey.

Speaking of Mikey.. he should fight him again..

Ooh! Maybe Mikey was with that kid! Then they could fight again! That’d cure his boredom for sure!

Hanma started walking towards where he heard Takemichi’s voice.

Tho before approaching Takemichi he saw a boy. A very attractive looking boy. He looked around Hanma’s age.

Hanma didn’t know what it was about him but he made Hanma’s heart pound.

It was a type of adrenaline Hanma never experienced before. He liked it. A lot.

Hanma watched as the boy walked up to a pink and orange haired girl. She looked familiar to Hanma somehow.

Eh. Whatever.

Then he watched as a blonde haired kid walked up to them.

Wait.

That was Takemitchy!!

Where was Mikey tho?

Was he not there?

Fuck, that sucks.

Hm.. maybe he could fight Takemitchy and then Mikey would show up!

Then again, Hanma wanted to experience that new kind of adrenaline he just felt again.

Maybe if he fought you?

Worth a shot!

With that in mind Hanma walked up to the group of three. Takemichi recognized Hanma instantly and grabbed Hina’s hand and squeezed it. Hina looked at her boyfriend and squeezed his hand gently.

Y/N on the other hand shot Hanma a questioning look. Which hHanma returned with a smile.

“Who are you? Do you need something from us?” You asked the tattooed man that was smiling directly at you.

It made you uneasy to be honest.

It was like he couldn’t see anything but you. Or he just refused to acknowledge anything else.

It was kinda creepy.

For Hanma on the other hand, he was confused.

Why is he just standing here?

Wasn’t he gonna ask if you could fight?

“What’s your name?”

What the actual fuck is he doing?

Why did he ask your name?

“Huh? Me?”

Why are you replying to him?

He’s a stranger to you?

“Yeah! I’m Hanma Shuji~ Call me Shuji if you want tho~”

Why the fuck did he say you could call him Shuji?

Why is he doing this?

“Oh okay then Shuji. I’m L/N Y/N, you can call me Y/N… Oh! And this is my cousin Hina and her boyfriend Takemichi.”

Why did you just tell him all that?

I think I’m having a internal crisis right now uhm…

“Say Y/N~ can you fight?~”

Takemichi was gonna say something and get you three away from Hanma, and hopefully not start a fight. Fortunately for Takemichi, Hanma got a call.

“Hello?~… Kisaki? What do you want? I’m busy….. can it wait?~ I just found something exciting to doooo”

Hanma complained over the phone.

Both Hina and Takemichi recognized the name of the one Hanma was talking to. They stood there in shock.

Hanma hung up the phone a turned to Y/N once again.

“Soooo.. maybe we can hang out sometime?”

Y/N stared at Hanma.

He was an attractive guy. Weird. But attractive.

“Uhh… maybe.. I’m not so sure.. you kinda seem like you wanna fight me but I don’t really like fighting so uhm…”

Hanma was going to reply but paused.

“Oh.. we’ll then we can hang out without fighting! How about that?~”

Hanma was ready to say or do anything to get you to hang out with him. He didn’t know why he wanted to talk to you again. You were just some pretty boy he saw on the street.

“Uhm.. sure. Why not?”

“Sweet~ here’s my number. Call me sometime ‘kay?~”

“Huh?- oh- sure. Talk to ya later Shuji.”

“Okay♡~"

With that said, Hanma turned and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

As he was walking away he thought about both of your future encounters.

One imaginary encounter made Hanma freeze.

Why was he thinking about marrying you?

He just met you!

Then again….

You were…

Perfect.

And no one else around you seemed to notice that. Was Hanma the only one? Was he the only one who saw how perfect you were? That has to mean something right? It has to.

Then it clicked.

He was the only one who noticed because..

You were made for him!!

You were made for each other!

Perfect for each other even!

It made so much sense to Hanma now.

The adrenaline from before was back.

The adrenaline wasn’t because he wanted to fight you. It was because you were destined to be his! Destined to love him!

“Ha.. haha.. HAHAHA-“

*ding*

Hanma stopped laughing and looked at his phone. It was Kisaki.

“Ugh… right..”

*ringgGggGgg*

Kisaki started to call him.

“Huh? I said I’ll be right there-“

“It’s been fifteen minutes where are you!?”

“Traffic.”

“Well hurry up!”

“Okay okay~”

“Ugh..”

“Ahaha~”

“God.. just.. hurry up dammit.”

“You got it Ki~sa~ki~”

“Ughh didn’t I tell you to stop that?”

Kisaki then hang up.

Hanma chuckled and stuffed his phone back into his pocket once again.

Guess he’d have to figure out how to get with you later. He has a job to do.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it.  you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

                                    You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.  

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though.  After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all?  Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared).  He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did.  Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered.  The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed.  You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him.  You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him.  Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around.  You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention.  If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers.  With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk.  Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter.  “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded.  By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous.  Idiotic.  A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you.  “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged.  “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing?  “Thank you.  I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.  

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense.  But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?”  His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious.  “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him.  He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression.  His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.  

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that?  I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me.  It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm.  “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium.  Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.  

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.  

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course.  And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.  “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar.  “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time.  You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there.  Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.  

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.  

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen.  And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds.  You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit.  All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.  

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything.  The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.  

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex.  As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd.  Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway.  It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.  

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted.  “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were.  But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck.  “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear.  “Can you do that for me?  Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped.  “I can take it!  Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head.  “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on?  Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers.  You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you.  Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.  

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly.  You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point.  "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly.  He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.  

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air.  He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive.  The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed.  He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss.  Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him.  Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing.  His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately.  "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.”  It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.  But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear.  You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly.  "Oh, you like that idea, hm?  You want to be full of my come?  Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast.  You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated.  As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade.  Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks.  No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair.  It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks.  If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.  

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry.  I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed.  He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye.  “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.  

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss.  And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again.  He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss.  Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss?  But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class?  Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it?  And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios.  You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him.  And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now.  The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class.  As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options.  There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he���d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself.  Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable.  Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned.  "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk.  Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was.  “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed.  “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice.  You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly.  “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed.  “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly.  "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours.  And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel.  “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed.  "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again.  "A man can only take so much.  I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked.  "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist.  Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod.  It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag.  “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened.  Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.”  He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips.  “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs.  “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair.  He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit.  Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up.  He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way.  I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed.  "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear.  "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.  

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me.  Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}