#but is pivotal to how he approaches the world

[faulty-heat-vents]

(ooc: long and kinda dark backstory comic below cut, mind the tw tags)

//You are NOT him. Stop living in his shadow.

//I know I'm not him. I'll never live up to whatever they wanted from me.

//You have been killed, and you came back. That is more than he ever did.

//...I guess that's a good point. Not often you get an uneven k/d.

//Not often you get a second chance to be yourself. Now you have me, and nobody will take that chance from you again.

//…thanks, Thermie.

//Reciprocated, Pilot.

[leona-hawthorne]

LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 15th. mattheo riddle — slow down!

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary ; mattheo’s got a little crush on you, but you keep running away every time he tries talking to you! words ; 3.9k warnings ; smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, spanking, mentions of blood

navigation ficmas masterlist

The corridor was unnervingly quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of parchment or the faint scrape of shoes against stone. You hugged your books tightly to your chest, trying to make yourself invisible as you hurried toward the sanctuary of the library. The cold December air seeping through the ancient castle walls bit at your skin, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the warmth you suddenly felt—someone approaching from behind.

“Hi.”

His voice slid into your awareness before you even heard the sound of his footsteps, sending your heart skittering like a startled bird. Turning your head slightly, you caught sight of him—dark curls falling into his eyes, his signature Slytherin tie loosened at his throat, and that grin. The grin that made your chest feel too tight and your thoughts scatter like spilled ink.

Your first instinct, as always, was to flee.

Before he could say more, you ducked your head and pivoted on your heel, muttering something about being late to the library. 

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His hand was warm and firm around your wrist, stopping you mid-flight. He turned you gently to face him, his dark eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your cheeks burn. “Would you please stop running away from me? It’s worrying me, you know. The way you look like you’ve seen a ghost every time I’m around.”

You didn’t dare meet his eyes. Not yet. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the traitorous flush that gave away just how much he affected you. “I’m not running,” you mumbled, though the evidence was damning.

“Oh, come on.” He laughed, soft and incredulous. “You bolt every time I so much as look at you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to catch up with you? You’re like—like a mouse slipping through cracks.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He tilted his head, the faintest frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t bite, you know. Not unless you ask.” 

His teasing tone made your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, dropping your gaze to the floor.

“Don’t be,” he said softly, his grip on your wrist loosening but not letting go entirely. “I just—look, you know I’m not going to hurt you, right?”

“I-I know,” you stammered, and it was true. He wasn’t threatening to you, not even close. But that didn’t make the rapid thudding of your heart any less overwhelming. 

His brow furrowed slightly. “Then what is it?” His voice dropped, quieter now, as if he was trying not to spook you. “Am I too much? Too… loud? Intense? I can tone it down if that’s what you need.”

The earnestness in his voice nearly unraveled you. You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault—that it was you, and your inability to handle the way he seemed to draw everyone’s attention with effortless charm. The way he smiled like he knew every secret in the world. The way his presence made you feel like you were standing too close to the sun.

“I—” You bit your lip, scrambling for an excuse, any excuse, but your brain seemed to be short-circuiting under his gaze. “I’m just...not used to people like you.”

“People like me?” His eyebrows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a half-smile. “What does that mean?”

“You know.” You waved your free hand vaguely, avoiding his eyes again. “Confident. Charming.”

“Ah.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound warm and rich, wrapping around you like a blanket. “So, what? You’re allergic to confidence?”

“No! I just—” You huffed, flustered, and Mattheo’s grin widened.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?” he said, and your stomach flipped violently.

“I am not,” you mumbled, heat rising to your cheeks.

“You are,” he insisted, his tone teasing but gentle. “And I’m not saying that to make you run away again, by the way. I’d really prefer it if you didn’t.”

You glanced up at him then, your heart doing somersaults at the soft, hopeful look in his eyes. And for a moment, you thought maybe you could do this—stay, talk to him, let yourself believe that someone like Mattheo Riddle could actually like someone like you.

But instead, you mumbled something incoherent and, in a sudden burst of courage—or cowardice—twisted out of his grasp and darted down the hallway.

“Wait—! Oh, come on! Slow down!” His exasperated laugh echoed behind you, followed by his voice, playful but resigned. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

Oh, but you weren’t getting away that easily.  

Because by some twist of fate—or Mattheo’s uncanny ability to be everywhere you didn’t want him to be—you found yourself crossing paths with him again that very afternoon. And this time, there was no escaping.  

The hospital wing was quiet, the kind of quiet that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, broken only by the soft clink of glass vials as you worked. You were perched at Madame Pomfrey’s desk, carefully restocking rows of remedies, when the heavy wooden door creaked open.  

You didn’t look up at first, assuming it was Madame Pomfrey returning from her rounds. But then you heard the familiar drawl.  

“Madame Pomfrey, I—oh.”  

Your hand froze mid-reach for a jar of bruise balm. Your stomach plummeted. You knew that voice.  

You froze, your hand stilling mid-reach for a jar of essence of murtlap. Slowly, as though moving too quickly might summon some greater disaster, you turned your head toward the door.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, leaning casually against the doorframe, one arm tucked against his side, the other pressed lightly to his jaw where a streak of blood stood out against his pale skin. His shirt was untucked, his tie gone, and his dark curls were just messy enough to make him look infuriatingly perfect.  

Your heart started to pound, the air in your lungs thinning to a whisper. “You,” you said before you could stop yourself, the word barely louder than a squeak.  

Mattheo grinned, even as he winced slightly, straightening from the doorframe. “Me,” he echoed.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the desk as if it might keep you grounded. “What... what happened?”  

“I fell,” he said simply, though the smirk on his lips made it impossible to believe him.

“You fell,” you repeated flatly, crossing your arms.

He nodded solemnly, though there was nothing solemn about the way his eyes flicked over you, taking in the rolled-up sleeves of your uniform and the faint smudge of ink on your wrist from earlier. “Tragic, I know. But lucky me—I’ve landed in the most capable hands.”

Your cheeks burned, and you immediately dropped your gaze, fussing with the nearest jar of ointment to avoid his eyes. “Madame Pomfrey isn’t here,” you mumbled. “I’m just helping... for now.”  

“Oh, I don’t mind,” he said, moving toward one of the hospital beds. “I think I like the idea of you taking care of me.”  

Your fingers fumbled, nearly knocking over a bottle of murtlap essence. “Sit,” you said quickly, pointing to the bed without looking at him. “You need to sit so I can... um... look at that.”  

He chuckled softly but complied, settling onto the edge of the bed. “As you wish.”  

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you grabbed a cloth and some antiseptic. But when you turned back, he wasn’t sitting anymore. He was standing again, closer now—too close, that lazy grin still firmly in place.

Your breath caught. “You—what are you doing?”  

“Stretching my legs,” he said easily, his voice low and warm.  

“You’re supposed to be resting,” you said, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to sound firm. “You’re injured—”  

“It’s nothing,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned against the desk, his dark eyes fixed on you. “I’m not that fragile, you know.”  

“But—”  

“Do I make you nervous?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his curls falling into his eyes.  

You immediately shook your head, even though you could feel the heat crawling up your neck. “N-no. I mean—why would you think that?”  

“Because you’re practically shaking,” he said, his tone softer now, though no less teasing. “And because you keep looking anywhere but at me.”  

Your eyes flicked up to his for a fraction of a second before dropping back down to the floor. “I’m not... I mean, I just—”  

“You’re adorable,” he said, and the warmth in his voice made your pulse race.  

You froze, your fingers tightening on the cloth in your hands. “I should clean your cut,” you mumbled, stepping back toward him.  

But before you could reach him, he moved again, his hands finding the edge of the table on either side of you, caging you in.  

“Mattheo—”  

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a murmur. His dark eyes held yours, the intensity in them stealing the words right out of your throat. “So stop running.”  

His face was so close now, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your cheek, making your skin tingle. You could see the individual lashes framing those mesmerizing eyes, the slight curve of his lips, the way his teeth nipped gently at his lower lip...

"Come on," you muttered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You lifted the antiseptic in your hand. "Just... please let me help you."

It sounded weak, pathetic even, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

For a long moment, he simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped back, giving you space to breathe again.

"You're right," he said, his voice a little rougher than usual. "Thank you."

He sat back down on the bed, his posture a bit less casual now, more tense. He looked up at you through his lashes, his gaze softer than before.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to overwhelm you. I just..." He paused, seeming to struggle for the right words. "I like you, Y/N. A lot. And sometimes I forget myself around you."

You blinked rapidly, processing his words. "You... really?" you asked softly, hardly daring to believe it. Slowly, hesitantly, you took a step closer, drawn to him despite your nerves.

"Yes, really," he confirmed, his voice low and sincere. As you drew near, he reached out, his large hands coming to rest on your hips. In one smooth motion, he pulled you down onto his lap, his strong arms wrapping around your waist to steady you.

You gasped, your hands flying up to press against his chest. You could feel the firm muscles beneath his shirt, the rapid thud of his heartbeat. Your own heart raced in response, your cheeks flaming with heat.

He smiled softly, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your hip bones as he held you close. "There," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Isn't this better?"

You squirmed slightly in his lap, hyper-aware of every point where your bodies touched. "I... I don't know if this is a good idea," you whispered, even as your traitorous body melted into his embrace. Your hands slid up his chest to loop around his neck, fingers tangling in the soft curls at his nape.

He chuckled lowly, the sound vibrating through you. "Why not? We're alone, aren't we?" His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your blouse. "No one has to know..."

He leaned in, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. "Let me take care of you," he breathed against your skin, his other hand sliding down to palm your ass. "I promise I'll make it feel good."

You whimpered softly as his lips and tongue worked magic on your sensitive skin, your head lolling back to give him better access. But as he kissed lower, you suddenly felt something wet and sticky on your throat–his cut.

"Wait," you gasped, pulling back slightly. You brought a hand up to your neck, your fingers coming away streaked with blood. "You're still bleeding, Mattheo. We should clean that first before... before anything else happens."

He paused, looking up at you with lust-darkened eyes. A slow, amused grin spread across his face. "You think I give a fuck about that right now?" he muttered, pulling you flush against him again. "Don't worry about that."

His hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head back as he attacked your throat with renewed fervor, licking and sucking at the bloodied skin. 

"M-Mattheo," you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't... not here..."

Even as you protested weakly, your hips started to move of their own accord, grinding down against the growing hardness you could feel pressing against your thighs. The friction sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, making your head spin.

He groaned into your neck, the vibrations rumbling through his chest and into yours. His hands tightened on your hips, encouraging your movements as he rocked up against you.

"Oh, fuck. You're not as innocent as you pretend to be, huh?" he noted, his voice rough with desire.

In one fluid motion, he lifted you off his lap, rising from the bed as you stumbled back. His hands roamed possessively, sliding from your waist to the curve of your lower back before trailing up to cup the soft swell of your tits. His touch was rough and insistent, squeezing and kneading as if he couldn't get enough of you. 

Before you could catch your breath, he turned you around, his firm grip guiding you into place. His hand pressed against the small of your back, a silent command that sent heat pooling in your belly as you bent forward, your chest and palms flattening against the bed.

You felt the air shift around you, cool and heady against your heated skin, as Mattheo's fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt. He dragged it up slowly, deliberately, his movements measured, as though savoring every inch of you revealed to him.  

"Running from me, again and again," he muttered, his voice dark and edged with amusement. "And now look at you. Right where I’ve always wanted you."  

Your breath caught, shame and desire tangling in your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond—not when his hands curled under the waistband of your panties, dragging them down the curve of your thighs in one slow, tantalizing motion.  

"Mattheo," you whispered, your voice trembling, barely audible above the pounding of your own heart.  

His low laugh sent shivers through you. "Finally saying my name. Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear that? And not just in your shy little apologies."  

Your knees nearly buckled as his fingers teased the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, tracing lazy circles closer and closer to where you ached for him. He let the silence hang, heavy and charged, before looping his arm around your front. 

"Cute,” he murmured. "You’ve spent weeks avoiding me, playing coy. But I think you’ve wanted this just as much as I have. Haven’t you?"  

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—only gasp as his fingers found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks skittering up your spine.  

"Answer me," he demanded, his tone soft but unyielding. "I want to hear you say it."  

Your nails dug into the bedspread, and you shook your head, overwhelmed by the intensity of his touch. "I-I don’t…"  

"Don’t what?" His fingers curled around the back of your neck, squeezing lightly. "Don’t want me? Don’t need this? Say it, sweetheart, because your body’s telling me a very different story."  

You whimpered, the heat pooling between your thighs making it impossible to deny him—or yourself. "I…I want you," you finally choked out, your voice so quiet you weren’t sure he’d heard.  

But he did.  

"Good girl," he praised, the words dripping with satisfaction. His movements quickened, drawing tight, delicious circles that had your legs trembling. "See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? All you had to do was stop running."  

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his hand slid down from your neck, tracing the curve of your hip before gripping your ass firmly. His other hand left your front, joining its twin to knead and grope the plush flesh, his thumbs digging in with a possessive hunger that made heat bloom low in your belly again.  

“You’re perfect here,” he mused, his voice a deep hum as he spread your cheeks apart, his touch maddeningly deliberate. “Bent over for me like this. Made for me, aren’t you?”  

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape, but Mattheo didn’t miss it. He laughed softly, the sound dripping with smug satisfaction.  

“Don’t hold back now,” he coaxed, his hands trailing up and down the back of your thighs, lingering just long enough to tease but not satisfy. “I want to hear every little sound you make for me.”  

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could form a word, his palm landed on your ass with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt too much, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight through you.  

“Mattheo!”  

“There it is,” he purred, his hands smoothing over the spot he’d just struck, his touch soothing and warm. “You sound so fucking sweet when you say my name like that.”  

Before you could respond, you felt the hard press of his length against you, separated only by the fabric of his trousers. He rolled his hips, letting you feel the full weight of him, and your knees buckled slightly at the realization of just how much he wanted you.  

“You feel that?” he murmured, his lips brushing the back of your neck as he reached down to unbuckle his belt. The soft clink of metal was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart. “That’s what you do to me. Every time you run, every time you look at me with those shy little glances—you drive me fucking insane.”  

The ruffling of fabric being lowered was too hard to ignore, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder. The sight of him—breathing heavily, his cock thick and hard, standing proudly against the taut muscles of his stomach—sent a wave of heat washing over you.  

“Eyes front,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal. When you didn’t obey fast enough, his hand came down on your ass again, the sharp sting making you gasp. “Now.”  

You did as he said, pressing your forehead into the bedspread as his hands roamed over you again, his touch both reverent and demanding. One hand slipped between your thighs, spreading you open, while the other gripped your hip, holding you steady.  

“God, you’re so wet for me,” he groaned, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. He teased your entrance with the tip of one finger before pushing inside, curling it just enough to make you arch back against him.  

“You like that?” he asked, his voice laced with a dark kind of affection as he added another finger, stretching you slowly. “I can feel how tight you are. So perfect. So ready for me.”  

Your answer was a broken moan, your body moving instinctively against his hand.  

“Shit,” he breathed, pulling his fingers out only to replace them with the blunt head of his cock, teasing your entrance with maddening slowness. “You’re gonna ruin me, you know that?”  

The stretch of him entering you was almost too much, but the way he worked you—inch by agonizing inch, his hands gripping your hips to keep you still—sent a wave of pleasure through you that made your toes curl.  

“Fuck,” he groaned, his voice a husky growl as he bottomed out, filling you completely. He stayed there for a moment, his breathing ragged, his hands running over the curve of your back and the swell of your ass. “You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight, so perfect. Tell me how it feels.”  

“Good,” you managed, your voice barely more than a whisper. “So good.”  

“Yeah?” He pulled back slowly, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you before snapping his hips forward again with a deep thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your body jerking forward at the force, but he didn’t give you a moment to adjust. He set a slow, measured pace, his thrusts deep but deliberate, pulling out and pushing back into you with an almost agonizing slowness that made your heart race. “You like it when I fill you up like this? When I make you mine?”  

Your only response was a strangled moan, your fingers clutching the sheets as he sped up his rhythm, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.  

His hand left your hip, sliding down to your front to brush your clit with just the right amount of pressure. "God, you’re perfect," he muttered, his voice rough as he continued to slide in and out of you, each stroke a slow burn. "I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want you right now."

The pressure inside you was building, slow and steady, like the tightening of a coil. You could feel every inch of him, each thrust dragging out the pleasure until it was almost unbearable. You clenched around him, urging him deeper, and he groaned in response, his grip tightening on your hips as he pushed you harder into the bed.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he breathed, his voice rough and full of need. His thrusts picked up, faster now, more urgent, but still controlled, as if he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. “You feel so fucking good, so warm and tight around me. Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

Your hands gripped the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as the pleasure mounted. He hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, driving you mad with the sensation, and you couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips.

“Please…” you gasped, not sure if you were begging for more or for him to take you faster. It didn’t matter. You just needed him. 

Mattheo smirked, his fingers still pressing against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "You want it faster? You want me to make you come on my cock?"  

You nodded, desperate for more. “Yes, please…”

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, his thrusts quickening as he slammed into you with abandon. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with the low groans escaping both of you.  

With one final, devastating thrust, you shattered, your release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Mattheo wasn’t far behind, his rhythm growing erratic as he buried himself deep inside you, groaning your name as he followed you over the edge.  

For a moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your ragged breaths and the heat of his body against yours. Then, slowly, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder.  

“You’re not running from me again,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “Not now. Not ever.” 

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

[tteotlma]

Panic and Proximity

-- Trapped with Logan in a safe room, your biggest weakness reveals itself.

(Wolverine/Reader) 1.7kw

a/n: it's been like six years since i posted a fic.. smth short and sweet

TW: anxiety, panic attack, mentions of vomit, close spaces, forced proximity(?), CLAUSTROPHOBIA, tight spaces

"Bobby!" you yell over the deafening roar. You dig your heels into the dirt, pivoting to run towards your friend. A Sentinel has Bobby pinned, ice against ice. Suddenly, the ground opens beneath him, swallowing him whole. Your heart leaps into your throat, but in the next instant, the sky above the massive monster splits open. Bobby drops out, ready to swing full throttle.

You glance back to see Kitty sprinting towards you, Logan not far behind.

"No, run!" she screams, grabbing your arm as you both dash into the building.

"But Bobby—" you start, turning to look back at your friend. He seems to be holding his own, but for how long?

"It's okay, he's coming," Kitty pants as she phases you through industrial shelving.

Logan's gruff voice surprises you. "How do you know?"

"Because I'm gonna get him," Kitty replies, pulling you deeper into the building. "I just need to make sure you guys are safe first."

"And how are you gonna do that?" you ask, breathless. Your feet pound the floor in rhythm with theirs, legs aching. Only the adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going. 

"This way," Kitty hisses, yanking you towards a narrow corridor. The building's layout becomes a maze of twisting hallways and locked doors. Alarms blare, red emergency lights casting eerie shadows.

Logan sniffs the air. "We've got company. Multiple hostiles, closing in fast."

"There's a safe room," Kitty says, her voice strained. "It's small, but it'll have to do."

Your stomach tightens at the word 'small'. "How small are we talking?"

She doesn't answer, instead phasing through another wall, pulling you along. You emerge into a dim, cluttered storage area. At the far end, a heavy metal door stands ajar.

"In there. Now!" Logan growls, glancing behind you.

The thundering footsteps of your pursuers grow louder. Your heart races as you approach the door, catching a glimpse of the cramped space beyond. It's barely larger than a closet.

Kitty pushes you forward. "You don't have a choice. Get in!"

You hesitate, your breath catching in your throat. The walls seem to close in already, even from outside. But the sound of gunfire erupting behind you slowly convinces you to enter, but not fast enough. Kitty grabs both you and Logan and before you can protest, she phases you through the thick steel door. 

“Don’t go anywhere.” Kitty demands before she walks through the other side of the closet just as quickly as she put you in here. 

A small “no” escapes your lips as you reach out to touch the walls. You try to find any crevice to show your not completely shut off from everything but its no use, it’s too dark and from what your fingers can feel there’s nothing. The steel is stainless, and smooth. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, suddenly becoming too aware of your heart beating in your chest, and you suddenly feel lightheaded. You try and catch your breath but you can’t, you try and breathe but your lungs cant open enough as it hits you, your world shrinks to the size of a coffin. You try to take a deep breath, but you keep coming short.

"You okay?" Kitty whispers, her voice too close in the blackness.

You want to answer, to say you're fine, but the words stick in your throat. The walls are too close, the air too thin. You're trapped, and panic begins to claw its way up from your chest.

You try to soothe yourself, eyes squeezed shut, desperately imagining a vast field. Hoping to enhance the illusion, you peel your hands from the walls. Suddenly, a loud boom shakes the room, steel groaning around you. Logan tenses beside you, a stark reminder that danger still lurks beyond your confined space.

Your breathing becomes more erratic. Sweat beads on your forehead as the small space seems to shrink even further. Your fingers tingle, and a wave of nausea hits you.

"It's okay, it's okay," you mutter, but the words sound hollow even to your own ears. You take a step back, trying to escape the wall, only to collide with Logan's chest. He finally notices your distress.

"Hey, you alright?" He shifts, touching you lightly. You flinch away instinctively.

"Sorry," you pant. "Would now be a bad time to tell you I'm claustrophobic?" You attempt a chuckle, hands fumbling to steady yourself. Eyes clenched shut, you feel saliva pooling in your mouth. "I think I'm gonna barf," you whisper.

"Hey, hey!" Logan turns you around to face him. "Look at me." You briefly open your eyes, making out only his shadowy form, hunched over. You quickly shut them again.

"Are you hunching over because the ceiling's too short?" you ask, still dizzy. Your fingertips find his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his solid torso. He shifts, followed by a soft thud.

"No," he says.

"You're lying." You clench your hand, pressing your fist against his stomach. The rhythm of his breathing slowly anchors you, pulling you back to reality.

"Maybe, but that's not important," he says, his voice closer than before. You feel him shift, moving nearer.

Your fist sinks deeper into the muscle of his stomach as his heavy hands rest on your shoulders, grounding you.

"Why are you just saying something now?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

"I-it never seemed to matter," your voice shakes, your other hand wrapping around his forearm for support. "Until now." You feel tears forming in your eyes. "I-I'm sorry."

"Oh," you hear him breathe out softly. "Oh, Y/N." He sighs, a mix of concern and understanding in his tone.

Suddenly, his arms envelop you, cradling your head against his chest. The gesture, though meant to comfort, unfortunately intensifies your panic. Your breath hitches as the feeling of being trapped increases, despite the warmth of his embrace. You try to pull away but his arms don’t budge. 

Your breathing becomes more rapid against Logan's chest. The warmth of his embrace, meant to comfort, instead fuels your panic. "I can't—" you gasp, your fingers clawing at his shirt. "It's too tight, too close."

He cuts you off, shushing you. 

“Yes, you can.” He reassures you, his hand stroking your head.

"Listen to me," Logan says firmly, his gruff voice softening with an unexpected gentleness. "We're gonna try something. Focus on my voice and breathe with me. Can you do that?"

You manage a small nod against his chest, your forehead pressed against the rough fabric of his shirt. Logan must feel the slight movement because he shifts, adjusting his stance to better support you.

"Good," he murmurs, the word rumbling through his chest. "Now, feel my breathing. Try to match it."

Logan takes a deep, deliberate breath. You feel his chest expand against you, the steady rise and fall a stark contrast to your own erratic gasps. He holds you close, one hand splayed across your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. His calloused fingers are surprisingly gentle, grounding you in the moment.

"In through your nose," he instructs, his voice low and measured. You struggle to comply, your breath hitching. "That's it," he encourages. "Now hold it for a moment."

You feel the pause in his chest's movement, a moment of stillness in the chaotic swirl of your thoughts. 

"Now out through your mouth," Logan continues, his own exhale warm against the top of your head. "Slow and steady."

As you attempt to follow his lead, you become acutely aware of other sensations: the faint scent of cigar smoke clinging to Logan's shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat against your ear, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cool metal walls surrounding you.

"Again," Logan says softly. "In... hold... and out. You're doing great, kid."

Gradually, your breathing begins to sync with his. The vice-like grip of panic on your chest starts to loosen, ever so slightly. In this small, dark space, Logan's presence becomes an anchor, a point of focus beyond the suffocating walls.

"That's it," he murmurs, a note of approval in his voice. "Just keep breathing with me. We'll get through this together."

You nod, one hundred percent sure that if you were to talk right now, it wouldn't be heard. Closing your eyes, you lean more of your weight against Logan. You take in his scent—a mix of cigar smoke, leather, and something uniquely him—his warmth seeping into you, his solid presence anchoring you in the moment. You melt into him, relishing the feel of his muscular body against yours.

In this intimate moment, your mind drifts to all the times you've admired Logan from afar. He's always been the ruggedly handsome mentor, the forbidden fruit that made your heart race during training sessions. You've caught his lingering glances, felt the electricity when his hand corrected your stance, noticed how his eyes seemed to soften when they landed on you.

There's always been something there, simmering beneath the surface. An unspoken connection, a tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge. You've told yourself it was just a silly crush, that Logan saw you as nothing more than a student. But the gentleness in his touch now, the care in his voice—it speaks of something deeper.

This moment, trapped in this tiny space, feels like a test of your limits. The boundaries between mentor and student, between longing and reality, seem to blur. Your racing heart isn't just from claustrophobia anymore, and you're certain Logan can feel it.

But now isn't the time for these thoughts. The danger lurking outside this safe room, the mission at hand—it all comes rushing back. You know you should pull away, regain your composure, focus on the task at hand. Yet, for just a few more seconds, you allow yourself to stay in Logan's embrace, drawing strength from him in more ways than one.

As your breathing finally steadies, you reluctantly begin to pull back, ready to face whatever comes next. But not before you catch a glimpse of something in Logan's eyes—concern, certainly, but also a flicker of something else. Something that makes your breath catch for an entirely different reason, you realize you're still pressed against Logan's chest. You step back slightly, looking up at him in the dim light.

"I... Thank you, Logan. I don't know what I would've done if..."

He cuts you off with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder. "We all have our demons, kid. The trick is not letting them win." His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. "You did good."

The moment is interrupted by another distant explosion, reminding you both of the pressing danger.

[choerypetal]

Cherry Red / Coriolanus Snow

summary : Snow had always harbored a liking for you, and your awareness of the platonic relationship with Sejanus only fueled his obsession, eventually culminating in decisions like appointing you as the First Lady of Panem. Just two pretty bestfriends both in awe by your beauty.

I apologize for any grammar errors as English is not my first language. Additionally, please refrain from copying my work without proper credit, as it may result in being flagged. Thank you!

How does one begin to describe this innocent youth, who simply wished for Panem to thrive in tranquility? Fate thrust him into the shadows of the reaping ceremony or the role of a mentor due to his father's actions. Despite being fully aware that survival in the Games was improbable, he, like many of his peers, managed to mask his fear, a skill he lacked. It was on that fateful day that he first laid eyes on you. 

You served as his mentor, a role you assumed without the same coercion he experienced. Unlike him, you had the choice to either be a mentor or a regular student at the Academy. Yet, recognizing that being among the select few who would secure a favorable position in the university and potentially pave the way for a brighter future for your family, you saw it as the least profitable option you could contribute. Even if it meant overseeing the fate of a stranger, your assigned tribute, in a perilous game of cat and mouse. 

During the inaugural week of the Games, you found yourself alongside Sejanus as you met your assigned tributes. Despite Sejanus displaying a sense of conscience regarding the circumstances and grappling with the notion of witnessing another species confined in a cage, he observed closely as you tended to your tribute. From that pivotal moment onward, each day saw him adopting a similar approach—nurturing his tribute, attending to their well-being, and primarily focusing on their strengths, all while harboring his internal opposition to the entire ordeal. 

You were the one who comforted him in the aftermath of the accident following the memorial for Arachne. While he was paying tribute to his deceased classmate, Snow instructed you to remove Sejanus from the scene. He, too, attempted to cling to her in a desperate effort to preserve her life, but it was already too late. With your guidance, advising Sejanus to shift his focus away from the crime scene, he found solace when you encouraged him to breathe and exhale. You assured him that everything would be okay. 

After that initial encounter with him, he underwent a profound transformation, growing closer to you. Your attentive check-ins during rehearsals, reminiscent of his mother's caring presence, played a significant role in this connection. Even stolen glances in class became a source of solace for him, helping maintain his sanity amidst the chaos of the Hunger Games, a veritable freak show.

You were well aware of his strong opposition to the idea. Despite enduring his complaints, you consistently reassured him that the popularity was just a temporary phase until graduation, and the Capitol would soon move on and forget. However, it turns out you were terribly mistaken. Despite the misjudgment, you believed it was the best you could do at the time. 

Fortunately, your relationship gradually deepened over time, even though you hadn't experienced the concept of falling in love. In a world where survival was commonplace in Panem, the notion of allowing oneself to fall in love seemed as ironic as it was rare. Despite attempting to suppress any burgeoning emotions for Sejanus, his softened gaze upon seeing you and the way he spoke your name with such warmth made it increasingly challenging. This, in turn, fueled suspicion from his friend Snow, who seemed to resent him more, suspecting Sejanus's potential feelings for you. Eventually, it became inevitable that you acknowledged and accepted your emotions toward Sejanus, whether they remained platonic or evolved into something more; the signs were undeniably clear. And Snow hated every bit of it. 

Certainly, rumors circulated throughout the Academy, fueled by the idea that someone as intelligent as you could outsmart even the wealthiest family, such as the Plinth. However, it wasn't until a few days before the commencement of the 10th Hunger Games that the scrutiny from your classmates' watchful eyes compelled you to hide your relationship in shame. You outgrew the stares, until finally implied official a mark to the relationship, all by holding Sejanus's hand with pride. The poor boy, initially taken aback by your sudden display of affection, was well aware of your usual reluctance towards public displays of emotion. Despite this, he began to grasp that your actions spoke of genuine love. It became increasingly evident that the sentiment was more than mutual. 

The aftermath of the Hunger Games told a different tale. Sejanus's emotional breakdown during the games hinted that his involvement was driven by a sense of altruism. However, many of your classmates, including yourself, emerged from the ordeal seemingly unscathed. It was as if you all were like minions, compliant in a sick and twisted game, a game where refusal meant facing death the very next day. The turning point came when you witnessed Sejanus screaming helplessly, condemning the Capitol as "sick monsters." His tear-filled eyes and desperate plea were a stark warning. You felt his gaze fixed on you, but this time, it carried a profound sense of hatred—a gaze that lingered ever since that fateful day. In Sejanus's eyes, you had become a monster, and he was painfully right. 

When Lucy Gray Baird was declared the victor of the 10th Hunger Games, Snow couldn't help but notice the shift in the dynamics of the relationship you had once shared with Sejanus. Despite his previous disdain for Sejanus, Snow's animosity towards his District 2 classmate intensified as he observed the unwavering focus of your eyes on him. You managed to hold back your tears, unlike Sejanus, burst into a complete symphony of a manic episode. Snow recognized that upon his return as a Peacekeeper, that he would make it his priority to take care of you. To Sejanus’s request if he didn’t make it out. 

Sejanus was acutely aware of his impending fate, discerning the emotions in your eyes as you fought to contain your tears—an act you were often admonished for in the harsh realms of reality and sorrow. A palpable distance had grown between you, and he acknowledged that he deserved every bit of it. However, when the news broke that he, too, was joining the Peacekeepers, you couldn't resist bidding him a final farewell. As the departure approached, Snow spotted you, witnessing the emotional exchange with his own eyes. 

He observed you shedding tears for another man, a sight that must have stung his pride. Despite the limited display of affection, there were undeniable traces of your past love for Sejanus. "I'll be a good boy." Sejanus would assure, and as you cupped his face, a rare moment of genuine closeness enveloped you. It was one of the first times you truly felt connected to him, and you yearned to grant him a farewell kiss, recognizing that this might be the last time you'd see him. "I'll keep your picture close with me... Even if you hate me so—" Sejanus began, but you swiftly cut him off, desperately emphasizing that any perceived hatred was rooted in self-centeredness. "I never hated you, Sejanus. Remember that." 

"I will." Came Sejanus's response without a hint of hesitation, and just before he departed, he sought a final taste of your lips. This act served as the last straw for Snow, tempting him to announce that it was time for duty, that he too would soon be called to fulfill his responsibilities. However, he resisted the urge. Instead, he chose to observe what it felt like to be genuinely in love, watching the two lovebirds share their final goodbyes. Though deeply haunted by the realization that Snow wasn't your sole choice, the haunting thoughts accompanied him throughout the journey back to District 12. Snow yearned to make Sejanus prove to whom you truly belonged, finding some solace in the benefits of the situation—until Sejanus's impending death sentence, that is. 

You received word of Sejanus's death while in the Capitol. On that particular day, you joined Sejanus's mother for dinner, a comforting routine that helped alleviate the absence of her son, engaged in his duties away. Despite her earlier tendency to downplay her husband's concerns for their child, she now comprehended the profound emotions you were experiencing mere weeks after Sejanus's departure. It was a moment of revelation for her when she looked into the eyes of her own child, realizing that her husband had been the true villain all along. 

Later that same evening, you started clearing the table when you heard the official news. A Panem Peacekeeper had arrived at your apartment. For some inexplicable reason, an ominous feeling gripped you, signaling that something had happened to Sejanus. Questions swirled in your mind—was he injured, or had homesickness prompted his return? However, any hopeful optimism quickly turned to tears as Sejanus's mother's anguished scream echoed in your thoughts. The heartbreaking truth emerged: Sejanus had passed away. The official explanation cited him as a simple rebel, but you suspected a much darker reality. Sejanus wasn't merely a rebel; he was someone the Capitol despised, refusing any association with their ideologies. 

The Plinth family arranged a formal funeral for their son, and while you had hoped for an invitation, you only learned about it through consequential rumors. Thanks to Tigris, who had the opportunity to style Sejanus's mother for her new job as a stylist, you were surprised to discover the disgraceful rumors circulating about your family. It was suggested that you had manipulated Sejanus to bend to your will, driven by your ambitions in the Games and an unbridled willingness to perpetuate a sick and twisted narrative for another year. 

According to this narrative, you were deemed no different from the rest—a citizen with psychotic tendencies, adorned in the veneer of fake affluence. These rumors reached Snow as he returned calls to Tigris back home, he wanted some update about you. Know how you were doing, as Tigris before hand had your confirmation that she would tell what had happened. Which provided a simple yet substantial reasons for his disdain towards the Plinth family from the very beginning, not only due to their subjective opinions but also their newfound hatred towards you. 

Upon returning to his role as a Peacekeeper, Snow found greater delight in seeing you. As you had gradually gained acceptance to the university yourself, securing a personal apartment became a challenging endeavor. The recent imposition of a new tax by the Plinth family added to the financial strain, making it doubly difficult to cover your university expenses. Fortunately, Tigris stepped in to assist, swiftly helping you secure a job. A renowned cabaret in the Capitol was in need of entertainers, and although hesitant to showcase your body for money, you recognized it as a necessary option. Fortunately, your employer treated the dancers well, and as long as you were able to pay your bills, he harbored no objections. Over time, you even developed a group of favorite regular customers. 

The streets of the Capitol had changed since his arrival. Not only had his hair grown, but wearing his father's wealth, symbolized by a stupid coat, had also demonstrated a newfound influence. Snow made sure to flaunt this affluence. The prospect of returning to the university and seeing you again mattered most to him. However, it wasn't until that particular evening when he decided to stop by your apartment that he noticed your absence. Puzzled, he thought to himself, as it was typically your time to prepare dinner or watch local television. Surveying the surroundings for any clue to your whereabouts, he recalled that his cousin Tigris had briefly mentioned something about you being the talk of the town lately. This revelation prompted Snow to consider searching the deeper and less savory streets of Panem for answers. 

It didn't take him long; as soon as the sun set and the lights of Panem's stores illuminated the streets, he spotted a poster. There, your face stared back at him, unmistakably you. "Cherry Red this afternoon! 9 PM!" Proclaimed the bold red and gold font, showcasing your entire body. Snow couldn't believe it—let alone fathom the idea of other men being captivated by you. Nevertheless, he entered. 

True to the promise, only the least affluent men in Panem and fellow Peacekeepers populated the bar. It being a Friday evening meant people were there to unwind and prepare for the weekend. Snow found himself struck by the stark contrast between his own downfall and the impoverished part of the Capitol. Despite the surroundings, he couldn't help but marvel at the luxury and lifelike atmosphere of the cabaret. Soon, other dancers spotted him, offering drinks or suggesting a little show, but he declined, asserting that he was there only for you, using your stage name, Cherry Red. 

Fortunately, he arrived just in time for your performance. With a man who wore outfits reminiscent of Flickerman noticed Snow's arrival, sporting a somewhat absurd demeanor. Cheeks flushed, a clear sign of pre-show indulgence, he exclaimed each word of your name with awe and pride. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight, we have someone we love so much right here at Pub Rouge. It is none other than our favorite, Cherry Red!" 

Snow uncomfortably fell in line with the predominantly male clientele. Hearing "Ladies and Gentlemen." Was just one of the few flaws in the cabaret that he would have corrected if given the chance. To avoid arousing suspicions, he simply followed along, clapping like everyone else. However, rather than voicing your name in a distasteful manner, Snow quietly waited for your performance. 

The room filled with the vibrant sounds of the band and trumpets as you gracefully took the stage. Your outfit perfectly mirrored your name—bold and red as cherries. For those observant enough, it seemed as if Snow intentionally coordinated his attire to match yours. You immersed yourself in the character, embodying the woman you intended to be. The men of your age exhibited a mix of pride and envy, further boosting your confidence. Your playful interactions, especially teasing one of the Peacekeepers, earned you considerable admiration, much to Snow's chagrin. He overheard some background chatter about you, with phrases like. "I'd be with her anytime. Have you seen her curves? If I were the lucky guy, I'd do everything to show her who she belongs to." 

That fueled Snow with an intense anger, a boiling rage that churned within him. Fortunately, he managed to contain himself, sitting just far enough away to avoid you spotting him in the moment. However, his composure shattered when another voice crossed the line. "With that beautiful pair of lips, I bet she'd be a nice little whore and can take my big ass dick!" Laughter erupted, and though you were accustomed to such comments in the typically crowded environment, Snow, unable to restrain himself, swiftly delivered a punch to the man's face. Snow had completely lost his composure. As the scuffle continued, with the brawl escalating to a level one out of five, you were being escorted away. It was then that you noticed Snow's figure amidst the chaos.

"Coryo..." You murmured softly, as one of your colleagues attempted to escort you backstage. You complied with the act and tried to move, but upon catching his gaze after you called out his name, it took only seconds for Snow to be brought in, obliging even to be outside the hub before long. As he was pushed outside, one of the onlookers cursed under his breath. "Well, I'll be damned! If I see that guy again, he'll surely get a punch from me!" With his friends trying to calm the angered Peacekeeper down, he observed as you were escorted back, remarking, "I sense that someone had a little vulnerability over Cherry's presence."

Snow hadn't left entirely. In fact, he made sure to stay until the bar was ready to close. As he observed the group of Peacekeepers, memories of his own time in that role surfaced. They reminded him of the Peacekeepers in the Districts—little pieces of trouble, he'd openly declare if given the chance. Fortunately, you didn't have any bruises; in fact, you were so distraught that your colleague helped clean your makeup and took care of you. "My god, Y/N. What could've possibly happened there if you had intervened?" She questioned. Even you hated the fact that she was right; who knew what might have occurred if you had tried to break up the fight and ended up taking the punch meant for the Peacekeeper. You were well aware that Snow wouldn't easily excuse himself after this incident. 

By patiently waiting at the backdoor of the cabaret, he caught sight of another escort he had noticed earlier, who swiftly disappeared inside. He wasn't trespassing; rather, he was trying to reunite with you. Explanations could wait; for now, he wanted you all to himself, to taste your lips and be the one to incite jealousy among the Peacekeepers. Skillfully, he found his way backstage, drawing uncertain glances from ladies younger than you. They hesitated, contemplating whether to alert their boss about the intruder. It wasn't until he spotted you from a distance that even your colleague, who had taken care of you, noticed his presence enough to understand that it was her cue. “I’ll see you later, darlin’.” She said with her typical southern accent, and as soon as she was about to leave stop herself next to Snow. “Sir.” And bowed before leaving. 

On the other hand, you hastily adjusted your robe to cover your skin. Quickly, you applied the remaining red lipstick, swiftly cleaning the messy edges, assuming it was your boss's presence prompting the need for an explanation or reassurance that you were okay. However, as soon as you turned your head to see who it truly was, your eyes widened in shock. It felt almost too surreal, as if you had seen a ghost. "Coryo?" was all you could say. 

How he had missed you calling him by his nickname. Even though you had been in a relationship with Sejanus before, it was all thanks to being close to Tigris that you adopted the habit of using his nickname, something he cherished every time it left your lips. Particularly because none of his classmates, let alone his closest friends, used it. "What is this?" He questioned, his eyes scanning everything—from the booth to you, with a hint of disgust, shame. "Why didn't you tell me—" He felt a sense of sorrow, realizing he hadn't provided you with enough wealth, let alone a clean lifestyle. Tonight, he vowed to make a change soon. 

"Blame the Plinth." You uttered, attempting to push aside memories of Sejanus and your first love, concealing them as best as you could. Snow couldn't help but let out a light chuckle at the irony, recognizing that he, too, intended to make them pay for it all—every little bit. And in this endeavor, he envisioned you by his side. "I've missed you, you know." You continued, and to Snow's relief, he admitted the same. Perhaps, just maybe, a little too much.

"You have no idea how much I missed you too, sweetheart." He expressed, closing the distance between you. He kneeled, and even his piercing blue eyes softened as he lifted his gaze to meet yours. His finger gently traced your blushed cheek, the heavy makeup unable to conceal your undying beauty. "How about we go home? Together."

"Home?" You tilted your head slightly, doing your best to restrain your tears at his request. Despite the history of your relationship—from being a stranger to a friend and now a soulmate. "How—?" He nervously gulped, appearing confident in his words yet afraid to witness you in that emotional state. A state where money and selling your body didn't align with the image he wanted to see. "Because I'll do my best to take care of you." He assured, keeping his words simple yet sincere. 

"Home. A place to finally be yourself. No trouble, no feeling of doubt within your own self." And with that, you simply dissolved into tears, nodding in response to his confession. "Please," You begged, yearning for him, longing to feel his lips like you did with Sejanus back in the days. But this time, it felt genuinely true. Was this what true love really felt like? "Kiss me." There was no hesitation as Snow's lips instantly met yours in a hungry and passionate kiss, an expression of love since the very beginning. 

And in that very moment, Snow realized all too well that you had become his Lady. Not any kind of lady but the First Lady of Panem. 

Y/N, Snow.

[am-i-interrupting]

hi hi hiii !!

idk if you're still doing requests for Arcane, but if you are, I'd love to see Ekko, Victor, Jinx (and any other characters of your choice) with an s/o that's really good with with kids? maybe they could be a teacher/ mentor or babysitter but just very much loving caregiver vibes for any and all kids they come across

Caitlyn

She loves seeing you with kids, in your element.

She thinks it’s cute to see the way kids hang onto your every word and the way you teach them without them even noticing.

She will pop in on you with kids carrying toys and games.

She does enjoy kids company as well and they do like her but maybe mostly because she’s an enforcer and she brings them toys.

Sometimes she’ll find herself watching you with a kid (especially if that kid looks like either one of you) and daydreaming about somewhere in the distant future where you two would have one of you own.

Ekko

He’s not the best with kids himself. He’s not bad by any means but he can find himself often freezing up and unsure what to do.

This caused him to find it fascinating how good you are with them when he finds himself floundering.

When the Firelights have to go on missions often times the ones who have kids will leave them with you.

Upon arriving back, he will spend a minute just watching you doting on the kids.

He is just so enraptured in everything you do and that includes your ability to form relationships with kids.

Jinx

There aren’t many kids in the areas Jinx grew up. Not too many parents are gonna bring their kids into what is now essentially a club.

The first time she saw you with a kid was one of the times you went outside together. She had stepped away from the kid crying on the street, her hand instinctively on her gun, and she got itchy when she saw you approach.

She didn’t say anything she just watched as you crouched down to the kid’s level and started calming them down.

Slowly but surely her hand on her gun went slack and she just watched you enthralled.

When you offered to walk the kid back home and they agreed and you started leading them to her, she just looked at them wide eyed as she cocked her head, her braids pooling on the ground as a result, and waved her hand.

The kid hid behind your leg but you reached out and grabbed her hand and slowly the kid got more comfortable around Jinx on the way to their house.

Later that night Jinx was tracing the seam lines on your shirt and asked you what you thought about kids.

Silco

He would find it amusing how good you are with kids that aren’t his.

It’s almost like he indulges in watching you with them but in an almost smug way as he is with everything.

Seeing you be good with Jinx though changes everything. It completely knocks him off his guard.

Watching you play with her and make her smile makes him soft.

If you’re there when Jinx is having a mental health moment, she’ll cling to you and beg you to make it stop while you do your best to calm her down.

The emotions he feels is a combination of sadness, sympathy, and oddly pride in those moments.

For other kids, he couldn’t care less about how you interact with them but when it’s his, it means the world to him.

Viktor

He’s not good with kids himself. Those pivotal years of learning to make connections were stolen from him because of his inability to do things so many others could and kids having a habit of being cruel, especially in the lanes.

Seeing you with kids is something like a case study to him.

He finds it fascinating and seems to almost take notes on what you’re doing.

He would never engage for the longest time with any kids that were under your watch unless they directly asked him questions.

Then one day, he just did and they adored him, not as much as they adored you but it was a close thing.

They would like him for the fact that he refuses to talk to them like they’re idiots and indulged them in their endless curiosity.

You find a notebook later on filled with things that you did around the kids (even something as small as your tone of voice) that made you realize he was mimicking what you did in his own way.

[oatmealaddiction]

Rant time, but like, people who complain about the diamonds in Steven Universe getting "redeemed" and "facing no consequences" like, why did you ever think the diamonds getting destroyed was on the table as an option? Why did everyone think the show was going to end with Steven fighting and killing the diamonds, or the universe dolling out some Hayes Code Karma Violence like a giant rock falling on them at the last second? Like I guess I understand the criticism in theory that Steven Universe's metaphor for the diamonds as toxic family members falls apart when you consider they're crimes as space monarchs doing a colonialism, but Steven isn't The Avatar. At no point in the show does he even have the power to doll out the punishment you guys want.

Steven *does* try to fight the diamonds, and he gets his ass kicked. He gets smashed under his own shield and knocked out. His mom forms an entire army to fight them and LOSES and has almost all of her friends corrupted by them. The Diamonds are bigger, badder and stronger than The Crystal Gems (kind of like how adults are bigger and stronger than children.) So instead, he reveals his identity as Pink and the Diamonds immediately stop trying to kill him and the show instead pivots to be about political diplomacy. He doesn't like the diamonds, by the time Future rolls around we find out that he hates them and has private thoughts about killing them even now that that they don't pose any threat. But during the show he's powerless and so instead, talking to them and trying to change their mind is just a practical option because fighting hasn't worked. Because in the real world, there are times you will be outmatched and violence won't be the answer—even if the people hurting you probably do deserve violence.

And the diamonds aren't "redeemed," they just change their mind. They just decide that they want to keep Pink in their lives, so they begin to take accountability and undo the damage that they caused with their war, and presumably will spend the next thousands of years of their lives dismantling their own empire. And again, Steven Universe Future discusses the discomfort and the downside of this approach, that even if it's better and harm is actively being undone, the diamonds can't resolve all the harm they've done and Steven largely doesn't feel like he's gotten justice for what they did to him and his mother—much less the universe. So I don't get where anyone gets off saying this story is irresponsible or saying you should just forgive bad people. I don't see that anywhere in the story. The theme of Universe has always been the necessity of change, and so it makes sense that the villains aren't forgiven or revealed to be good people—but that they just change.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#35: The Buildup (1.04)

gif cred: @perryabbott

This moment. This moment. This moment. Where to even begin? Let's just start by saying - hottest scene ever. 🔥❤️‍🔥🔥 When Richonne get back to that apartment there’s a whole stretch where they don’t do any talking...but yet they still have some very riveting communication 👌🏽...

They seriously tried to send me up into the afterlife with this whole moment, but it’s okay, I forgive them and thank them profusely. 😋

Y'all, I adore the way this pivotal, palpable, and incredible depiction of intimacy plays out. And the mind of Danai to turn both this buildup moment here and the love-making scene into something so deep and layered. Genius. 👏🏽👑

Rick and Michonne returning to this level of intimacy with each other for the first time in almost eight years was already going to make it pertinent to the plot and a purposeful development in the story - but for Danai to be of the mindset that she didn’t just want to stop at pertinent but instead communicate something profound and emotionally complex with Richonne's lovemaking moment. She deserves every flower for the thoughtfulness put into this. 💐

And TOWL in general was Andy and Danai getting to display their talent and chemistry to the max but from this moment on they broke the damn dial with the way they turned the volume all the way up on their talent and chemistry. 🙌🏽 🔉

source: @ririchonne

Genuinely, not even being hyperbolic, what was captured in the following passionate events feels out of this world and so of course when reveling over it I have to be...

This whole buildup moment in the apartment before Richonne heads to the bed is the hottest part for me. 🔥 The amount of tension and desire that they convey is crazy good. Richonne's hunger for each other is just visceral and it's like you can almost tangibly feel the way they're burning up for each other. ❤️‍🔥

So Rick and Michonne make it back to the apartment and we know adrenaline rushes really help set the mood for Richonne so the sexual tension in the air is thick immediately.

They’re both just breathing hard and then the temp controller chimes in to welcome them home again which I love. 😊 And this time they really are about to come home to each other in a sense.

gif cred: @nat111love

Like Michonne came really close to leaving but now that events have led them right back to each other in this apartment I feel like the thermostat is trying to get Richonne's attention like ‘hello, y’all are home to each other.’

Michonne is standing a bit ahead of Rick and looking around...and Rick ain’t looking anywhere but at her. Like homeboy is fixated. I feel like even if a dang meteor could be seen plummeting from that big window Rick wouldn’t peel his eyes off Michonne in this moment. 😋

I think after coming close to losing her several times in the last hour he’s a bit more aware of how much he needs to appreciate that she’s here with him. 

Michonne lifts up her sleeve a little because I think she can fully sense this hungry man behind her and what's on his mind (and her mind too.👌🏽)

gif cred: @nat111love

And the temp controller says, “Temperature control malfunction” and that’s probably because the temperature is already record levels of hot with Richonne's sexual tension permeating the air like this lol. 🥵

Rick slowly approaches her and Michonne slowly turns to him as they get up close and personal. The way Richonne can communicate without words, I feel like a whole lot gets said in their eye contact and kisses during this wordless sequence. 

gif cred: @nat111love

Also, I like how this scene parallels when Rick and Michonne were first in front of each other with the PRB earlier in this episode.

During that PRB moment, Rick was looking at Michonne like 'I know what we want to do but we can’t. ' And then now here when they've returned to the apartment he’s looking at her like 'I know what we want to do and we must.' They're starving and they can’t resist anymore.

Honestly, whenever Rick is within kissing distance from Michonne he looks like her presence consumes his mind and those inner magnets make it near impossible to not just lean in every time.

Also, I always get reflective of Richonne's overall journey and I just love how Rick and Michonne really went from this to this.

A love story for the ages. 🤩

So Rick looks down, mouth all open, and just again transfixed as he slowly reaches out his hand to touch her. One thing I love about this buildup moment is the slowness of everything. 😊 Like every movement takes its time.

And it makes sense that Rick is moving at a slower pace here because he’s trying to see if it’s okay to initiate all this after everything they just went through. But while the movement is slow, his heart looks like it's racing rapidly as he becomes pretty much intoxicated by her.

gif cred: @nat111love

...And Michonne can’t resist, y’all. 🤭 Like she knows she’s technically supposed to still be mad at Rick after the awful things he’s said but it quickly becomes clear that she misses him even more than she’s mad at him. 🥲

gif cred: @nat111love

And she misses all of him, including the parts she has yet to reunite with…but that’s soon about to change.

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick slowly puts his hand on her arm and she doesn’t pull away. And then Rick looks in her eyes like he hasn’t had a good glass of water in 1000 years and Michonne is the only woman that can quench him. Like the yearning in his look was really something.

gif cred: @nat111love

And then, y’all I thought it was laundry day the way our girl Michonne proceeds to fold. 😋 And of course, she folds. That's her baby and the love of her life and she hasn’t been able to be with him like this in years so...

Before Rick leans in for the first kiss, he’s already in the process of winning her over cuz she leans in a little first basically letting him know she does want this. It was giving magnets when she did that. 🧲👌🏽 

And her super subtle lean-in is all Rick needs to finally fully lean in and kiss her and I love Richonne’s slow single kisses. 😊 So far in TOWL they’ve been understandably ravenously making out and so this moment stands out for how much they let each kiss breathe a little. It’s so good.

gif cred: @nat111love

But also y’all, when I first watched this, knowing this is def building up to their first TOWL sex scene, I was sounding a lot like Nat. Cuz I was looking at Michonne like, “Sis...

I just wanted to be sure Michonne was going to be making love with her Rick and not the Sergeant Major who's been saying hurtful things and still hasn't asked anything about RJ.

Plus, I had a feeling Rick still had a little audacity left in his system and wasn’t yet going to agree to go home with her. (And that ended up being correct 🙃)…But look, it’s been a long time and so Michonne was like we’ll address all that later. 😅

gif cred: @kimwexlersponytail

So Rick kisses her once and then leans to the other side as Michonne puts her hand on his face, letting Rick know she doesn't want him to stop. They kiss a second time with a little more lingering on that kiss as things slowly but surely ramp up.

When they pull away Michonne looks at him like she maybe has 1% left in her that remembers she’s still supposed to be mad. The other 99% of her just longs for him.

gif cred: @msanonships

And then that 1% disappears into thin air during this next kiss and it’s my favorite part. 😊

Cuz Rick proves that it may have been some years but he still knows his wife and knows what gets her going because, while they don’t fully show it, you can tell that he definitely seems to have reached down to her derrière and that’ll do it for her, honey. 😋

gif cred: @fishalthor

Cuz when he does that and pulls her in closer to him, he has Michonne inhaling hard and fully leaning into that third hungry kiss. At that moment I was like...annnnd he got her. He got her and she ain’t mad no more. It worked like he knew it would. 😊

It’s also probably his first time even really being able to touch her like that since again those layers of clothing in previous eps were sort of a barrier.

There seems to be a consistent thing set up that her grabbing his hair gets him activated and as her husband, he definitely knows that grabbing her backside gets her activated...and him too lol. I think Michonne’s presence in general just gets Rick activated. Every part of her is a feast to him. 👌🏽

gif cred: @msanonships

And that last kiss just felt like they were about as ready to be intimate as they've ever been. After all that pulling each other closer in the previous kisses of this miniseries, this was the moment of them wanting to be as physically connected as possible and now they finally had the space to be.

Interestingly, they film a lot of this kissing moment where you mostly see Michonne’s response to Rick. I think that’s because she’s the one having to make the decision right now on whether she’ll let him in after everything he's said and done. And um I think her decision is clear.

gif cred: @msanonships

It's great how Rick is the one person who can make Michonne let go and get fully lost in the moment no matter what else is going on. And you know she has that same effect on Rick too. 👌🏽

I love how locked in they both get with that third kiss and how they turn things up a notch with it.

Those three kisses were communication. And, on top of them both communicating 'I need you and want you bad' in each kiss, the way I interpret the wordless conversation is that the first kiss was like Rick expressing, “I’m glad you’re okay and that you’re back” after the whole Michonne walking out and then later getting trapped by that chandelier stuff.

gif cred: @nat111love

Then that second kiss felt like Rick expressing, "I'm sorry" and Michonne receives that unspoken apology even tho when she looks at him there's a part of her that feels like there's still a lot for them to address and resolve.

gif cred: @lousolversons

And then y'all, to me Rick's little reach down with the third kiss was him saying, “Can I make it up to you?” And honey, Michonne's response said she'll definitely let him.

gif cred: @lousolversons

So then they really want to turn it up a notch when Rick proceeds to pick Michonne up. And clearly he’s done this before because Michonne is ready for it, and I love the way they just seamlessly transition into this. 😍

One thing I never questioned is if Rick would feel anxious about loving on Michonne with one hand. I knew that man would be like as long as I’m breathing that’s all I need to find a way.

gif cred: @nat111love

So Rick picks her up with ease and he’s basically just like 'alright you’re coming with me' and Michonne is like yes I am lol. And I also adore how even once he picks her up they immediately go right back to passionately kissing. The way these two fervidly desire each other is always 👩🏽‍🍳💋.

And I, of course, have to reflect on the overall journey once more because I just love that we went from Rick picking Michonne up on Day One of meeting each other as strangers, to now Rick picking Michonne up as husband and wife ready and eager to express their love in a way they haven't been able to in a long time.

gif cred: thewalkingdeadgifs/@msanonships

Seeing Rick and Michonne just get to operate fully in their husband and wife energy here was great to see. 👏🏽 They crave each other deeply and this scene captured that perfectly. ❤️‍🔥

The way their electrifying kisses slowly ramped up, it was clear that now that Rick and Michonne finally had the chance to reconnect in a way that they hadn't been able to with each other, nor allowed themselves to with anyone else, for several years, there was no way they were gonna just stop at these kisses here.

gif cred: @lousolversons

So y’all, this scene alone was already so hot it could break a temperature controller...but then the steamy sensual vibes continue. And as Richonne is finally intimate for the first time in years, the deep, passionate, and emotional moment is, in every way, a roller coaster ride. 🎢 😌👌🏽

[xielianlover2]

I want to talk about unconditional forgiveness and how crucial it is for Xie Lian to have someone who offers it to him with no strings attached.

Throughout Xie Lian's life, he experiences numerous falls from grace, each one more devastating than the last. He goes from being a beloved crown prince and a renowned god to a figure of scorn and bad luck. The weight of his past and the suffering he has endured often make him question his own worthiness and ability to protect others.

Which is why, for Xie Lian, Hua Cheng's forgiveness is a lifeline. Knowing that there is someone who believes in him, no matter what, allows Xie Lian to forgive himself and move forward. In a world where divine beings are often portrayed as infallible, we see by the end, that pretty much every god has their own flaws and that even those with immense power are not immune to making grievous errors in judgment.

I think Hua Cheng’s forgiveness also symbolizes a deeper, transformative love. It’s a love that goes beyond mere acceptance; it’s a commitment, a promise, a vow to stand by Xie Lian no matter what, and that's what makes his love so rare and beautiful. It's such a stark contrast to the judgment Xie Lian has faced from his people and other gods. While his own friends basically turned their backs on him, Hua Cheng remained his most loyal and devoted believer. His cheerleader, for a lack of better words. Hua Cheng embodies the truest form of compassion– understanding and embracing someone wholly.

Hua Cheng's love and acceptance allow Xie Lian to feel seen and understood in a way that no one else has ever provided. This kind of forgiveness is not about overlooking mistakes or pretending they didn't happen; rather, it's about recognizing the entirety of a person's journey and choosing to embrace them regardless.

Hua Cheng's acceptance allows Xie Lian to be vulnerable about his deepest fears and struggles. It also gives him the ability to ask for something he needs for himself:

"All right... don't say any more. I get it... but... but don't be like this, all right? San Lang? I... I've borrowed so much spiritual power from you that I haven't repaid. And I'm not done telling you all the things that I wanted to say; there's still so much. It's been so long since anyone listened to me talk. Won't you stay? Don't.. don't do this. I won't be able to take it. Twice, it's happened twice already-I really don't want there to be a third time!"

In this moment, Xie Lian’s plea reveals how extremely isolating his life has been. He has been perpetually misunderstood, and I believe that even before his first ascension, he has always felt profoundly alone. Throughout his life, Xie Lian has been surrounded by people who either see him through the lens of his past or view him as a mere symbol; a divine god, so therefore flawless and someone beyond approach. It strips away his humanity and the complexities of his true self, unable to be seen as a person with real feelings and imperfections. Even his Feng Xin and Mu Qing put him up in a pedestal, and no matter what happened, no matter how understandable it was, everyone still left him in the end.

Then, to have someone say they understand his everything, from his wisdom to his foolishness, and then also wholeheartedly support him and unconditionally love him? That they never, ever left him, that they've always been there, constant and unchanging in their love, in their devotion? That must have felt life-changing to him. Something groundbreaking and pivotal.

He is essentially begging for the one person who understands him completely—and who accepts him unconditionally despite everything—not to leave him. When Xie Lian begs Hua Cheng to stay, it is not just a request for physical presence but a desperate need for emotional reassurance and acceptance. For Hua Cheng is Xie Lian's safe haven where he can express his deepest fears and unspoken desires, a place of solace and affirmation that he has long been missing from everyone else.

[0snags0]

The difference between the diagnostic process for Wilson and House is so cool. Each character highlights the pros and cons of each approach and how opposite the two really are. House’s MO is hard facts and quick results while Wilson’s hands on and caring demeanour lets him find out more intricate details about a persons life. House acutely understands why people do things and connects them quickly in his mind to a diagnosis, Wilson isn’t as quick as House but uses his knowledge of their personal life to catch when something isn’t right. Like in season 6 episode 10, Wilson notices a patient has depression after he fails to talk about his grandkids visit, he finds and treats a small Tumor[?] on the patients lung saving him from further complications later on his cancer treatment. Houses distrust of everyone and motto ‘everybody lies’ causes him to elemiate the patients soul and emotions from the equation, making his teams break in to their houses to find out more about their patients lives instead of talking to them. The only time House really interacts with a patient is to prove a point and insult them or manipulate the patient into telling him the pivotal answer that will solve the case. House’s jaded and radical way of treating patients is shown as the only way to get to a patients illness easily, Cameron’s empathy to all her patients is shown as a weakness and slows the case down IN HOUSES POINT OF VIEW!! This is so cool, it shows the skewed but realistic world view house has {Side note I love when the show has different points of view it’s so sick} Wilson is also shown scrutiny by House for his need for neediness.

Aughgg I hate them so much I just wanna watch them like lab rats

[wildandsmile]

࿇ ✥ ࿇ Worlds Apart ࿇ ✥ ࿇

Summary: Your father serves as the coach for the Manshine football/soccer team, and in your role as the dutiful daughter, you make a point to visit him regularly. However, each time you stop by, one of the star players seems to have a penchant for flirting with you.

Word Count: 4.2k

TW: Age gap (Reo 22 and Readers 29) by the way cannon Reo likes older women so.

Kinks: Fingering, Degrading, Cream-pie, Praising, Sir Name, Squirting, Exhibition, Sub Reader, Dom Reo, unprotected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), humiliation, Choking and Rough sex.

Enjoy!

A couple of years had passed since Reo's departure from Blue Lock. His journey took him to the semi-finals, where he was eventually eliminated by Bachira. However, Ego recognized the immense talent Reo possessed and believed it shouldn't be squandered. As a result, he allowed Reo to continue pursuing his striking career. Shortly thereafter, your father, a renowned co-coach in England, teamed up with Chris Prince. They wasted no time in recruiting Reo, having already witnessed his potential while he was a starter for their team, Manshine City, during his time at Blue Lock.

And thus, you encounter the ostentatious wealthy young man who always seems to have a girl by his side. Each day, you would pay a visit to your father, given his advancing age, ensuring his well-being. However, occasionally, you extended your stay to assist the boys with their routines or offer them water after their practice games.

Whenever you approached Reo, though, he would indulge in playful flirting, charmingly remarking, "I'll treat you good if you give me the opportunity." This, understandably, ignited your father's anger, prompting him to punish Reo with rounds of field laps, much to the amusement of onlookers.

"Hey, dad, how has your day been?" you inquire, planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. He turns toward you, a broad smile gracing his lips, and replies, "I've had a good day, dear. By the way, I know you just arrived, but could you fetch some water for the boys?" You offer a swift nod before making your way to the supply room, retrieving the water jug, and returning just in the nick of time.

"Once again, you grace us with your presence, princess," he remarks, deftly taking the cup of water from your hand and punctuating the gesture with a subtle wink. You roll your eyes and swiftly retort, "You're well aware I'm here for my dad, Reo." Yet, true to form, it's as if every word you utter that he doesn't wish to acknowledge simply passes through one ear and exits the other. "We both understand that it's just a self-assurance you cling to, convincing yourself it's all about watching me play, princess," he asserts, using his shirt to mop away perspiration and inadvertently unveiling his well-defined six-pack in the process. In exasperation, you throw your hands up and walk away, prompting Reo to trail closely in your wake.

"And what's your desire now, Reo?" you inquire, quickening your pace in an attempt to create distance between yourself and the purple-haired man. As anticipated, he manages to intercept by firmly grasping your wrist. "Well, give me a moment," Reo pleads with puppy-dog eyes, managing to melt your resistance just a tad. Succumbing to his persistence, you let out a hurried yet slightly curt, "What is it, Reo?" He disregards your brusqueness and proceeds, "I just wanted to extend an invitation to you for the upcoming victory celebration our team plans to host." With that, you come to a complete halt, pivoting to face Reo, your arms crossed and an eyebrow skeptically raised.

"You're talking as though victory is already in the bag," you retort with a sassy undertone, the effect of which sends a subtle shiver down Reo's spine, unbeknownst to you. He relishes witnessing your pouty demeanor, the way you appear and speak when you're irritated entices him even more. Yet, he finds himself engaged in this playful cat-and-mouse dynamic and is content to indulge it for a little while longer.

"Oh, come now, you don't truly believe we're destined to lose, do you, princess?" he chimes in, grasping your hand and gently massaging your knuckles. Eager to respond, you start, "Well, I don't think your team will..." Your sentence is abruptly truncated as Reo claps his hands together, interjecting, "Well then, if that's the sentiment, I'm eagerly anticipating your presence at the party." You're about to interject and voice your hesitation, but before you can, he departs, leaving you alone with your contemplations.

Before long, the anticipated game day arrives. Just as you had predicted, Reo and his team effortlessly overpower the opposing side, amassing such a significant lead that the match concludes ahead of schedule. As the dust settles, your father rushes onto the field, orchestrating a heartfelt group embrace with the team. Glancing towards them, a grin stretches across your face as their jubilant cheers and chants fill the air.

As the post-game festivities wind down, your attention shifts to Reo, who approaches with an infectious grin. You're well aware that his next words are bound to carry a hint of arrogance. "You see, princess, I told you victory was ours," he declares, his face beaded with sweat. You couldn't deny the charm in his triumphant expression, but you're determined not to inflate his already sizable ego. Nonchalantly, you retort, "Indeed, you did make that prediction," your tone carrying a playful undertone that downplays your enthusiasm for their impressive win.

"Since victory is ours, it seems only fitting that you accompany me to the after-party," Reo proposes, leaning against the fence and casting you pleading puppy-dog eyes. In response, you playfully place a finger on his lips, your expression softening into an adorable aw-struck gaze. "Um, no," you reply, relishing the playful moment. Ignoring your refusal, Reo persists, now puffing his lips in a childlike pout, his puppy-dog eyes unwavering. The charming standoff continues until your resolve finally crumbles.

"Alright, alright, I'll go, but on one condition: you must score 10 goals in your next match," you challenge. As your words sink in, you witness a transformation in Reo. His eyes widen with a newfound determination, as if flames of passion burn within him. "Really?" he exclaims, a smile that illuminates your very soul gracing his lips. Affirming your wager with a subtle nod, Reo bolts over to your father, urgently requesting gym access to train late into the night. Observing his earnest efforts for your attention, you can't help but find his determination endearing, knowing that you hold the power to grant him his desire.

True to form, like a well-oiled machine, the much-anticipated match unfolded according to schedule. Recognizing the gravity of the occasion, you chose to sit beside your father and Chris Prince, demonstrating unwavering team spirit. The boys poured their hearts into the game, and everything was proceeding splendidly. However, when your gaze fixed on Reo as he maneuvered down the opposite side of the field to wrest control of the ball from the opposing team, you couldn't resist turning to your father with a question.

"Dad, how many goals has Reo scored so far?" Despite the initial reproachful glance, your father set aside his reservations and provided the answer. "He's netted 9 so far," he informed you. Upon hearing those words, your heart sank momentarily as your attention remained fixed on Reo, who was advancing toward the rival goal. While you harbored a certainty that he would successfully score that goal, a flicker of hope kindled within you—a hope that he might not, considering their substantial lead. After all, the opposing team was already significantly behind, making a single goal seem inconsequential.

Your hopes were nearly extinguished when you witnessed Reo clinch the game's final goal, marking his remarkable 10th score. As the team rallied around him, playfully tousling his violet hair and lifting him into the air in jubilation, your fleeting optimism faded. However, your spirits were soon lifted when the entire group approached you and your father. They expressed their gratitude to him for his unwavering training efforts and extended their appreciation to you for ensuring his availability to guide them.

A comforting warmth enveloped you, as you realized the tangible impact of your involvement in the team's journey. Sharing a sincere smile and offering a gracious acknowledgment, you watched as they headed towards the locker room. Yet, a moment before they disappeared, Reo silently mouthed, "Wait for me." Though fully aware of his intentions, you remained seated, patiently awaiting his return. After approximately half an hour, Reo emerged once again. With an exuberant grin, he sprinted towards you, sweeping you up into his arms. Beaming at you, he exclaimed, "Did you catch my performance out there, princess? Wasn't I utterly astonishing?"

"Absolutely, Reo," you reply, struggling to stifle your laughter, feeling as though you're witnessing a child eagerly showing off a newfound skill to their mother. However, the lighthearted moment is swiftly replaced when the purple-haired young man inquires, "So, are you still planning on attending the party tonight?" You hesitate for a brief moment, then tap his chest gently as a signal for him to put you down.

He responds accordingly, lowering you to the ground. As he sets you down, his facial expression undergoes a shift, prompting you to offer your explanation. "Well, Reo, I was actually thinking I might not—" But before you can finish your sentence, Reo interjects assertively, "There's no backing out now, princess. We made our little wager, and I won fair and square. I'll see you at 8, okay?" You attempt to voice your thoughts, but before you can formulate a complete response, he's already striding away, the distance between you growing too great to carry on the conversation.

With determination, you headed home, fully aware that escaping the party was out of the question. Once inside, you ventured into the depths of your closet, selecting a variety of outfits. However, after an hour of fruitless searching, you resorted to FaceTiming your best friend for outfit advice. After a barrage of reactions ranging from outright rejections to tentative approvals, the two of you finally settled on a chic velvet two-piece ensemble.

Following your decision, you dedicated time to meticulously curling your hair, and then you settled in front of your mirror to carefully apply your makeup. Just as you were about to apply the finishing touch of lip gloss to complete the look, a knock echoed through your door. Swiftly, you hurried over, deftly applying the lip gloss in the process. Unsurprisingly, upon opening the door, you were met with the sight of Reo, elegantly clad in a black suit. His coat was artfully left open, revealing a crisp white button-up shirt that wasn't fully buttoned, offering a tantalizing glimpse of his bare chest.

Raising your hand in a gesture for Reo to wait by the door, you notice his understanding nod before you hurry back to your room. With swift precision, you retrieve your wallet, select a pair of shoes, and gather some safety essentials. Returning downstairs, you subtly showcase your outfit to Reo, a sly hint that you're dressing up for the occasion, although you'd never admit to it. Your actions are a playful payback for the teasing he's subjected you to. As you reach for the door to lock it, you cast a wink his way, a subtle acknowledgment of your little game.

Soon enough, you find yourself seated in Reo's car, gazing at the city lights as they blur by. The enchanting view momentarily captures your attention, until Reo's hand gently rests on your thigh, drawing you back to reality. In response, you subtly adjust your leg, granting him slightly more access to your thigh. However, as his touch ventures further, radiating warmth, you swiftly slap his hand away, a playful yet assertive reminder of your boundaries.

"You're quite the teasing expert, princess," Reo remarks, his hand resuming its place on the gearstick. The journey leads you to an upscale club adorned with Manshine Clubhouse signage.

Gazing at the vibrant-haired man, a perplexed expression crosses your face, prompting him to explain. "One of the guys saved up and invested a bunch of money into this place. With renovations and some significant investments, we ended up with the Manshine Clubhouse."

A nod from you acknowledges his preemptive response to an unspoken question—a characteristic of Reo that you appreciate. His uncanny ability to anticipate your thoughts and provide answers creates a unique connection between the two of you.

Lost in your thoughts, you're snapped back to reality as your date playfully tugs you into the club. The sights and sounds of dancing people envelop you, allowing you to soak in the atmosphere. Just as you're considering asking Reo to dance, a group of girls materializes, engulfing you in the crowd and temporarily interrupting your plans.

Understanding that trying to rejoin Reo might be a futile endeavor, you venture deeper into the club. Your eyes lock onto Nagi's girlfriend amidst the crowd, her presence providing a semblance of comfort. Approaching her, you engage in a casual conversation, quickly establishing a rapport. As the conversation flows, you summon the courage to broach the topic of hitting the dance floor.

To your surprise, she readily agrees, and you both kick things off by sharing a shot before immersing yourselves in the dance floor frenzy. The music resonates, the ambiance is electric, and the night seems to come alive. Amidst the pulsating beats, you relish in the carefree joy of letting loose and having fun.

As the hours roll on, fatigue begins to take a toll on your legs, prompting you to express your need to take a break to your newfound companion. With the music blasting at full tilt, you manage to convey your intention to sit down, though you suspect she only caught the "sit" part, given the deafening noise.

You locate a comfortable seat and ease yourself into it, initially basking in the ambiance of the club. However, your tranquility is shattered by an onslaught of giggles from across the room. Turning your gaze, a disconcerting sight meets your eyes: Reo flanked by two girls, perched on his lap, their hands eagerly exploring his body. It's as though they're vying for his attention, throwing themselves at him shamelessly.

Strangely, an unfamiliar pang of irritation courses through you, fueled by the undeniable urge to be the one occupying that seat, engaging in those affectionate gestures, sharing kisses, and reveling in the private jokes that elicit his radiant smile. You can't deny the surge of happiness his expressions bring, yet beneath it lies a growing anger.

Watching him interact with those girls, his touch tracing their contours, as if he's committing their forms to memory, ignites a fire within you. As you observe, your frustration simmers. The disparity between your worlds becomes glaringly apparent. Reo embodies intelligence, affluence, and popularity, while you're simply a down-to-earth individual with a deep connection to your father. Doubts swirl in your mind, wondering if his professions of love are genuine or if he merely desires to toy with your affections.

However, the last straw snaps as you glance up at Reo and the girls once more. His gaze locks onto yours, as if penetrating the depths of your soul. In that moment, his lips move in a silent confession, "This could be you," just as one of the girls plants a deliberate kiss on his neck. Fueled by a surge of frustration, you seize your resolve, grabbing your belongings and marching to the exit. Dialing a ride, you step outside, the biting wind cutting through you, offering no reprieve from your emotions.

Your attention is drawn back when Reo emerges from the building, his eyes finding you amidst the darkness. With purpose, he strides toward you. "Why are you leaving, princess?" he queries, his expression a mix of bewilderment and something more sinister. It's as if he's an enigmatic force, fully aware that his actions are the driving force behind your departure, a realization that only fans the flames of his ego.

Determined not to give him the satisfaction, you respond, your words carrying an edge of bitterness. "I've had my fill of enjoyment for the night, and my feet are aching. But what about you? Aren't there two eager girls waiting for your attention?" The words drip with venom, a testament to your simmering anger.

"Well, well, well, seems you had your eyes on me, huh, princess?" Reo quips, a smug grin playing across his face. "And what if I was?" you retort, meeting his gaze with a hint of disdain, your gaze never faltering as you hold his gaze.

Unrelenting, Reo chooses to keep prodding, his determination evident. "Well, why didn't you come and join?" he challenges, further stoking the flames. It's in that moment that your attention zeroes in on the telltale lipstick marks adorning Reo's neck. As you count each visible kiss mark, a surge of anger courses through you, intensifying with each passing moment.

The mounting frustration propels you into motion, compelling you to walk away in a bid to regain your composure. Yet, as anticipated, Reo remains in pursuit, his words like arrows aimed at your vulnerabilities. "Aw, come on, princess, don't tell me a tinge of jealousy is creeping in," he goads, his words deliberately provocative. Ignoring him, you maintain your brisk pace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his jabs.

However, Reo's provocations continue undeterred. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you're developing feelings for me or something," he jests, a knowing glint in his eyes. Suddenly, his grip tightens around your arm, halting your movement despite your efforts to pull away. Struggling against his unyielding grasp, you attempt to break free, but his hold remains resolute, overpowering your struggles.

"Your silence speaks volumes, confirming my suspicion," Reo assets, stepping directly in your path. His words hit home, as they reveal a truth you've kept hidden—the fact that you've fallen for this self-assured, albeit aggravating, individual. You refuse to grant him the satisfaction of admitting your feelings, at least not yet.

Determined to evade his scrutiny, you avert your gaze, ensuring your expression remains concealed. However, your attempt is short-lived, as his hand lands on your cheek, compelling you to meet his gaze. "Oh, no, princess. You won't escape by turning away. You owe me an answer, a genuine one," Reo insists, his grip firm as he holds your gaze captive. He demands a direct response, his eyes betraying a swirling mix of emotions, the complexity of which you can't quite decipher.

Despite his persistence, you maintain your silence, unwilling to let your emotions become an open book. This stance, however, is beginning to test Reo's patience. He's accustomed to bending situations to his will, and the prolonged cat-and-mouse game is chipping away at his composure, gradually igniting a spark of frustration within him.“Well princess since you don’t want to answer me I guess I’ll just have to fuck the answer out of you and with that Reo drags you to a near by alley way.

Reo's lips curled into a seductive grin as his fingers danced along the contours of your quivering abdomen, tantalizingly inching closer to the delicate fabric that barely concealed your enticing curves. He eagerly tugged it lower, craving the sensation of his hand slipping beneath the soft velvet fabric. Your breath hitched as his fingers grazed your tantalizingly bare thighs, inching dangerously close to your aching core.

You gasped with anticipation as he boldly slid his hand beneath your delicate fabric, his fingertips caressing the slick contours of your aroused core. His head inched nearer to yours, his lips tantalizingly grazing against your earlobe, causing a delicious shiver to course through your body. The warmth of his breath, coupled with his intoxicating scent, enveloped you entirely, leaving you utterly captivated.

What do you mean, "don't want to turn you into a dumb slut just yet, princess?" He poked his finger inside your sticky cunt and laughed as he felt the tight grip of your walls on his finger.

You muttered, "Fuck," knowing that keeping your mouth shut was going to be difficult, but you were so attracted to him that you didn't want the moment to end. You were in dire need of him. You closed your eyes and murmured, "Fuck, Reo," once again.

When he started pushing it in and out of you, your breath got erratic and you started making low whimpers and groans. When Reo inserted his middle finger and sped up her speed, you tossed your head back in an instant because you wanted to hear more of the wonderful noises you made exclusively for him. And he was not the least bit dissatisfied. Once he got to the part that always made you roll your eyes back in your head, you started muttering her name under your breath.

“You’re making such a pretty mess princess , look at you” he spoke in a lower tone. The combination of his voice that sent shivers down your spine and the movements of skilled fingers caused a familiar knot to form in your stomach.

I enjoy how you stretch between my fingers. You take me so well," he gushed, his other hand raising your skirt fabric again for a better look at your cunt. He noticed that your secretions were soaking through his palm and pooling at your feet as they dropped from your thighs. He let out a whistle at the site, unable to contain his amusement.

You could hardly believe how drenched you were for him as you lowered your gaze to the spot where he met your body and moaned in horror. You knew Reo turned you on so badly, but witnessing your body respond to his touch was something else entirely.

The only sounds you made in the alley were the wet noises coming from your cunt as his big, thick fingers stretched it out. It was almost embarrassing how effortlessly his fingers slid into your cunt. And you would feel shame for it if you weren't being fucked out by him, but you didn't give a damn.

“I'm- I'm so close! Don't stop, please” you say to him as your nails dug into his shoulder blades and your eyes shut closed.

Reo whispered in your ear, "Cum for me, princess," as you finally sought your high, mouth agape and eyes closed. He didn't cease his moves on your body until you virtually begged him to stop, despite the fact that you were on the verge of passing out from the exertion.

Then, you squirt all over his hands and watch as he proudly watches your messed-up condition while pulling out his fingers and bringing them to his lips to suck them clean. You were too worn out to speak, so your face was red, your eyes were shiny, and your lips were bitten. Your dress was now only just covering your upper body, and your tits were practically bursting out from behind it.

After you had a moment to catch your breath, he lined up his cock with your now hypersensitive cunt and pushed his throbbing cock within, without giving you a chance to acclimate to his size before he began thrusting into your sloppy, wet cunt.

You started crying because the feeling of him within you was driving you mad. When Reo's left hand rubbed rough circles on your clit, he let out a series of low grunts. And his right found its way to your thirst, where it rested on your throat, making your breath heavier and your cunt tighten until you and Reo were both on the verge of cumming.

"You look fantastic in this position, like a filthy little cum slut who is just itching to be filled, but what you don’t get to cum. So feel free to cry on my cock while I decide if you can continue to breathe.

As your nails drove painfully into his wrist, you whimpered. You felt your dizziness returning slowly. When I tell you to, princess, you'll cum on my cock. While his lips were making contact with hers, he spoke. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet gasps.

“M’mm yes sir, promise not to cum until I’m told” you moan out with your fucked out expression which was only make Reo even more feral.

Reo repeats, "Good girl," before giving you a few more pointed thrusts. When he repeatedly lands on the sweet spot, a sound that can only be described as a scream rises up from deep within your chest. He let go of your neck a little while ago.

"Cum." The demand had barely reached your ears as your vision went white. You felt his hips stutter against your own, shooting his load in tandem with your own orgasm.

The sight of you struggling to get up with your legs spread wide and his cum leaking out of you into the chilly ground was an object of admiration as he slowly withdrew. He couldn't deny that seeing you there just increased his desire for you, but he forced himself to help you tidy up and enter your Uber, where he spoke softly.

“Once we get home, I’m going to fuck the shit out you real fucking good until you can’t say anything but my name~” you only nodded knowing that you were in for a long night.

[blue2jay]

Name-First Smut

You’ve been stealing glances at Leon throughout the entire meeting. The agenda seems to fade into the background as your mind fixates on the snug shirt he wore, accentuating his muscular chest and the way the sleeves hugged his arms. Leon, in turn, couldn’t help but admire your figure, particularly drawn to the two unbuttoned openings of your blouse and the short pencil skirt that clung to your curves. “Y/N” “Y/N” “Y/N!” You snap back to reality. “Um, yes?” you reply, suddenly aware that you and a colleague are the last ones remaining in the room. “The meeting’s over,” she says, concern etched on her face. “Are you okay? You seemed lost in thought the whole time.” You clear your throat, hoping your daydreaming about your boyfriend went unnoticed. “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit… tired,” you respond, wishing she would accept your excuse. She shrugs. “So, any plans for the weekend?” You let out a sigh. “I just want to relax and unwind.” Your colleague chuckles. “I get that.” She starts to share her weekend plans with her in-laws when a familiar voice cuts in. “Bebe.” It’s Leon, but his tone is different—deeper. You glance toward the door, where he leans against the frame, looking irresistibly attractive. “Let’s go.” You don’t say a word, just nod. Your coworker gives you a knowing smile. “Have fun,” she says. As you approach Leon, he wraps his arm around your waist, and you both step out together, feeling his grip tighten possessively. Time passes, and you enter your apartment quietly. The car ride was equally silent, with Leon’s hand firmly on your thigh, occasionally inching higher. You slip off your shoes and start toward the bedroom when you feel an arm encircle your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?” Leon’s voice is low and sultry. You shiver. “I was heading to the bedroom, babe.” His lips trail soft kisses along your neck. “Bebe?” he asks. “Yeah?” He lets out a deep chuckle, and you can feel his arousal pressing against you.

"That's not my name, sweetheart," he growled.

You felt your body pivot, and as you turned, you noticed the deepening shade of Leon's blue eyes.

His lips crashed against yours with a fierce intensity, leaving you aware that your lips would likely bear the marks of his passion.

With a swift motion, he hoisted you over his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the bedroom.

He tossed you onto the bed and took a moment to appraise you, just as you did him.

Breathless, his gaze was heavy with desire.

"Throughout the entire meeting, all I could think about was having you right there on the table, in front of everyone," he said, loosening his tie.

"You would have enjoyed that, wouldn't you, darling?" he asked, shedding his shirt.

He drew you to the edge of the bed.

"You'd love to be claimed in front of an audience, wouldn't you?"

You lay there, speechless, your eyes locked on his.

*SLAP*.

You felt a sharp slap against your thigh, a mix of pain and unexpected pleasure coursing through you.

“Did you hear me, baby?” he asked.

“Yes, Leon,” you replied, knowing how much he relished hearing his name on your lips.

“Off,” he commanded, tugging at your skirt.

You quickly complied, shedding the fabric. Leon's gaze was fixed on you, a noticeable bulge forming in his pants.

You reclined on the bed, clad only in your stockings.

“Hmmm,” Leon groaned, his eyes roaming over your body. “I’ve got the sexiest girl in the world right here.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips with his. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning softly into the kiss.

Leon pulled back, his body pressing against yours. “I can’t wait to be inside you, baby.”

“Please, Leon, touch me,” you pleaded.

“I need to taste you first, baby,” he replied, guiding you to the edge of the bed. He lifted your legs over his shoulders, his face hovering close to your core, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

“Do you want me to taste you, baby?” he asked, locking eyes with you.

“Yes, yes, please!” you begged, urgency in your voice.

Leon dove in, devouring you like a man starved, his hand firmly holding you in place. You arched your back, a choked sob escaping your lips as you called out his name.

“Ugh, Leon, don’t stop!” you cried, your fingers tangling in his hair.

His voice was muffled in your heat "Yeah baby you taste like heaven" he lapped at your cunt moaning and making vibrations against you.

You moaned at the sensation.

He continued until you felt him stop.

"Fuck, I need more," you heard him mumble.

"Leon?" you panted.

"Turn around," he commands.

You felt heat spread over your skin at his voice.

"Yes sir," you reply.

You turn over and feel hands groping your ass.

"Yeah baby," he said.

He pressed his face close to your heart and inhaled your sweet scent.

"God baby you smell divine".

He pushed his tongue in and out from behind, moaning at your taste. You could do nothing but moan and whimper.

*SLAP*

"Come on baby, louder, let me hear you," he spits against your heat.

"Oh Leon!" you moan.

*SLAP SLAP*

"Louder!" he barked.

.

"LEON!"

Leon hummed in satisfaction, making you tremble as you felt the vibration.

He darted his tongue in and out of you quickly.

"Move on my face, baby," he commanded. He pulled your cheeks apart to make more room.

You did as ordered.

"FUCKKK LEON," you screamed, feeling your climax approaching.

"That's it, baby, cum on my face!"

Leon let go of your hips as you shook from your climax, your cum dripping down his chin.

You fell to the side, breathing heavily from the shock of your orgasm.

"Come on baby, come to me," you heard Leon say as he rubbed your legs trying to wake you up from your daze.

You opened your eyes to see Leon completely naked, stroking his length.

You looked down at his toned body which made you hot all over again.

"Are you ready baby?" he asked quietly.

In response you spread your legs wide, a naughty smile playing on your lips.

Leon growled and pounced on you, thrusting into you with abandon.

"Oh Leon that feels so good!" you threw your head back, feeling a hint of pain as you adjusted to his size, but quickly feeling nothing but pleasure.

"Yeah baby, you like that! How I pound that cunt of yours?" he hissed as he felt you flutter around his cock.

"YES LEON!" you screamed.

Leon watched as your eyes rolled back and you bit your lips as he rammed you.

He leaned down to your ear and whispered the dirtiest things.

"You like that?"

"You feel amazing"

"You drive me crazy"

"Dirty slut"

You could feel yourself getting closer.

"Leon," you choked out.

"Nope" was all you heard and all you felt was Leon pulling out.

You gasped, "Leon, what the hell?"

He stroked his length which was covered in your juices.

"Ass up face down baby," he ordered.

You whimpered and turned over.

You were on all fours but Leon didn't move.

"Leon please!" you pleaded.

"Come on baby you can do better than that."

You groaned in exasperation.

He laughed at your desperation.

"I guess you don't want to get fucked."

He mocked.

"Please Leon, hit me so hard I can't walk tomorrow, so hard I can't remember anything but your name, so hard-"

Leon dives in, his hips slapping your ass.

Your face outlined a silent scream.

He held your hips tight, his grip bruising.

"Fuck baby, look at you," he said between deep breaths.

"Couldn't help but think how sexy you would look bending over that table in front of everyone as I make you mine!"

*SLAP*

"You want this baby? Do you want our colleagues to see how dirty you are?"

"Yes Leon, I want them to see!"

His voice got a low tone "Especially that idiot from the grounds department" (made up go with)

"I see the way he looks at you."

"You like the way he looks at you, baby?"

*"No, I just want you!"

"Good answer"

His thrust became even more erratic.

"Rub that cilt baby, make yourself cum!" he ordered.

The moment you touched your tender cilt you lost it.

Leon looked down to see his waist and length covered in wetness.

"Shit, did you squirt?”

He asked his grip on your waist almost crushing you.

You couldn't even answer, your mind was almost gone with pleasure.

"Again babe, do it again!"

His hips were like a jackhammer, the sound of his hips hitting you echoing through the bedroom.

You bit the sheets, lost in a whirlwind of overwhelming pleasure, writhing.

Leon Kennedy was a sex god, taking you to the depths of pleasure and bliss with his cock alone.

Leon watched as your ass collided with his pelvis , the wave of your ass seducing him. Sweat gathered on his forehead, dripping down his back.

He could feel it, he could feel his end coming, and he knew you could feel it too.

" Do you want me to fill you, baby? Do you want me to fill you so deep that it drips? Do you want me to breed you?!"

All you could do was moan and nod.

Leon slowed down, but only a little.

"Need an answer baby"

"YES YES YESSS LEON BREED ME!" you howled.

"CUM baby CUM NOW!"

You felt it flood you, Leo's hips stuttered and he came.

Leon could feel your walls contract and spasm around his cock.

"So good baby, so tight," you hear him moan.

Leon maneuvers you slowly and gently onto your back. He rubs your belly and places soft kisses on your chest and neck.

"That's my good girl, stay right there, baby, I'm going to clean you up."

He went to the bathroom while you played in the afterglow of sex.

You winced as you felt the cold washcloth against your heat, cleaning you up.

"You were amazing Y/N"

Leon said as he played next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

You hummed contentedly.

"So were you."

You felt yourself drifting off to sleep.

But you didn't miss Leon's cheeky words.

"Round two in the morning?"

[elsa-fogen]

Oh, thinking more

What if the hunter that shot Alastor was Vox?

Like, I doubt it, but we "know" they had dogs, so I was thinking about who if any has anything resembling dogs? And the only one I can think of is Vox, like he had two sharks in the show plus some dog-shark creature in the insta stories

So, what if he was pretty young, loved radio and any new technology, so he was a fan of Alastor's. In addition, he had just started to learn how to hunt and wanting to impress his parents went out late to practice, took the dogs so that he could just say he went out with them if anyone asked

Then out in the woods, the dogs start to bark and he readies his gun, mostly just to better his aim, not intending to shoot. Then he sees the figure rise, he can't fully comprehend it before he takes the shot. He can hear a thud. He got it? He got it! He shot a deer!

Oh.

That's gonna be hard to hide.

Should he tell dad that he was able to shoot a deer? Like, yay, he did it! But also, no, he went out with dads gun without permission.

He approaches the deer, trying to figure out what to do with it, only to freeze when he gazes upon it.

It's not a deer.

It's a-

He-

This is bad.

That was the last time he went hunting. He can't get the image out of his head. He'll never forget that face.

The worst part was, he knew who it was. He had figured it out when he saw a missing poster of his favorite radio host.

He still liked technology, and to drown out the past that's where all his focus went. He wanted to be a big part of TV just like Alastor had been a big part of Radio. It was his way of honouring Alastor.

Still, sometimes it was hard to listen to the radio, that's why his focus was on the TV. They where practically the same, just some extra visuals, distractions, it was practically an upgrade. He just knew Alastor would agree, that man was always on the forefront of what was new in radio.

Surely, if he was alive, then he would have obviously pivoted towards TV after realizing the benefits of the medium

___

Imagen then how Vox would reach when seeing Alastor for the first time in hell. Like he doesn't know if Alastor is aware that it was Vox, but if he does maybe he won't recognize Vox? He has a TV for a head now, not really a human feature. Still though, he can't help but want to spend time with Alastor, tell of all that has happened in the world and share with him how Amazing the TV had become

DAMN BAEWSBNFSDYGUFKDGHFS

ANONS ARE FEEDING ME GOOD TODAY WTF?

✨✨✨THE TRAUMA✨✨✨

THIS IS INSANE remember the "sad and complicated" IT KINDA FITS LOL AHAHA-- THIS EXPLAINS WHY VOX IS SO OBSESSED WITH ALASTOR

IMAGINE JUST IMAGINE, NEXT SEASON THEY ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FIGHT AND VOX SAYS SOMETHING LIKE, I KILLED YOU ONCE, I'LL KILL YOU AGAIN AND ALASTOR'S JUST WHAT AND EVERYTHING STOPS WHILE BOTH REALISE WHAT WAS JUST SAID

That would be such a cool turn, like. Vox clinging to Alastor in pathetic attempt to apologise for killing him and make up for it, and get waht they could have in life if he haven't killed him. And Alastor just doesn't understand Vox's behavior nor the reasons for it

AND WHEN VOX SAYS THAT HE KILLED HIM IN LIFE EVERYTHING BECOMES CLEAR AND ALASTOR JUST LAUGHS LIKE, HOW PATHETIC YOU ARE, HE'S NOT EVEN ANGRY, BECAUSE VOX JUST BECOME EVEN MORE PATHETIC IN HIS EYES. HE KILLED HIM AND THEN WAS IN SHOCK HIS WHOLE LIFE WHILE ALASTOR KILLED MUCH MORE AND NEVER FELT REMORSE FOR A SINGLE ONE

[corviiids]

If i ask nicely, would you consider writing the core of Light and L character like you did for Shuake? (IT'S BRILLIANT BTW!! You're so galazy brain. I love reading any meta or just silly posts you posted here <3) because you mention Light a couple time in Akechi's part and now i need to know your thought on him and L.

(Also, about the death note wip you're cooking right now, is it a oneshot or multiple chapters fic? Im super excited for it!)

i ABSOLUTELY would thank you so much for asking and for your lovely kind words. and im sorry this took me seven years to get to i just kept psyching myself out.

here's the ren & goro post this ask refers to for anyone wondering. the 'core' refers to my answer to a writing meme:

26. What would you describe as OOC? [...] it's the same approach i take to language tbh particularly in pronunciation. once you understand how a language forms its sounds at a base level, you dont struggle with the accent on particular words, and you can encounter words you've never seen before and understand how they're likely to be said/spelled/etc. so once i learn to 'speak' a character they come more naturally. idk if that comparison makes sense to anyone else but it does to meeeee all this to say i think a character is ooc if they do or say something i cant reconcile with that core!

the death note wip is a multichap!! thank you for your interest!!! ill talk about it more once i've stopped tying myself in knots plotting it!! broadly it's a what-if type au which has led me to replot an entire series from scratch dont look at me

anyway lawlight below. i will say ive been really desperately wanting to do like a video essay or something about death note which would be a lot about L and light specifically and how i interpret their characters so ill try and not go toooooo insane in this post but maybe ill go more insane later. in a video. with my human voice.

(edit: i failed i went insane)

light - one-way road to the sky

ok let's talk about one of my favourite scenes of the entire series, which i think is widely not super well understood but honestly to me holds the key to light's entire character. it's right there in volume 1

sorry, the only digital copy ive got on hand is the scanlation. for comparison the official print copy reads:

bubble 1: hey, maki, wanna party tomorrow with some guys from s. college? ten o'clock. bubble 2: yeah, totally! bubble 3: hey, can i go too? bubble 4: my mom isn't here yet? what's that nag doing, geez! light (thinking): damn... light (thinking): start looking around you... light (thinking): and all you see are people the world would be better off without.

this happens within the first 40 pages of the first volume. and it's like. haha hey light what the fuck? this is a totally normal scene in everyday life. people are talking about living their lives. nobody's done anything remotely reprehensible in this scene. and light's just walking through the streets experiencing apparently unprompted and quite extreme misanthropy. what's wrong with him

ok let's have a quick look at the first time we meet light in the anime.

[...]

[...]

cool cool cool im gonna pivot again let's look at the first song (besides the overture) in the musical.

ok rook! we get it! light yagami is out here like damn we live in a society time to kill people about it. this is news to nobody! we all know this!! that's what the series is about! why are we rehashing all of this

great. cool. awesome. let's look at all those scenes one more time. but this time don't look at light. instead let's look at the people around him

in the opening shots of the anime (after the shinigami world, which actually is much the same theme): news of brutal murder is narrated over establishing shots of tokyo. light is shown dead-eyed, going about his ordinary life, surrounded by random other civilians doing the same thing.

in the musical, light isn't angry that murders happen. he's angry about the inaction and complicity of the ordinary people around him.

these scenes aren't highlighting that light thinks crime is bad. we all know crime is bad. the point of these scenes is to contrast light's frustration and fury against the reactions of the people around him. here's what light yagami is seeing: we're surrounded with rot. but nobody's reacting. and then life just goes on. so suddenly all those completely normal scenes of people being concerned with the superficial details of their life aren't just normality, they're complicity. day in, day out. so the world is rotting, and to light, it seems that everyone is completely ok with that. that's just the way things are. and that disgusts and depresses him. on top of than that, it isolates him: he feels like he's the only one who sees or cares about this, that everyone dismisses him as naive, that no one else can be trusted, that everyone else is able to ignore something he sees as inexcusable. this is a sentiment he repeats again and again. it reads as arrogance, and it is, but it's also isolation - after all it's lonely at the top and just as lonely to feel like you're at the top even if you arent

can i talk about the iliad again? is that ok with everyone. im gonna talk about the iliad again

in book 1 of the iliad, the commander of the greek army insults achilles by publicly and unlawfully taking a prize (the girl briseis) who rightfully belonged to achilles. achilles reacts by withdrawing his troops from the army, dooming the greeks' campaign. achilles had a lot of friends in the army, so why would he essentially sentence them all to death for something that only agamemnon did? well, (because agamemnon did something publicly that everyone knew was wrong, and yet nobody was willing (or at least able) to stand up for achilles and stop it from happening. achilles, disgusted by the inaction of the bystanders, turned his back on all of them. fun fact i nearly wrote a mini thesis (an academic one not just a long post on tumblr) about the intersection btwn this book of the iliad and legal theory but law+classics is such a niche interdisciplinary field my professor couldnt find anyone who could supervise me so i couldnt do it. anyway that's not the point

is this right or fair? who cares, not the point. what im interested in is what that kind of behaviour says about the individual. light, like achilles, is a highly idealistic person. we all know that in the abstract, but take a second to really really dig into it, because it's actually quite an interesting fact about a character who is popularly understood as being cold and unfeeling or flatly psychotic and on a power trip. idealism isn't naivety, it's not optimism, it's not even really a happy thing. idealism is simply a firm belief in the way things should be at the cost of refusing or being unable to accept what is.

this is the core of light yagami to me. light doesn't become kira because he's cold or destructive or crazy. he doesn't actually even do it because he's spiteful or misanthropic. it's very much the opposite. he's misanthropic because he believes in the world so much. isn't that a great contradiction! ok here i'll show you some proof.

in an early scene (also in volume 1), light describes himself as an optimist and ryuk finds that interesting.

so light is an optimist. he believes in a bright future for humanity. he wants to protect humanity. he likes humanity. no, he doesn't believe that people are inherently good, but he does believe in some goodness as a part of humanity and wants to protect the best of people, in an egotistical way:

how do we reconcile that with a young man who walks through the streets listening to completely ordinary conversations by ordinary people and reacts by wishing death on everyone talking?

let's split out what's going on here. remember what's happening in light's head. light yagami is 17 years old. he grew up with a police chief for a father (in a fictional world where the police are the literary stand-in for law as justice so just pretend for a second that police are good im sorry), watching his father work tirelessly to fight crime - but crime continues, making this an endless, thankless task. and while crime continues, so does the world around him. every day light sees atrocities on the news, and he sees atrocities brought home, and then he lives his ordinary life and watches the people around him apparently not give a shit, only concerned with the petty details of their own little lives. bystanders watching wrong happen, selfishly unaffected. day in, day out. that idealism is getting colder the longer this unendurable injustice goes on. so achilles condemns his friends to death.

what human trait is being exhibited? realistically it's helplessness. would being miserable about crime help to end crime? of course not. people have to go on with their lives, that's a fact, it's even a strength. even light begins the series completely unable to do a thing about the rot he sees around him, which is part of why he's so depressed. but that's not what light is seeing. light is seeing ordinary people appear to choose not to give a fuck about injustice. the thing that's sparking his disgust is apathy, real or apparent. light yagami is an idealist. he wants a better future - a utopia that only he can imagine - something that can only happen if either everyone becomes as good as he is, or he takes control.

if you leave an idealist in an unwinnable situation for too long, their pure belief will start to curdle. it will not turn to realism. they will not accept what is. they will only become more and more bitter that what should be, isn't. they will become a cynicist. this is really the heart of my argument and ive made it a million times and ill make it again. idealism and cynicism are not opposites, they're not even two sides of a coin. they are two points on the same line which moves very quickly in only one direction. this is where i start when im writing him: how do i make someone who believes so hard that it's killing him? someone who believes so hard it makes him believe in nothing?

then we find the third point on that line, which someone can reach by gaining sudden power - for example, a magic notebook that kills people: radicalisation.

how do we reconcile his desire to protect humanity with the fact that what he's trying to protect against is also humanity? how can i say light loves humanity when he has such disdain for them? easy peasy: light sees himself as the messiah. my bumper sticker that says ask me about light's martyr complex PLEASE ask me about light's martyr complex i wrote a song about it ask me about light seeing himself as the sacrificial lamb on the (and then the bumper sticker cuts off)

light loves humanity the way a twisted shepherd might love his sheep. something to be protected, but something beneath you that can't be trusted to know what's best for them. humanity is something he loves because it's endearingly pathetic, something to pity and save. repeatedly he refers to becoming kira as a personal sacrifice, something that costs him his soul but that he has to do. it's a delusion of grandeur driven by dual purposes of ego and some desperate wish to change a status quo he's been despairing about for years.

tl;dr: light believes with all his soul in something he thinks is impossible, and it's killing him slowly, and then a chance to change the world just falls out of the sky

L - isolate yourself until you can make believe it's just a game

steeples fingers. i have Things to Say about L Lawliet.

ok listen. listen. Listen. listen. are you listening? listen. in general i think people kind of misunderstand characters who are hyper-intellectual and/or behave unconventionally in social settings. you're all going to fucking kill me for this but i think there's a tendency to like... accidentally turn any character who falls vaguely in this broad category into sheldon cooper. god im sorry i feel like i just shot everyone's collective dog

specifically what i mean by that is that 'awkward' gets flanderised in a way that eventually becomes a caricature of itself, because there is so much nuance to actual social awkwardness that it's very easy to kind of pick a template and stick to it without really thinking about what makes that character 'awkward' and what the root and type of awkwardness is, unique to them. so instead we just get, like... generic big word user. generic driven by logic and logic alone guy. generic guy who doesn't Do Well with other people, for Smart Reasons.

here's a list of true things about L which i think are safe to say are uncontroversial

intuitive

logical, master of deductive reasoning

competitive

behaves in an odd way that draws attention

is aware of that fact

focuses extremely hard on his cases and only cares about being a detective not anything else

isolates himself and doesn't like talking to people partly for his own safety partly because it's boring to him

here are things i have seen in characterisation of L which i would like to dispute

makes decisions and draws conclusions based solely on logic and evidence

doesn't understand social cues

here's a list of alternate interpretations which i would like to propose and that i am willing to back up with evidence and/or by physically fighting over them

is driven primarily not by logic or evidence, but by incredible intuition which is supported by logic and evidence when it suits him

has a keen understanding of people, interpersonal relationships, and social norms

leverages that understanding frequently to his benefit

feels that he is not capable of / not a part of emotions that he sees as being typically human (see his speech about being a monster)

and yet in an abstract and self-contradictory and low-priority way still kind of desires connection, leaving him emotionally isolated

chooses to behave oddly on purpose, not because he doesn't realise he's behaving oddly, but because it is not a priority for him

those might seem like fine distinctions at some points, but stray slightly off the mark and his characterisation begins to vary wildly. for example, interpret L as being bemused or unaware of social cues, and one possible characterisation that may stem from that understanding (which i have seen) is that L doesn't understand sarcasm or jokes - which is demonstrably untrue. L demonstrates weak social skills because social skills aren't a priority for him, not because he doesn't understand social norms. after all he does a reasonably convincing 'i am a normal dudeguy' voice on at least two occasions (suzuki the information line guy and asahi the calling matsuda for drinks guy). even with the taskforce, when his behaviour is more of his usual bizarre self, he still makes the effort to treat them respectfully and meet them where they are, explaining himself when they ask, chatting with them, holding ordinary conversations. you can read this any number of ways but my point is that he can do all of this with relatively little struggle

it's also very much not the case that L doesn't have feelings or care about other people. he's ruthless and he's cool with causing people to die if he has to, but he reacts with visible distress to the deaths of the FBI agents, to ukita's death, to the prospect of other members of the taskforce dying. he does care, he's just not morally driven as a priority.

ok but if he can cosplay as Normal Dudeguy with no trouble then why doesn't he. why does he conduct all his business in dark rooms apart from the entire world forever. is it gauche to use a section of my own fic to explain my point? im going to do it anyway

It is easy to identify in Light what he has long known in himself. That little pearl of disruption, grown around an irritating grain of something just unique and tremendous enough to be uncomfortable to the more ordinary around them. L has hidden it by hiding himself. Light has hidden it by hiding within himself. L's black letter is to Light’s vapid smile is to Kira's invisible bullet.

(honestly a lot of what i have discussed here is also covered in this fic so in case this fucking three thousand word essay is not enough for you you can go read that.)

something L and light significantly have in common is that their intellect and unique way of thinking really set them apart from everyone in the world, which is incredibly isolating. but while L has the 'benefit' (arguably could be a detriment but i think he sees it as a benefit) of a unique upbringing which allows him to use his skills to their full extent without worrying about really anything else, light is very much trapped by social convention. while light's life is privileged and materially perfect, he's stuck inside what society expects of him, while L is able to exist completely outside that paradigm. the result is that light has retreated within himself and spends all day playing a part, barely tolerating the monotony and apathy of the world around him by mechanically performing as expected while smothering the part of him that never has an opportunity to truly come out until kira. L, on the other hand, has no reason to put up with a society that is, for lack of a better term, really just beneath him. so he retreats. remember that the first volume/chapter of the manga is called 'boredom'.

you can see that even in his comparatively limited interactions with the task force, he is having to exercise a level of patience to explain to them what he's thinking at every stage, to have to defend his methods, his instincts, his decisions, etc, needing to step through every stage of his reasoning so that the others can follow and won't object. this is NOT just about masking his odd behaviour, it's also very much about having to step through his morals and his process, which is second nature to him but is new to everyone else and needs explaining. it is visibly exhausting to him, and this is with people he actually seems to like well enough. eg during yotsuba arc when light and soichiro keep raising moral concerns, and he has those little "here we go again" moments (which i love SO much and are so telling of him to me) even though he doesn't let his frustration show. which is why he usually does not bother with it and prefers to work alone. he sits the way he does even though he knows it's odd, because he feels he need to sit that way. when light calls it out, he doesn't question that people will think he's strange, so he's clearly aware. he just explains himself.

but if he were out with people on the regular, he'd need to defend himself constantly. the things L does are not conventional. yes the sitting is just an oddity of his so it's a good example, but it's not just the things that are odd that cause a problem: he frequently makes decisions which seem to make massive leaps of logic nobody else (except light) can follow, and often his actions are morally questionable or even reprehensible. all that is because L is extremely pragmatic and results-focused. it kind of doesn't matter to him how he gets from A to B as long as he gets to B. but the way his mind works is that he makes big jumps that make perfect sense to him but would draw curiosity or objection from anyone who doesn't think the way he does. it would be absolutely exhausting to have to constantly defend every strange or questionable thing he did, so he just retreats.

when he works with other people, i think it's worth noting that the team dynamic never actually struggles for L's awkwardness. this is something i really like about death note honestly - L is quirky and strange, but the series doesn't do that thing where it's like He's A Genius Of Course He's Rude To Everyone. he's actually not. for the most part, L is courteous, patient, and polite. he's sometimes blunt or abrupt, but he very rarely does the thing where he's obliviously cruel or brushes people off. he's considerate of people's needs, he's visibly compassionate of other people's emotional difficulties, and he very rarely loses his patience. when matsuda tries to tell the locked-up light about kira resuming activity, L snaps "Matsuda!" to stop him, and then immediately corrects himself to go "I mean, Matsuda-san." it would have been really easy for the series to do that tropey shit where he's so smart that he doesn't bother with politeness, but he factually does. he makes the effort to treat people politely even when he's not actually being kind. when he's asked to explain himself, the reader can see he's tired and annoyed, but he doesn't take it out on people. on the odd occasion he does make fun of someone for being slow, he does so in mostly light-hearted ways. so he is very capable of dealing with other people directly. his lack of social skills aren't for lack of understanding. he just can't be bothered. it's a waste of energy to try and behave 'normally' or to do things that other people find acceptable, whether that's due to social norm or common morality. it is so, so much easier for L to do things alone. without the need to explain or defend his behaviour to anyone, his isolation turns real world problems into something almost purely theoretical. so it really is like a game for him, at least at first.

whatever

i think it's really important for a character like L to not be fooled by the surface-level categorisation of 'smart awkward character'. we really need to find what's driving his awkwardness. it's not ignorance, it's not even really disdain, it's exasperation. he's tired of being surrounded by people who just can't keep up with him, and he does not have enough energy or interest to spend his time handholding everyone through his process, so he just does whatever the hell he wants and avoids people as much as possible so he doesn't have to deal with it.

look i know this is a really long way to say stuff that people mostly already know, but i think L is one of the most finely nuanced characters in the series because he looks like such a simple expression of a known archetype and the ways in which he subverts expectations are so granular that it's easy to completely miss them even while appreciating how interesting he is. the way this translates into how i write him is that he's polite and has a lot of patience until he simply doesn't, at which point he'll inwardly or subtly express that he wishes he didn't have to bother with this shit, that he picks up on fine social and emotional details that other people will totally miss, but that he'll always put his own whims and plans before anything else.

tl;dr: L behaves like someone who is constantly moving at his own pace and for whom dealing with people is rarely worth the effort, but this does not make him inept or unkind.

[librababe99]

hi!! can i request enemies to lovers w sexual tension with young charles xavier?? <33

Hi Anon!! I had about three different ideas on how to take this request and I think I found the one that will work the best🤭I hope you enjoy!

A Heated Debate

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Young! Charles Xavier, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, sexual tensions

Summary:  In the high-stakes world of mutant politics, You and Charles are bitter rivals. You’re, a fierce advocate for an aggressive approach to mutant rights, constantly clashes with Charles’ pacifist ideals during public debates. Their verbal sparring is intense, charged with both political conflict and unspoken desire. 

Word count: 1.5K

| Masterlist |

The room buzzed with the aftermath of the debate, the murmurs of the audience still echoing as people began to file out of the grand hall. You stood on the stage, arms crossed, seething beneath the carefully crafted mask you wore for the public. Another debate with Charles, another frustrating round of endless philosophical differences that seemed to lead nowhere but further entrenchment in your views.

Your fingers curled tightly around the notes in your hand, the paper crumpling slightly as you glanced toward him. Charles Xavier. Brilliant, articulate, annoyingly calm in the face of your fiery arguments. His peaceful rhetoric grated on you, especially in times like these when the world seemed to be falling apart for mutants.

"Mutual understanding," "humanity will come to accept us in time," "we must be patient." How could he still believe that? With anti-mutant violence rising, governments around the world pushing for mutant registration, and so many of your people living in fear—how could he remain so naively idealistic? Worse, how could he make it sound so convincing?

You had to admit it—he was good. Too good.

The crowd had loved him tonight, responding to his polished arguments with the kind of enthusiasm that made your stomach turn. And yet, beneath your frustration, there was something else. Something that made your pulse quicken every time you locked eyes with him during these debates. Something you despised acknowledging.

You heard the quiet click of his shoes as he approached from the other side of the stage, his posture as effortless as his argument had been.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” Charles said, his voice that smooth, infuriating calm you had come to know all too well.

Your eyes snapped to him, a fire igniting behind them. “I don’t need your compliments, Charles. I’m not here to be handled.”

His lips quirked slightly, that maddening half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he enjoyed needling you. As if your frustration was amusing to him. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, his blue eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that felt as though he were trying to read deeper into you than you were willing to show.

“You always mean something,” you shot back, stepping down from the stage, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. “Some noble little phrase to make everyone believe that you’re the reasonable one, and I’m just the reckless, angry woman.”

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed you offstage. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Well, it’s how you come across,” you said, pivoting to face him when you reached backstage, your voice lowering, but the fire was still there, crackling between the two of you. “You don’t listen, Charles. You talk about peace and patience as if you’re the only one with a real solution, as if my stance—our need to fight for our rights—is just noise.”

“You think I don’t understand the urgency?” he asked, his own frustration starting to show through his calm exterior. “I know what’s happening out there. I see the pain. I feel it every day, but—”

“But nothing! You’re not fighting hard enough!” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too angry to care. The pent-up frustration you’d carried for months, perhaps years, finally spilling over. “Every day, mutants are targeted. We can’t sit around and wait for humanity to wake up and suddenly decide we’re equals.”

Charles closed the distance between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “And you think war is the answer? That more violence will somehow win us the respect we deserve?”

“Sometimes, force is the only language they understand,” you shot back, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You could feel the heat between you, both figuratively and literally, the air between you charged with something far more intense than simple disagreement. “You’re too soft, Charles. Too idealistic.”

“And you’re too angry,” he countered, his voice low, the calm veneer slipping away to reveal the passion underneath. “You’re letting your emotions dictate everything, and that will only lead to more destruction.”

“You don’t get to tell me how to feel,” you snapped, stepping forward until you were inches away from him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, though you refused to let it show. You couldn’t show weakness. Not to him.

“I’m not telling you how to feel,” Charles said, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. “I’m asking you to see that there’s more at stake here than your anger.”

You stared up at him, your breathing shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you became almost unbearable. You could feel it now, the pull that had been lurking beneath the surface of every debate, every heated argument. The attraction that neither of you had dared to acknowledge.

And at this moment, the debate wasn’t just about politics anymore. It wasn’t about mutant rights or the philosophical differences that had driven a wedge between you and Charles for so long.

It was about the two of you. The crackling, undeniable heat that had been building with every word spoken, every glance exchanged.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” you asked, your voice quiet but intense, eyes locking onto his. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

For a moment, Charles didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours as though he was weighing whether to say what he really wanted to say. The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken desire and frustration, until finally, he answered, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you.

“Because you matter to me. More than you know.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. But the look in his eyes—the way they darkened with something far more primal than political disagreement—told you everything you needed to know.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you closed the final inch of space between you, your body pressing against his as your lips crashed into his.

The kiss was fierce, driven by months of unresolved tension and anger. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, fisting your hands in his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the intensity of the moment.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything about this was wrong. But you couldn’t stop. The fire that had fueled your arguments had turned into something much more dangerous—something neither of you could control.

His mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers digging into your hips as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his chest heaved as the kiss deepened, as if all the arguments, all the frustrations of the past, had boiled down to this singular moment of passion.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, you pulled away, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet backstage room.

Charles’ forehead rested against yours, his breathing just as ragged as yours. He didn’t answer for a moment, his fingers still gripping your waist as though he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice low, filled with the same uncertainty you felt. “But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, your mind racing as you tried to process the fact that you had just kissed Charles Xavier—your rival, your ideological opposite, the man who represented everything you were fighting against.

But he wasn’t just that. Not anymore. Not after this.

“I can’t…” you began, but the words faltered as you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side, the smallest of touches that sent electricity through you all over again.

“I know,” Charles murmured, his lips hovering just over yours. “But we don’t have to figure this out right now.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your breaths mingling as you struggled to regain your composure. The weight of everything that had just happened hung between you, but for the first time, it wasn’t oppressive.

It was electric.

Finally, you stepped back, creating a small but necessary distance between the two of you. You had crossed a line tonight, and while you weren’t sure what it meant, you knew that things would never be the same.

Neither of you spoke as you gathered your things, the silence thick with the knowledge of what had just passed between you. As you turned to leave, you cast one last glance at Charles, who was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—part desire, part regret.

“Until next time, Charles,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes still dark with the remnants of the fire that had burned between you.

“Until next time.” 

You walked out of the room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of what had just happened. The debate wasn’t over. Far from it. But the battle between you and Charles had just changed—forever.

[cushfuddled]

I don't know if I want to make a video about this because it's SO subjective obv but also like. I've NEVER felt compelled to write a "homophobic au" where I take a tolerant fantasy world and make it bigoted. As a kid I used to complain ALL THE GODDAMN TIME about how fantasy writers could imagine a world with talking dragons and magic powers but always drew the line at equal rights for gay people. And here I am PUTTING THE HOMOPHOBIA BACK into a fantasy world WITHOUT homophobia. And I was like.

do I feel so compelled to do this???

I knew I didn't NEED an excuse to insert homophobia into Arcane. Write whatever you want etc etc. But I was so curious, since my preference up 'til now has always been for casually queer fantasy worlds. And uh yeah honestly I think this pivot stems from like, a disconnect between my understanding of systemic bigotry as a queer disabled autistic woman and the way Arcane appears to pick and choose its world's politics from a salad bar.

In the real world, social issues are all tangled up in each other. Racism and classism and queerphobia and xenophobia and ableism and misogyny and misandry and ageism...all these 'isms bud off each other in a kind of swirling feedback loop, necessitating an intersectional approach to activism.

At the end of Arcane, no one broke the cycle of violence. The council chamber table is shaped like a gear, symbolizing its members' status as a "gear train" for all change within Piltover and Zaun. Jinx's bomb destroys that gear with the rest of the council room, only for an off-screen contractor to glue the pieces together between scenes. Piltover adds more "progressive" representatives to its gear train, but the underlying oligarchical mechanism remains. If the cycle of violence ever breaks, it will be because these new "teeth" convince the council to trade their power for democracy. If the elite don't give a real voice to the marginalized (I'm not sure one or two non-elected representatives makes the cut), the marginalized will take to more radical measures to be heard, and the conflict will start anew.

Arcane's hostile oligarchical world sculpted Viktor into the perfect time bomb. Its proud disgust for immigrants; addicts; the poor; the disabled, taught Viktor great shame and hate for who he was and where he came from. These lessons are at least cousins to Social Darwinism, fascism, and the politics of eugenics. Viktor aimed to "evolve" himself and his people into a "perfect" final form. He equated "progress" with the eradication of disability and sickness...then emotion.

Here Viktor branches off from the emotionalism central to fascist ideology, declaring passion ("Our emotions...rage, compassion, hate...") the "cause of [humanity's] greatest evil." Viktor describes emotions as Freudian "baser instincts," dirty and corrosive in their "self-corrupting" force.

To deserve love and admiration, Viktor believes he must become perfect. And for all he waxes poetic re: science and reason and the people of Zaun, Viktor still bases his definition of "perfection" on the ideals of his oppressors. It says a lot to me, that Viktor's idea of "progress" looks like the total eradication of sickness and disability; the rise of an obedient, docile, dogmatic collective; the dominance of Viktor's dome amidst the modest shelters of his followers; Viktor's sleek, agile, white and gold robots. Viktor's goals share a springboard with those of the Piltover elite. Both systems place undue value on power and purity. Both depend on a complaisant, malleable public, and both punish individualism. Piltover pretends to champion movers and shakers and out-of-the-box thinkers, immortalizing key figures like "Stanwick Padidly" and Jayce, but Jayce was only allowed back into the world of the wealthy once he proved

a. he had something to give

b. he was deemed suitably manipulable.

The moment Jayce tried to clamp down on Piltover's rampant corruption (aka wield his newfound powers in service of the less fortunate), Mel was there to reinforce the status quo. It was made very clear that Jayce's options were either to fall in line or lose his job—along with the chance to make any kind of positive change. Behind the curtain Jayce and Viktor were only puppets in service of the wealthy and powerful. Hextech didn't better the lives of marginalized people. It upgraded weapons for the police and generated new trade opportunities for employers (the economy would've undergone a hell of a shakeup with the sudden flush of consumer goods and access to overseas labor. From the state of Zaun and Piltover post-time skip, I assume the new trade routes shuffled money around but didn't make necessities like medicine or shelter any more attainable for your average citizen).

"You used me, and Viktor, for Hextech. You called us 'investments.'" "Two brilliant young inventors who shared a penchant for impossible surprises. Carrying magic from myth to machine. Rallying the hope and hearts of a nation. You were a wise investment."

Anyway. Why is Viktor so threatened by his ability to feel "affection?" Every other goal aligns with a kind of supercharged version of Piltover's oppressive value system, but this one...not so much.

I guess you could say "civil society" frowns on explosive emotions like rage and hate because they threaten the docility of a healthy status quo. Compassion poses a similar threat. It makes sense for Viktor to fixate so hard on emotions when they're the only weapon powerful enough to snap him out of his Hexcore power trip. But I'm more drawn to the reading where Viktor recognizes queerness within himself (cough his love for Jayce cough) as another barrier on the road to perfection (as measured by the standards of an oligarchical regime).

It seems to me that Viktor's goals are all symptoms of a society steeped in ableism, classism, xenophobia, and queerphobia—but only three of those conditions manifest in Arcane's worldbuilding.

I dunno, man. What resonates with my queer experience will totally contradict someone else's. But I guess I can't envision an oligarchical system like Piltover's—a system founded on classism, ableism, and a weaponized fear of the dirty "other"—would somehow evade racism and queerphobia. Like..."We're fine with black people and gay people. But god help you if you're poor or sick or disabled or from Zaun!" Bigotry is irrational and contradictory, so there are surely examples of this pick-and-choose phenomenon outside of Arcane. And good lord, I don't think anyone should feel "obligated" to fill their fantasy worlds with homophobia! But Arcane definitely sparked enough cognitive dissonance in me to make me crank out some "what if this world was also homophobic" fanfic.

(There's also League of Legends' legacy as an alt-right cesspool. Before I even knew what an MMO was, I'd been warned about a game called LoL, the supposed "worst of the worst" when it came to voice chat culture. Not sure how I feel about that context yet.)

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

It's so fascinating the circus themed mini games in Helpwanted2.

It's fascinating that the FNAF4 house burns outside of the carousel mini game.

It's fascinating how Moon is the most reoccurring animatronic in this game as a whole, even playing a pivotal role in one of the endings.

It's also double fascinating that Sun seems to understand Fazbear Entertainment has scummy practices, like making children's art their international property if created on their property. He knows he's neglected, knows no one will fix him. (And only desperately approached Cassie in ruin cus she had the tools. )

Sun knows that Fazbear let's things fall by the wayside if they're not bringing money, like the carousel itself.

All of this new info has me thinking....

Maybe the Daycare Attendant wasn't even a theatre bot for Fazbear Entertainment in the first place.

I wonder if he was an animatronic designed for a Carnival or the Circus, and Fazbear Entertainment bought him out for their theatre.

Things like that are not unheard of in this universe. Especially when the books are concerned.

So it could be a possibility.

Consider that the balloon boy world minigame found in Sun and Moon's room, you play as a Balloon boy, who runs away from the circus to go on a journey past the mountains.

...I don't know. It's a thought.

I feel it gives Sun's passive agressiveness and self awareness of Fazbear's shitty practices a bit more sense. Cause he was never made for them to begin with.