#but you can have your own interpretations if you want!

[adieutristana]

nsfw headcanons; arcane women x fem!reader

still new to writing this kinda stuff yall dont kill me. anyways, here's some general headcanons. again, i'm open for nsfw requests, just please read through the new section in my rules post!

summary; general nsfw headcanons with arcane women and their girlfriend.

characters included; jinx, vi, mel, sevika, caitlyn, lest

tags; nsfw, fluff, everything is done consensually, some aftercare (full aftercare headcanons here), fingering, cunnilingus, strap-on use, strap-on referred to as dick, degradation, rough sex, nipple play, light bdsm (sevika, lest), anal (sevika, lest), public (mel), jinx being a brat, vibrator use (jinx, caitlyn) gun play (jinx), period sex mention (jinx), usage of words like ‘slut’ and ‘whore,’ sloppy shit, p in v (lest), dacryphilia (jinx, caitlyn), wax play (lest), breeding kink (vi), orgasm denial (mel, caitlyn), thigh riding (sevika, caitlyn), blowjob (lest), shimmer (jinx, lest)

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* the way i interpreted it at least, what jinx received after the fight on the bridge was a sort of shimmer infusion. she's got that stuff running in her veins, and jinx is basically 50% shimmer at this point.

✧.* i bring this up because the amount of shimmer in jinx's system gives her certain.. perks. such as her stamina being that of twenty women combined, how fast and hard she can go. she'd have fun increasing the speed, fucking you harder and harder while you're a writhing mess beneath her and can only think of the pleasure she's giving you.

✧.* even while receiving, jinx can go all night if she wanted to. she won't, because you're not as energetic as she is and she needs to let you rest (as much as she wishes you could go all night). the girl would be so damn overstimulated, but still, she'll demand that you make her cum again, and again, and again. she can keep going; she can take it.

✧.* a tit girl. she doesn’t care how big or small your boobs are, as long as she gets them in her hands and mouth! it’s probably a result of how damn sensitive her own are- jinx will be whimpering mess just from you pinching her nipples a few times.

✧.* she’s a switch, and what position she takes at what given time is just dependent on her mood. jinx is always unpredictable, always keeping you on your toes. she isn’t much different in bed.

✧.* so fucking noisy, and the dirty talk is downright filthy. it's bad enough that at times, you worry your girlfriend might lose her voice. jinx is very unfiltered in general, so you'd expect no less from her in the bedroom. she sees no point in holding back. you're making her feel good, why should she hide that?

✧.* "oh, fuck! ngh, just like that, you're fucking my pussy soooo good," she'd babble, taking every inch of your strap with impressive resolve. her lips are parted, swollen and red from just how hard she'd kissed you. obscene squelching noises filling the room while you pound into her, her legs pressed to either side of her body. "y'hear it? do you? that's me, fuckin' dripping for you. need your dick, ineeditineediti need it-"

✧.* SIZE QUEEN. jinx is a petite girl, shorter and thinner than most. yet she'd insist on you fucking her and stretching her with dildos that looked monstrous next to her. she's a whiny, squealing mess as you ease each inch into her aching pussy, but she always takes it so well. there's nothing quite like the feeling of being pried open to jinx.

✧.* along with that, she's pretty flexible so you can get creative with positions. she'll let you press your knees to either side of her body, not wincing once or growing tired.

✧.* jinx does enjoy a variety of positions- doggystyle, reverse cowgirl, the like, her favorite positions are any where she can see your face. not only does it give jinx a rush to see your flushed, fucked-out expressions, but it also gives her that sense of connection to be able to look at you while you pleasure each other. she's the type to hold eye contact with you the entire time she eats you out, and to bore her gaze into yours in missionary.

✧.* she'd be riding you, arms wrapped around your chest as you piston the strap into her. she's whimpering and squealing louder and louder with each thrust, but her eyes never would leave yours. you're fucking her at an unforgiving pace, plastic tip kissing her cervix, but she still feels so at ease and cared for.

✧.* i feel like jinx would say 'i love you' at least once every time.

✧.* a munch. jinx loves it when you sit on her face, and she's the type to be downright offended if you don't put your full body weight on her. she'd tug you down by your hips before plunging her tongue deep into you without warning, earning sharp cries from you. every time she hears those noises, her ego grows bigger, and damn. you'd allow her that.

✧.* also loves to eat you out from under her workbench. seeing you in her chair, under her desk, in her space, so willingly submissive to her- it's thrilling to her and she can't quite explain it.

✧.* "fuck yes, toots," she'd grumble, pulling back from your wet heat for just a split seconds. "you taste so damn good. so fuckin' sweet and needy f'me."

✧.* a damn brat when she wants to be. she loves to rile you up, it's like a game to jinx. not so amusing for you when you're trying to fill out paperwork and jinx is groaning, taking your pen from your hand and holding it out of your reach while she tells you to just fuck her already.

✧.* "come on! that stuff is so boring, and here i am, soaked for you," she'd pout, her knees parting more beside you on the couch. "you always have to be so responsible, and it's irritating. you could be putting those hands to better use, but noooo."

✧.* or something along the lines of, “i can’t feel anything! are you sure you’re fucking me? come on, do something!”

✧.* not so mouthy when your face is buried in her cunt, that's for sure.

✧.* very into marking. placing her claim on you. almost every time, without fail, you’ve got a new array of hickeys splayed across your neck, chest, hips, and inner thighs. also very into writing on you, with permanent marker. she’d write ‘JINX’ right above your pubic bone, draw little hearts around your nipples, draw an arrow on your inner thigh pointing to your cunt that reads ‘JINX WAZ HERE!’

✧.* a crier, especially when you overstimulate her and when she orgasms. she gets embarrassed every time and tries to explain it away, but it’s just her body’s way of processing all of those sensations. poor girl can’t hold it in :(

✧.* being with jinx, it's gonna be either her tongue, a strap, or a vibrator pleasuring you, unless you can convince jinx to cut her nails. not likely, since she takes pride in their length. sorry :(

✧.* jinx isn’t afraid to get messy. she’ll be rubbing her sticky cunt against yours, having already squirted twice- her lips swollen from your kisses, thighs and lower stomach covered in sweat and cum. but she just can’t stop grinding against you, it feels so damn right.

✧.* along with that, jinx is definitely into period sex. the first time was a whirlwind, with jinx insisting she doesn’t mind and eating you out anyways. if anything, you being on your period makes jinx want to please you more so that you forget about those pesky cramps.

✧.* squirter, and her juices are tinged pink from the shimmer running through her body.

✧.* oh, you already know the prosthetic finger vibrates. she wouldn’t tell you the first time she used it, just say something like, “i’ve got somethin’ special for ya toots! what is it? well, i can’t say just yet! but you’ll love it. i know you will.”

✧.* the way you gasp as soon as you feel the vibrations against your clit and buck your hips into the metal gives jinx all that she needs.

✧.* definitely into gun play as well. seeing your pussy stretch to accommodate the barrel of her gun, the way your eyes widen and you gasp when her finger brushes over the trigger… oh, it’s art. jinx could fully get addicted to it.

vi;

✧.* A MUNCH.

✧.* it probably sounds far-fetched, but vi could cum just from eating you out. from tasting your sweet juices, the scent of your heat, the way your face contorts in pleasure, the trembling of your thighs in her hands, the obscene noises that spill from your lips, how it feels when you cum in her mouth- vi gets lost in it every single time.

✧.* it gets to a point some nights where you’ll almost have to pry vi’s face from between your legs.

✧.* likes to switch and doesn’t have a preference when it comes to top or bottom. i take her as the type who would do both during most sessions to balance things out, she gets some and you get some!

✧.* dirty talk is crazy when she’s domming, but when vi is subbing she can barely string together a coherent thought, especially not a full sentence. she tries to talk to you, tries to let you know how good you’re feeling, but it comes out more as a choppy string of moans and ‘please’s.

✧.* “oh, that feels so- haaaah, please, mm-”

✧.* vi is strong, stronger than most. meaning she can pick you up, fuck you while holding you up against a wall, or she could use that strength to slam your wrists into the mattress above your head while her free hand works at your heat. the possibilities are endless!

✧.* not necessarily loud, but she doesn’t hold back when it comes to noises either. always some form of grunting, groaning, heaving. or whimpering, when she’s on bottom.

✧.* her tits are so sensitive. she’ll try to act like it’s nothing when your hands brush over her hardened nipples, but oh gods when your lips form a seal over one and you start to swirl your tongue around it, vi loses her mind. she’s threading calloused fingers into your hair, trying to push you impossibly closer to her.

✧.* loves giving strap- she likes to receive too, but she’s more partial to giving when it comes to strap-on usage. it just gives her a rush, being on top of you, making you take her. it’s a bit of a power trip for vi.

✧.* “yeah, fucking take my cock- ngh… such a good girl for me, such a good slut.” she’s a panting mess, pounding into you from behind. your asscheeks are sore from the swats she’s given them, and you can feel vi filling you to the brim with every thrust. yet it’s intoxicating.

✧.* vi is just so smitten with you, she’ll do almost anything if you ask nicely. any position, any toys, any kink you want to try out. she’s a lover girl at heart, and aims to please above all else. all you have to do is say the word.

✧.* due to her sweet nature, vi would be so attentive during rougher sex with you. even as she’s tossing you around, coaxing what must be your fourth or fifth orgasm out of you, calling you pathetic and needy, she’d be looking out for you. one second she’s degrading you, the next she’s asking if you’re okay and if you need a break. additionally, she does internally wince when she talks down to you, though she tries to hide it. she knows you know she doesn’t actually think of you like that, but she does hold back because she can’t bear the thought of going too far with it.

✧.*despite liking to be rough from time to time, especially if she knows that you like it and you ask for it, vi also does enjoy slow, sweet lovemaking to keep things balanced. she likes being able to pleasure you, to worship you, show you exactly how much you mean to her through her touch.

✧.* “shh, baby,” she’d whisper, kissing down the valley between your breasts, towards your sternum and stomach. “i’ll make you feel good. so good. just lay your pretty self back and take it. can you do that for me, love?”

✧.* her favorite positions are probably doggystyle and 69. doggystyle gives her room to manipulate your body, a prime angle to pound into you, room to pull your hair and force you to look back at her while you’re coming undone on her dick. 69 is ideal for eating you out, but you both get off, so it’s even better. she’d be trying to stifle moans while her tongue is lapping at your clit, sending vibrations through your core when she can’t hold back anymore.

✧.* one orgasm is never enough when it comes to vi. she wants to give you more, and more, and more. her hand would be soaked and her fingers beginning to prune from just how much you’ve already given her, but she still swears you can give her one more (those words are almost always a lie).

✧.* creamer, and there’s SO much of it. the first time you made her cum you didn’t say anything, but you questioned to yourself whether this is a normal amount. but you quickly grew to love it- seeing vi make such a mess, shaking and whining.

✧.* can somebody say BREEDING KINK. no, it’s not scientifically possible for a woman to get another woman pregnant. but vi will be damned if she doesn’t try.

✧.* pistoning her strap into you while she has you folded into a mating press, grunting and panting with her hands on either side of your head. “gonna fill you up just right,” she’d say, breathless. “please, vi-” “shh. i’ll give it to you, you’ll be such a pretty mama, fuck- take it. take it all.”

✧.* while she enjoys getting her tits played with, i definitely see vi as more of an ass girl when it comes to you. she loves eating you out from behind, slapping your ass during sex, even slapping your ass in public when you’re just trying to pay the poor street vendor. she just can’t get enough of the feeling of plush skin in her hands. the shape, the sensation.

✧.* a head pusher. practically shoves your mouth into her pussy while she’s bucking into your face, groaning and panting while your tongue laps up everything she’ll give you. the proximity does something for her, but she also just… can’t help it. it’s reflex at this point. you hit just the right spot, and her strong hand is flying to the back of your head to push you even further.

✧.* RIDE HER ABS. that’s all i’ll say.

mel;

✧.* such a devoted and sweet lover. also a switch, and she truly doesn’t mind what position she takes at what moment. usually mel lets you decide, she trusts you and the pace you set.

✧.* she’s devoted to your pleasure, but she also won’t deny herself any; not by a long shot.

✧.* however, there are times when she’s had a frustrating day at work. the councilors wouldn’t listen to her, her ideas weren’t getting anywhere, she felt a mental block growing stronger with each passing second. every minute she was in that room was like torture, and all she wanted was to get home.

✧.* so the second she does, she’s asking you to lay down so she can lower her pussy onto your face and lose herself.

✧.* “please, love, make me forget- oh, shit! aah!”

✧.* mel doesn’t really curse much, so a good signifier that she’s feeling good is when you hear her swearing. she’s always so poised, so refined in the way she speaks. careful to converse in a manner becoming of a councilor, of a medarda. so when she’s making those pretty sounds, laid back with three fingers deep inside of her and you hear her swear, you know you’ve got her.

✧.* “right there, hah, mm…” she’d moan, grabbing at one of her breasts to anchor herself. “that feels so- fuck! oh, don’t stop, don’t stop!”

✧.* she’s not necessarily loud either, just the right volume to assure you that she’s feeling good.

✧.* mel’s stamina is pretty average. she knows how to pace herself, so it’s really up to you and how long you want to go for.

✧.* she prefers lovemaking and being doted on in the bedroom rather than rough sex and being denied. that’s not to say she’s opposed to trying out something more hardcore, but generally, she prefers to feel cared for in the moment. touch her, love her, worship her.

✧.* however, when she’s topping, she could deny you for hours. it’s something to do with the power she’s holding over you.

✧.* “mpph, please, just let me come, aaah.. i’ll be so good, mel.” you’d whimper, writhing beneath her touch. “shh. you’ve been so good already, but you can hold out a bit longer, can’t you? that’s my strong girl.”

✧.* partial to body worship. take your time with her, slowly removing her clothing to tell her every little thing you love about her body. her soft skin. the swells of her breasts, her lean muscle and smooth thighs. she’ll be gasping, petting your hair and praising you, letting you know what feels right. every touch from you feels like a promise, and you’ll do damn right to keep it.

✧.* TRIBBING. she especially loves being on top when it comes to scissoring, so that she can set the pace and get both of you off just right. it checks off all of mel’s boxes- proximity, close connection, being able to see your pretty face, and the fact that you both get pleasure from it.

✧.* “oh, gods, love,” she’d grunt, grinding her wet cunt into yours. strings of arousal connecting the two of you, rutting into each other. “don’t stop, unngh- that’s so good, so fucking good.. faster. faster.”

✧.* although she’s refined and poised, mel is not above fucking you in public. you’d be at a gala together, champagne glass in hand and trying to converse with others; some of the most important figures and families in piltover. yet all you can focus on is mel, the way the white dress she chose hugs the curves of her hips just right, and the slit that runs up the side. you try to be subtle, but mel is observant. she notices. and this is one of the few times where she’s a bit more rough.

✧.* “just couldn’t wait?” she’d ask, her fingers pounding into you in an empty room just outside of the crowded hall. “almost struck a deal, a good one, before you started undressing me with your eyes. it’s distracting, love.” “i’m sorry, baby,” you’d whimper, so fucking close to your peak. “sorry isn’t going to cut it. but you’re so pretty… so wet, too. i’ll be merciful.”

✧.* mel likes to set the mood. candles, maybe some soft music crackling over a stereo as well. as i keep saying, she’s a romantic! she wants you to see the effort she’s putting in for you, to know just how much she cares. all of this is worth it to her, you’re worth it.

✧.* just one is rarely enough for mel. if you’re more the one-and-done type, she won’t try to coax more orgasms out of you- but for her, she can go several rounds. back to back to back, coming undone on your fingers and mouth and strap and loving every second.

✧.* always holding onto you somehow. her arms wrapped around your shoulders while she rides you, one arm around your waist to steady you while she fingers you against a wall, the like. however, mel’s favorite is holding your hand, interlacing your fingers together. it just feels so intimate, so loving. it’s also grounding in a way, she can squeeze your hands as the sensations grow stronger, or as a silent support while you teeter over the edge of climax.

✧.* aside from times like i mentioned earlier, mel isn’t really a fan of quickies. there are some exceptions, but she prefers to take it slow within the confines of a place she knows is safe. she wants to take her time to truly appreciate you, and she can’t do that if she’s got a time constraint.

✧.* says she loves you every time, probably multiple times. the intimacy of it all overpowers her. some people may think that saying ‘i love you’ over and over makes it lose meaning, but on the contrary, mel means it more each time she says it.

✧.* “oh, oh, gods… mm, i love you, right there…”

sevika;

✧.* have fun trying to move at all after sleeping with sevika.

✧.* she’s a top-leaning switch. she won’t deny pleasure herself, but she won’t ask for it either. she’s more than happy to just fuck you again and again, her pleasure being derived from the sight of your head thrown back in ecstasy and the sound of your pleasured screams.

✧.* sevika loves just about anything, but she’s partial to the strap. it gives her a rush of power, being able to split you open and fuck you so deep, so right. definitely gets one of the biggest dildos she can find to insert into the strap, just so she can make you lay there and take it.

✧.* rough, experienced, and doesn’t hold back when it comes to degradation. she’d pull her cock almost fully out of you, just leaving the tip- before slamming back in, drawing a borderline pornographic moan from your lips. “fuck, doll, you sound filthy. can’t even talk right now, can you? fuckin’ slut, losing her mind already.” she’d drink in all of your noises, your labored breathing and the way your eyes roll to the back of your head. “gods. i’ve never been with someone this fuckin’ desperate. i almost pity you.”

✧.* can and will manhandle you. she’ll be pushing your chest further into the mattress while fucking you from behind, yanking your hips into hers as she thrusts into you. smacking your ass so hard the sound nearly echoes through the room. she’ll flip you on your back, nearly throwing you down on the bed just to continue her relentless rhythm. she wants to absolutely ruin you. so let her.

✧.* she wants to leave you sore and tired for the next day, so that every time you try to even take a step you’re reminded of exactly what, or who put you into this position.

✧.* sevika’s stamina is admirable. exhaustion weighs heavy on her during the day, her work cut out for her. running around handling zaun, tying up loose ends silco left, and making sure jinx doesn’t get herself into too much trouble wears her out quickly. but somehow she still has so much energy when it comes to fucking you. she could go all night if you allowed her, without so much as yawning.

✧.* she’ll grab your chin to force you to look at her, holding direct eye contact while she fucks you. she wants to see every expression of yours, she wants you to see her face while you cum.

✧.* “who’s makin’ this pussy feel good?” she’d demand, grunting as she grabs a fistful of your hair. you’d yelp at the sensation, your voice breathy and bordering on whiny. “aahh! you! you, mmph- sevika, you’re making it feel so good…”

✧.* also lowkey (highkey) really into anal… being able to please your tight asshole and feel you clench around her fingers as she keeps rutting into your cunt. yeah

✧.* it’s not often that she does, but sevika likes to have you tied up. your wrists tied to the headboard of her bed, the wood creaking while she rocks into you and holds your thighs apart. it’s picturesque almost, you look so damn perfect and pliant. and all for her.

✧.* the ropes are rough and frayed, something similar to what would be used on a ship. it’s not much, and they look like they’ve been used before- they’ll definitely leave marks on your wrists once you’re done. not to worry, sevika already has ointments for once you’re done, and she makes sure to space things like this out. she loves the sight of you bound for her, but not enough to over exert your poor skin.

✧.* she loves hearing those gorgeous sounds you make for her, but sevika does have neighbors and she’s not above shoving your discarded shirt or panties into your mouth if she feels that you’re being too loud. “hush. gonna wake the whole neighborhood at this point, doll. or is that what you want?”

✧.* when she does allow you to top, she’s pretty quiet. a stark contrast to how breathy and gruff she is while pleasing you, but she’ll still make noises! just at a low volume. yet her words do still hold some of that domineering edge.

✧.* your tongue would be delicately splitting her wet folds, teasingly licking up her slit before it brushes right over her clit. a shiver runs up her spine and she groans, a breathy noise that only serves to motivate you more.

✧.* “shit, baby, like that…” she’d breathe out, her chest beginning to heave up and down. “faster, baby. more. like you mean it.”

✧.* creamer, but she’ll squirt if you coax enough orgasms out of her. when you first found this out, she was on the edge of her fifth orgasm, panting and grunting before her walls clenched around your tongue. you then felt a wet warmth splash onto your face, and your gaze flickered. something downright predatory awoke in you, making you desperate to see that again and again.

✧.* “come on, sevi, just gimme one more, mm… that was so fucking hot,” you’d murmur, bringing your face close to her glistening cunt yet again. “another? i think- aah, i’ll break,” sevika breathes out. “good.”

✧.* RIDE HER THIGH. she didn’t even know she was into it at first. you’d be kissing her, panting into her mouth as you strip her of her shirt- before pulling away. “i wanna try something,” you’d say, before lowering yourself onto one of her bulky thighs. beginning to rock your hips, your clothed clit bumping against her thigh while a sharp gasp is pulled from you.

✧.* sevika’s eyes are opened to a whole new realm of possibilities. her hands are flying to your waist to help guide you along on her thigh, feeling your arousal leak through the cotton of your panties. “fuck, dove, you really are a whore.” she says, a low chuckle following. “i wouldn’t have thought of this, but you’re just too damn eager… look at you, soaking me. you’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

✧.* before you know it, sevika is asking you to ride her thigh regularly!

✧.* sevika’s neck is her weak spot. kiss up the expanse of it, suck dark marks into her pulse point, and she’s a damn mess. she’s tilting her head back so you have easier access, melting from you just touching her neck. it’s kind of adorable, honestly.

✧.* switches up the second you’re done- is so sweet and loving during aftercare. making sure that you’re okay and taken care of before she even thinks of doing anything for herself, making sure she didn’t go too far and you’re not too wrecked.

caitlyn;

✧.* switch with a slight preference for topping. she’s been in control most of her life, usually having the upper hand and hardly ever not getting what she wants. she doesn’t expect much less in the bedroom- that, and she loves seeing you fall apart beneath her, knowing that she’s the one responsible.

✧.* caitlyn has long and strong fingers, perfect for reaching all the spots that you’ve never been able to reach yourself. the second her middle finger brushes against that spongy spot that makes your vision blank, her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth is open in a ‘ah, gotcha!’ expression.

✧.* “yeah, darling? you like that? should i keep going, hm?” you’d nod frantically, panting and flushed beneath her. “then keep being good for me. you can do that, can’t you?”

✧.* BRAT TAMER. you might be able to get away with being mouthy with others, but never with cait. she’s a patient woman, but you learn after a while of being with her how to push her buttons just right. wearing that very patience thin with every word and sway of your hips. you’re giggling, until caitlyn is pushing you against a wall and clawing at your clothing, ordering you to spread your legs.

✧.* “i thought this was what you wanted? what you were begging for, not even a minute ago?” she’d grunt, slamming her purple strap into you at an alarming pace. ragged gasps and moans are pulled from your parted lips, and hot tears begin to stream down both of your cheeks. caitlyn would let out a low chuckle, tutting. “what, you’re crying now? come on, it’s not that bad. just a little lesson for you.” she’d coo.

✧.* there’s also been several times when you haven’t been able to behave yourself in her workplace, and she’d whisk you to her office to bend you over the hard wood of her desk, fucking you right then and there.

✧.* part of caitlyn delights at the sight of your tears. it’s exhilarating, in a way. seeing you so desperate, so wanton, knowing it was her who took you apart so expertly. seeing you so bared and vulnerable for her is a moment she wishes she could frame every time.

✧.* caitlyn can be such a temptress. she’s beautiful, anyone can see that- and she uses that beauty to her advantage. you’d come home from a long day of working harder than you ought, to be greeted by your girlfriend in white lace lingerie that leaves very little to the imagination. she knows you can’t resist, and she’s internally celebrating the moment you pounce on her.

✧.* “how was work, love?” she’d ask, voice low and smooth. “you look like you’re starving. maybe i can do something about that?” she’d muse, fingers teasing under one of her thigh garters.

✧.* when subbing, caitlyn is loud. she’s not screaming out in pleasure, but she doesn’t hold back any noises. she wants you to know how good you’re making her feel, to hear it on her lips and in her choppy words.

✧.* likes clitoral stimulation best, i think. don’t get me wrong, she thoroughly enjoys the feeling of penetration- but something about having her pretty clit played with until she’s an aching mess is just better.

✧.* also likes to be praised when she’s on bottom. tell her how beautiful she is, tell her that you’re taking her just right and she sounds so pretty right now. not only does it provide an ego boost, but it makes caitlyn feel so loved.

✧.* she’s a bit embarrassed to admit it, but she likes being on the receiving end of orgasm denial. so fucking close, her body strung thin like a bowstring. each nerve ending nearly on fire. but she can’t cum, not until you give her the green light, and it drives her insane.

✧.* “please, i’m losing my mind,” she’d cry out. “i need- mmf- i need to cum, pleasedarlingillbesogood,”

✧.* not opposed to quickies, but doesn’t opt for them. however, there are occasions where she’ll steal you away just before you have to leave for work, her fingers working as quickly as she possibly can to get you off- giving you something to think about the rest of the day.

✧.* something about your hips draws caitlyn in. maybe it’s the plush skin against them, the way they’re perfect for her nails to dig into, the feeling she gets when they rut against her, the rush she gets from gripping them to guide you as you grind against her thigh, or the way they sway when you walk. she can’t quite pinpoint it, but she also doesn’t care to.

✧.* “fuck, darling, keep moving,” she’d breathe out, gripping the tops of your hips as your wetness spreads over her thigh- folds glistening, head tilted back as lewd moans fill the room. “you look beautiful like this. so damn perfect, like you’re made for my viewing…”

✧.* she enjoys pet names a lot, but i think one of caitlyn’s weaknesses would be just addressing her by her name. especially if you usually call her by pet names outside of the bedroom. it feels so intimate, so personal.

✧.* “such a good girl for me, caitlyn,” you’d whisper, holding a bullet vibrator to her wet clit. “look at this pussy, so desperate for me. i can’t get enough.”

✧.* her favorite places to have sex are her bed and her desk. simple, but they work- her bed is a sanctuary, and it’s comfortable. optimal. her work desk serves many purposes, but her favorite is pleasuring each other.

✧.* caitlyn’s eyes are hypnotic, her gaze piercing. she’s big on eye contact during sex, demanding that you look at her the entire time. even as you’re fighting to not let your eyes snap shut or roll to the back of your head, the commanding tone in her voice keeps you grounded. it’s an ego boost, but it’s also a way of connecting to you.

✧.* gets rough when she’s especially stressed, which is often. she’s an enforcer and one of piltover’s most powerful figures; caitlyn is basically a walking manifestation of stress. slapping your tits, grabbing your chin, degrading you, shoving her fingers into your mouth and down your throat to shut you up.

✧.* that’s not to say that she doesn’t enjoy gentle love making from time to time- she absolutely does. she loves those nights where you take your time with her, truly conceptualize your affections for her. just how much you love her. she just gets carried away in the moment more than she’d like to admit.

lest;

✧.* switch with a preference for subbing. she will dom you if you ask her to, but most of the time, lest likes to lay back and bask in the feeling of you touching her. the scent of incense thick in the air, hair freed from her scarf and fanned around her as she lets out soft moans.

✧.* her voice is so smooth, so calming. the kind of voice you could fall asleep to. lest isn’t necessarily loud during sex, but she gets pretty vocal. and her noises, her words sound almost heaven sent.

✧.* “oh, keep doing- aahh!- that, darling…” she’d breathe out, her tone soft and buttery with desperation. “i need it, i’m so close-”

✧.* lest is definitely experienced, so she knows well and good what gets her going. she’ll tell you as well, guiding your hands to exactly where she needs them and describing in vulgar detail what she wants you to do to her.

✧.* “play with my tits with one hand, stroke me with the other,” she’d breathe out, placing your hands over both her perky breast and twitching cock. “pinch my nipple, hard, run your thumb over the tip- oh, fuuuuck…”

✧.* the tip of her dick is easily the most sensitive part of her body. it’s so sensitive, it’s almost comical- but lest can’t help it. you know how to pleasure her exactly the way she needs. as soon as you take it into your mouth, teasing your tongue over the head before taking her full length, she’s already fighting the urge to buck into your mouth. it draws sharp gasps from her throat, her fingers gripping at the bedsheets.

✧.* but her tits aren’t meant to be neglected, either. plump and soft, sitting so pretty on her. her nipples are definitely pierced, usually adorning gold bars with dangling chains. play with them, suck on them, place clamps on them. she’ll eat all of it up, praising you all the while.

✧.* definitely enjoys being tied up during the act, and she’d likely want to try shibari at some point. she has the nice ropes: purple woven silk, soft against her wrists and ankles. the feeling of being bared open before you, completely powerless and at your mercy can’t compare to anything else.

✧.* i think lest is really into wax play, but can’t participate as much as she’d like to because wax is a pain in the ass to get out of fur. she’ll gasp at the feeling of hot, sticky wax on her tits and stomach, a shiver running through her body involuntarily. you like to indulge her from time to time, relishing in her every reaction. again, it just can’t be as often as you’d both like because of the aftermath :(

✧.* lest can’t exactly finger you since she uh… has claws. but she’s so skillful with her mouth, the thought of what you might be missing doesn’t even cross your mind. she’d take your clit between her lips, teasing over the bud with her tongue before sucking. brushing her silky hair over her shoulder and angling her jaw so she has even more access to you, drinking in every sound you make.

✧.* “you taste amazing, darling,” she’d murmur. “stay still, mm.. you want to cum, don’t you?”

✧.* lest could grow addicted to just eating you out. the feeling of your release on her tongue is a high she never wants to come down from. she’ll draw orgasm after orgasm after orgasm from you on just her tongue.

✧.* praise her!! tell lest how good she’s doing, how beautiful she looks between your thighs and how lucky you are to have her. it only makes her more eager to please you.

✧.* “gods, you’re beautiful,” you’d whisper, “that feels amazing, you’re amazing, you’re perfect-” before feeling her tongue slip from your clit to your wet hole, prying you open.

✧.* LOVES to be pegged. she’s also partial to cowgirl, but lests’s absolute favorite is doggystyle. she craves the sensation of you slamming into her hole, gripping her plump asscheek with one hand and yanking on her tail with the other. she’d let out a sharp yowl, her chest almost collapsing into the mattress at the feeling. but it feels so fucking good, even though it’s sending pain up her spine.

✧.* “oh, yes, yesyesyes,” she’d babble, so bravely taking every inch of your strap. “don’t stop, go harder- fuck, ow!” she gasps, her soft tail in your grasp as you pull. “sorry,” you’d wince, slightly loosening your grip. “no. keep holding it, it- aahh! feels damn good.”

✧.* she cums pretty quickly when you strap her down. she’s a bit embarrassed about it, but she just can’t help it. your strap rubs against her g-spot so perfectly, your rhythm is exactly what she needs and you fill her up just right.

✧.* alternatively, lest loves when you ride her. seeing your face while you’re on top of her, claws digging into your hips while she bounces you up and down on her length… oh, it’s gold. and the sight of your tits bouncing is always a welcome bonus.

✧.* sometimes lest will have her pipe with her while you ride her, in which case she’ll allow you to shotgun hits. your breaths mingling with one another and lips almost touching as magenta smoke is passed between the two of you. it only serves to further heighten your senses, bringing you even greater pleasure.

✧.* “you’re divine,” she’d breathe out, hips rocking into you with fervor. “take it. take everything, just like i know you can. you’re a damn work of art.”

[can-i-make-image-descriptions]

[Image IDs: Series of posts from Kit Whitfield - fantasy author reading: Nice people are struggling over the revelations on Gaiman, and something I keep hearing is, 'His work had a big influence on how I shaped my own identity.' So here's something to remember:

You did that. He didn't do it for you. 1/

I was never a deep Gaiman fan, so maybe I can't talk, but I do know how a certain kind of charisma works.

There's a Thing people love, and someone is a star at it. Not just into it, but 'make it their own'.

Say: they don't just paint with a lot of blue, they're the Blue Artist. 2/

Do you like blue too? You'll find a lot of it in their work. Maybe you'll develop your love of blue looking at it. Maybe their work is where you first realised how much you love blueness.

Cool.

But they don't own the colour blue. 3/

It was your eyes that saw the colour, your brain that interpreted, your heart that felt its beauty.

You didn't love it because they're the Blue Artist, but because you were always a person who could love the sky. 4/

And if you came across their work when you needed to figure some things out, and you used it to do that?

You put in the work to build yourself.

They don't get to be your identity landlord just because you both see beauty in blue. They are smaller than the sky. 5/

Some artists are very, very good at branding themselves so you might feel like you have to go through them to love the thing you love.

But it's just branding. People can make great use of blue, but nobody Is blue.

You stand under the same rainbow. 6/

So if his stuff helped you figure some things out? Those were things about you, figured out by you.

You love mythology? Comic or dark fantasy? Imagination? Fiction?

So did he.

But so do you.

So keep loving the stuff you love. It was never his. He just accessed the same things you did. 7/

Sometimes art can be a mirror.

Sometimes we need to look at ourselves and think about who we want to see looking back. A mirror can help.

Some mirrors are silvered with mercury. They're full of poison.

The image you see in them is you. It always was. 8/8 /End IDs

[zarla-s]

i need to know more about your feelings of tf2 comic 7 because youre the heavymedic expert

I liked it! Satisfying happy conclusion for (almost) everyone, especially since I was a little worried they were going to kill everyone off, haha. Not a lot of Heavymedic stuff in there but I wasn't expecting much, and really it was about the Administrator and her story, so it makes sense the mercs wouldn't really take top billing for it.

There were a few cute things though! I know "standing next to each other" is like the most graspingest of straws but you know what, it made me smile each time so I don't care.

The big thing of course being Heavy grabbing his boob, which to me reads like him stopping Medic from trying to help the Admin, which I think is sweet in his own way. Medic has his healing instincts!

Medic also puts his hand on his back as they walk away, which I also think is sweet. It looks like he's comforting him.

I really loved the ending sequence where everyone gets together for that dinner party. It's just such a great bookend to how the comics started - initially when their team disbanded, everyone split off and did their own thing. Some of them didn't even keep track of where the others were! A few kept in contact, but mostly all of them just left the others and they didn't seem particularly concerned or interested in each other.

Compare that to them at the end of the comic! Seven years after everything that happened, they're all meeting up together for dinner! Voluntarily! They're introducing their families to each other! They don't have any contracts or jobs forcing them to spend time together. They WANT to have dinner together. SPY TAKES OFF HIS MASK AND IS FINE WITH IT! I just love that so much. They care about and trust each other after everything that's happened, all the years that have gone by. Team as family was CANON AFTER ALL

I think this whole sequence also sheds a nice light on Medic! Medic's been perceived as probably the most uncaring of the group, given that he did sign up with another team for the money and said he wouldn't mind fighting them again (although not too soon after that he ended up saving all their lives against direct orders). A lot of people interpreted that as him not really caring about the others or anything at all, but that's not the case!

Medic kept and raised his baboon baby! He didn't abandon it or use it for parts or anything, he kept and raised it for seven years! Responsibility!

Not only that, Medic hasn't abandoned his friends, signed up with a new team, forgotten them or tossed them aside. He's with them at the dinner! He comes with his baboon baby! He wants to be with them too! He cares about them, genuinely. And of course, the final shot is with him by Heavy's side, both of them just so happy to be there with everyone else.

Love that Medic's smile still looks unhinged too lol. Would I have loved Heavy holding onto Medic's waist? The two of them wearing matching rings? Of course! But them so close to each other and an obvious irrefutable confirmation that Medic loves and cares about his team and wants to be with them is really lovely. Makes me feel fuzzy, haha.

There's speculation too that Medic came with Heavy's family as that person in the back there but who can say for sure. |D

[d-z20]

For Your Own Good (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're on your third all-nighter in a row and your girlfriend is not having it. She tries to ask nicely but you are a stubborn so-and-so who's stressing about deadlines so she resorts to other methods

- OR -

Agatha helps you unwind in the best way she knows: by fucking you until you're too exhausted to move

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, top Agatha, bottom masc reader, 'good boy' used for reader, praise, established dynamic, fingering (R recv), oral (R recv), mattress grinding/humping, subtle sub/dom themes

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Finally written a fic with an explicitly masc reader getting called a good boy :D I had imagined a masc Agatha too but it can be interpreted in anyway requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The glow of the laptop screen casts sharp shadows across your cluttered desk, highlighting the deep furrow between your brows. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the dimly lit apartment. Scattered notes, half-drunk cups of coffee, and a plate with an untouched sandwich bear witness to the relentless battle you're waging against your coursework. You barely blink, eyes scanning over dense paragraphs, lips pressing into a thin line of determination.

Agatha stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, weight shifted lazily to one side. Her jaw tenses as she watches you, concern etched into the hard lines of her face. She’s let this go on long enough—one all-nighter was bad enough, but three in a row? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. She exhales sharply through her nose before pushing off the frame and stepping forward, boots scuffing against the hardwood.

“Sweetheart,” her voice cuts through the thick silence, warm but edged with authority. “What the hell are you still doing up?”

You don’t so much as glance up. “Just finishing one last section,” you mutter, tapping a few more keys. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, knowing damn well you’ve said the same thing yesterday. With slow, deliberate steps, she comes up behind you, hands settling on your tense shoulders. You flinch at first, as if you’d forgotten she was even there, before sighing under the pressure of her firm grip.

“You said that last night,” she reminds you, kneading at the knots in your muscles. “And the night before that. Baby, you’re running on fumes.”

Your posture stiffens. “I can handle it.”

“Come on, darling,” she coaxes, dipping her head slightly, her voice warm but insistent. “You’re not going to learn anything if your brain’s fried.”

“I said I can handle it. I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, your fingers still moving over the keyboard with stubborn determination.

“That so?” Her thumbs press in deeper, a calculated move that has you biting back a groan. “Because it looks to me like you’re about to pass out face-first into that damn keyboard.”

Your jaw tightens, fingers still moving, unwilling to relent. Agatha lets out a slow breath through her nose, reeling in her patience. The soft approach isn’t cutting it.

She bends down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Come to bed,” she coaxes, voice dropping lower, smooth and persuasive. “You can use me as a pillow. I’ll even let you steal the covers.”

You swallow, hesitating just for a second before shaking your head. “Can’t. The deadline’s too close.”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw ticks. Alright. You want to be difficult? She can handle that.

Straightening, she moves in front of you, planting her hands on the desk and leaning forward just enough that you have no choice but to meet her gaze. “I don’t like repeating myself.” Her voice drops an octave, that commanding edge slipping in. “You need sleep.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, tipping your head back. “What are you gonna do, carry me off to bed?”

“If I have to.” A slow smirk creeps onto her lips, and something dark flickers in her eyes, something that sends a sharp jolt through your already exhausted body.

Your scoff holds no real weight. “You wouldn’t.”

Agatha arches a brow. “Try me.”

Before you can form a retort, she swoops in, one arm hooking under your knees while the other slides around your back, lifting you clean off the chair in one swift motion. Your body is cradled effortlessly against her chest, your legs bent over the crook of her arm. A startled noise tears from your throat, hands instinctively gripping her shoulders.

“Agatha! Put me down—”

“Nope.” She adjusts her hold with practiced ease, shifting your weight so that one arm slides fully beneath your thighs while the other moves up to support the middle of your back, pressing you snug against her torso. Your head naturally rests near the curve of her shoulder, her grip firm and unyielding. “You had your chance to walk, gorgeous.”

Your pulse jumps as she carries you down the hall, her strength effortless, her scent wrapping around you—oud, cedar, and something undeniably Agatha. You squirm, trying to protest, but the tightening of her grip warns you that resistance is pointless. Then, just as you think about trying again, her lips graze your ear, her voice dipping into something low and honeyed.

“Be a good boy for me, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and whatever fight was left in you fizzles out instantly.

The bedroom door nudges open with a soft creak; she deposits you onto the bed, pressing you down with the weight of her body before you can even think about running.

“You think I’m gonna let you run yourself into the ground over some assignment?” Her hand slides up your chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of your collarbone, down to where your heartbeat thrums wildly beneath her palm. “Nuhuh, darling. That’s not happening.”

You gulp, suddenly very aware of how effortlessly Agatha is pinning you down. “I—”

“Shh.” She leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. “I’m gonna have to tire you out myself since you clearly don’t know when to stop.”

The sharp hitch in your breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Agatha smirks against your skin, her knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down with effortless strength. Her weight is solid, grounding, leaving you nowhere to escape—not that you would, even if you could. She knows it too, sees it in the way your fingers twitch against her shoulders, your body tensing, fighting a battle between resistance and surrender. She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as her voice drops, dark and knowing.

“Be a good boy for me,” she purrs, letting the heat of her words settle over your skin. “And let me take care of you.”

Agatha’s presence looms over you, her lips ghosting over your neck, a slow, tantalising trail of heat that sends shivers down your spine. Teeth graze your skin, the pressure sharp enough to make you gasp, but she only smiles against your throat, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. 

A shudder rolls through you, sharp and betraying. You hate how easily she reads you, how easily she knows exactly what buttons to press and exactly how to unravel you, no matter how stubborn you try to be. Her hands slide down your sides with slow deliberation, fingertips teasing over the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath, warm against your skin. Her touch is confident, making it clear that in this moment, you belong entirely to her.

You shift beneath her, but Agatha doesn’t budge. If anything, her grip tightens. “You have to fight me on everything, don’t you?” She muses, dragging her lips along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin just below it.

The words hit you like a challenge, a dare that ignites something dark inside you. You try to squirm, to break free, but her grip tightens again, one hand now pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your torso with deliberate slowness. Every inch of you is her playground, and she knows it. 

She tilts her head, watching the way your breath stutters, the way your pupils dilate under the weight of her stare. Her fingers trace over your stomach, dipping lower, teasing—not giving you what you need just yet, just showing you she could if she wanted to. She takes her time, revelling in the way your resolve starts to crack, in the way your body slowly starts to melt into her.

“Always so damn stubborn,” she teases, dragging her lips lower to your collarbone. “But you’re mine tonight, aren’t you? Just putty in my hands.”

Your lips part, a protest forming, but before you can get a word out, she presses forward, stealing the breath from your lungs with a kiss that leaves no room for argument. It’s deep, slow, utterly consuming. Her teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging at it, before she soothes it with her tongue. You feel yourself sinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as she takes you apart piece by piece.

She pulls back to lock eyes with you before whispering, “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Her voice is thick with satisfaction, her hands mapping out every inch of you like she’s memorising the way you react. Her touch is firm and possessive, and the praise spills effortlessly from her lips between heated kisses.

“Such a pretty boy for me.” 

A slow drag of her nails down your stomach.

“So good for me when you finally stop fighting.” 

A kiss against your collarbone, followed by the sharp bite of her teeth.

“You’re driving me insane,” you mutter, your voice hoarse with frustration and need. 

You try to move your hips, but her grip only tightens, her body pressing against yours with unyielding strength. She can feel the tension in your muscles, your desperation, and she smirks, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a smooth drawl full of wicked amusement. “So desperate to finally unwind.”

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, a teasing brush of knuckles against sensitive skin. She doesn’t rush. She savours, lets the anticipation build, enjoys the way your breath stutters, the way your hips twitch ever so slightly as if trying to chase the contact you need her to give.

“Patience,” she chides, her lips ghosting over your jaw, the heat of her breath sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

She slides her hand further down, fingers curling between your thighs, stroking slow, measured circles over your clit that make your entire body tense with aching need. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she chuckles, low and knowing.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

You can’t help but gasp; your body already thrumming with anticipation, but Agatha still isn’t in a hurry. She takes her time, working you over with practiced precision, each touch calculated to make you melt further beneath her. 

Her fingers trail lower, teasing at your entrance, her gaze fixed intently on every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. The moment your eyes flutter shut, a frustrated moan slipping past your lips, she finally pushes in, finding that perfect spot that has you unraveling beneath her, your sounds spilling freely for her to drink in.

Your hands claw at her shoulders, your nails biting into muscle as your breath stutters into something helpless, something raw. But she just smiles wickedly against your throat, dragging her teeth along your pulse before sucking a bruise into your skin, marking you as hers.

As she guides you closer to the edge, her lips find yours in a kiss that’s both soft and demanding, a tantalising mix of tenderness and raw hunger. She swallows your moan, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you completely, and you can feel the vibration of her growl against your lips.

The moment you think you can’t take it anymore, she pulls back to admire her handiwork. Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with desire. Agatha’s gaze darkens, drinking in the sight of you unravelled beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, voice husky, laced with hunger.

Agatha toys with the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. Her touch is slow, feeling every inch of newly exposed skin as she inches it upward. Her nails scratch lightly over your stomach, making you shudder. The grin tugging at her lips is unmistakable—she’s enjoying this, watching you squirm beneath her, utterly at her mercy.

“I want to see you,” she coaxes, voice thick with authority and something that makes your breath catch. When you don’t resist, she peels your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before making quick work of your pants. Every inch of bare skin is met with the heat of her gaze, the weight of her presence pressing heavier onto your body.

“So, so beautiful.” It’s almost like she’s talking to herself, fingers skimming over your thigh before tracing back up, ghosting over your ribs. You shiver, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as her lips follow, leaving a searing path along your shoulder and down your chest, lingering over every spot that makes you gasp.

She takes her time, lips and teeth teasing, coaxing you further under her control before her mouth moves lower, settling between your thighs. With you now bare beneath her, she’s on you in a matter of seconds, her breath fanning against sensitive skin. Agatha’s grip tightens on your hips as she presses you down, pinning you beneath her as she drags her tongue over your clit, her pace torturously slow. As she does, you feel the subtle press of her own hips against the mattress, a slow grind of her own need that sends a wave of heat through you, intensifying the sensation of her every movement.

Your hands tangle in her hair, fingers tightening instinctively as a filthy moan rips from your throat. Your hips jerk, seeking more, but Agatha keeps you firmly in place, her grip on your thighs unyielding. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath stutter. As she continues to rock her hips against the bed, her own rhythm starting to match the teasing pace she’s setting on you, the heat between you both begins to build, a tension that fills the room.

Then, just as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you, her fingers join the fray—slipping into you with a slow, calculated precision that leaves you trembling. She moves in sync with her mouth, a dizzying rhythm that pulls you under, drowning you in sensation. The contrast has you whimpering, your body caught between the edge of bliss and the unbearable ache of wanting more. As she grinds herself deeper into the mattress, the added pressure of her movement pushes her closer to the edge, and you can feel it in the urgency of her touch.

“Fuck you taste so good,” she groans, the heat of her breath making you shudder. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue.”

Her words are both a command and a promise, and you can do nothing but obey. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t falter, working you with a patience that borders on cruel, unravelling you inch by inch. Every stroke, every flick of her tongue is purposeful, drawing you closer, coaxing you to the brink until the pressure inside you turns unbearable. Your body tightens, muscles clenching around her as your breath turns ragged, the pleasure cresting into something all-consuming. With every motion of her hips against the bed, she pulls herself closer to her own release, her movements becoming more urgent and intense.

And then she pushes you over.

Your orgasm slams into you, overwhelming and unrelenting, pleasure rippling through every nerve like a live wire. A choked cry tumbles from your lips as your back arches, your entire body shuddering beneath her hold. Agatha doesn’t stop—she rides out every wave with you, her hands firm on your hips, her tongue still teasing, still claiming, as she continues to grind into the mattress, using the friction to chase her own climax. The intensity of her rhythm keeps you spiralling, dragging out every second of pleasure until you’re boneless beneath her, pleasure spilling over in thick, breathless aftershocks.

She finally eases, her pace slowing, her touch turning soft as she presses one last, lingering kiss to your trembling skin. She doesn’t move right away; instead, staying close, her palm smoothing over your thigh in slow, lazy circles, grounding you in the aftermath.

“Tired now?” She teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw.

You try to mumble a retort, something snarky, but the words barely form before she hushes you with another kiss, softer this time, slower.

“That’s what I thought.”

She shifts, manoeuvring you effortlessly until you’re curled against her, her arm slung over your waist, keeping you close. You don’t fight it. Instead, you relax into her warmth, your fingers lazily gripping at her shirt, keeping her exactly where she is.

Agatha smooths a hand over your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles against your temple. “I better not catch you pulling another all-nighter,” she hums, voice low and firm.

Half asleep, you mumble. “I mean, if this is the punishment for it...”

Agatha chuckles, shaking her head. “Brat.” But she pulls you closer anyway, making sure you don’t slip away to start working again.

She lets out a quiet sigh, content, pressing a kiss to your forehead as her fingers card gently through your hair. “That’s better,” she surrates, her voice softer now, threaded with something fond. “You’re not allowed to work yourself sick, y’hear me?”

A sleepy hum is your only answer, your body pliant and spent against hers. A satisfied smirk tugs at her lips as she holds you tighter, her grip firm and possessive.

“There we go; that’s my good boy,” she whispers, a note of pride slipping into her voice.

You sigh, half-asleep but content, and Agatha lets her own eyes drift shut, knowing damn well she won’t be letting you pull another all-nighter anytime soon.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

curious about your take on riddle's dream. i have seen people en masse claim that riddle yearns to a deliquent/"if he wasn't traumatized, he would be in a pop music club" and... it feels like such a literal interpretation (although there are some who are obv just joking) to the point of misinterpretation? i'm not very invested in riddle's story arc, but to me it read like a pretty clear "what if i was the worst version of myself (which riddle has been raised to see as being disobedient) and i was still loveable".

[You can read my thoughts on the book 7 chapter 12 part 3 update here!]

I think there’s a lot of different ways to interpret the dreams because of how… vaguely they’re written + their length + every player coming into the dreams with their own experiences which inform their POVs. For this reason, I don’t feel comfortable outright stating X or Y interpretation is “wrong”, and nor do I wish to be used as a means to validating one interpretation over the others. All I’m going to do this ask is explain how I personally interpreted Riddle’s dream. That’s all.

I don’t think Riddle wants to be a delinquent; this would be conflating a child’s desires to that of a delinquent. Yes, Riddle was detained be a police officer—but not for any violence or serious criminal actions. He was detained for singing in front of the police station (without a license) and causing a public disturbance (because of his amplifiers). Furthermore, Riddle doesn’t engage in any other criminal behaviors (unless you count not going to school, but a minor isn’t usually held liable for that; the onus is on his parents for not sending him). I think it would be more accurate to say that Riddle’s wishes are very child-like ones. He wants to be able to play with his friends all day, he ignores studying and obeying rules, he can eat tarts and drink sugary tea whenever he wants, he has doting parents that are always emotionally there for him, etc. These are not marks of delinquency, they are the innocent longings of an inner child that never got to be recognized.

While I don’t think it’s a guarantee that Riddle would be in Pop/Light Music Club had he had a more lenient mother, I do think that Riddle would want to explore creative outlets. He is noted as having a very strong imagination, but is limited in his life experiences and struggles to think for himself or to act outside of the concrete, as is defined by rules and laws. If these restraints were loosened up and he had actually been allowed and encouraged to explore other avenues, he might have found an interest in the arts and expressing himself through that. It could be a visual medium, a written medium, a musical medium, whatever.

I think music is what we jump to right away because he has a band in the dream, but I could easily see him dabbling in other areas too. Maybe music was chosen because it’s a group activity, and Riddle longs to be that setting. A happy family, a boy with lots of friends, you name it. You could also argue that Riddle went with music because that’s what he knew from his dorm members. Adeuce are in athletic clubs, which Riddle is sort of rubbish at, and Trey is in Science Club, which of course covers topics Riddle would already be studying irl. Cater’s club is the only one with a significant degree of creativity allowed. Riddle might have based his hobby in the dream off of Cater’s experiences. One telltale detail that supports this theory is that Riddle mentions people keep leaving because the band can’t stick to one genre, which is also true of Cater’s irl Pop/Light Music Club. Another thing to consider is that Riddle is able to conjure the look of delicious cakes and cookies but not replicate the taste because he’s not familiar with it. You could say this is also true of his being in a band. He looks the part, but we never hear him participating in it—perhaps because Riddle could have seen Cater rushing to a club meeting in his outfit, but not have actually heard him play. Therefore, it’s possible that Riddle’s dream is just pulling from his shallow understanding of what “being in a band” is about… the camaraderie of it. This, again, loops us back to Cater’s relationship with his fellow club members. It’s less about the actual playing and more about the vibes and hanging out with one another. Maybe Riddle heard stories from Cater about this and got curious? This same logic applies to other aspects of his dream. He seems to emulate what he has heard from his dorm members in general. Loving parents who are there for him (like Trey), the bout of delinquency (like Deuce), the ability to speak his mind (like Ace). Riddle is wanting to be more like his peers, who were able to have “normal” experiences. To me, it feels like he used his dorm members as templates (which he combined with his own desire to have a fulfilling childhood) because Riddle himself doesn’t have a clear concept of what it means to live freely. After all, he only has like 1-2 months of playing with Trey and Chenya to go off of compared to a few years with his Heartslabyul classmates.

As I said earlier in this post, I don’t think the Riddle we see in the first layer of his dream is meant to be “the worst version of himself” or “Riddle but disobedient”; it reads as more of Riddle indulging in everything he missed out on in his childhood. Sweets, parental love, playing all day with friends, loudly and openly expressing himself through music, exploring creative ventures, making happy memories… I don’t believe these are bad things or borne out of Riddle wanting to be rebellious or disobedient, they’re just consequences of acting like a kid.

I do find it interesting that so many aspects of himself were entirely written over. However, I don’t see it as Riddle thinking he has to be a different person (as in, having a different personality?) in order to be worthy of love. Riddle was definitely still able to make friends as a child even with the quiet personality he had then. It was possible. Nothing in his backstory makes me think Riddle believes he wasn’t deserving of love—but he may think that love has to be earned, that love is conditional. And what is that condition? Following the rules, obeying, performing well in exams. That’s what he was taught would earn him success and his mother’s love and that’s what he enforced in early book 1. I think… Riddle definitely wants to be someone else, but in the sense that he wants to be born into different circumstances. Parents that get along, a dad that has time for him, a mom that dotes on him, no magic, no expectations to shoulder, lax rules, etc. This ties in with Riddle wanting to live the childhood he feels he never had. A childhood where he had no friends, where he studied all the time, where his mother calorie counted for him, where he was not allowed to play video games or watch movies, where he was not allowed to choose his own clothes or career or anything. Several of these sentiments were expressed post-OB.

Now that being said, everything I just discussed covers only the first layer of Riddle’s dream. I see the idea of Riddle thinking he has to be someone else coming through a little stronger in the second layer of his dream. That’s the part where everyone is being chased through the destroyed rose maze. Here, we see a much more extreme and even more domineering Riddle than what we saw in book 1. He lords over his students such that even his versions of Ace and Deuce have fallen into line and mindlessly follow his commands. The mob students are scared of him—and though Riddle is aware of it, he is content. They salute him and praise him for his iron fist. He is the most correct, after all. He is ruling just as his mother would, he is being the person his mother wants him to be.

This is expanded upon further in the third layer of his dream, in which he faces his inner darkness. Riddle confronts the truth: that he is desperate to cling onto the dorm leader seat, because that’s all he has going for him. He has driven away his classmates, who fear him and resent him. There’s his mother, but she has not granted him the affection he craves, and her approval is conditional. He is alone and unloved. This potentially recontexualizes details seen in earlier layers. Why is Riddle in a band? Maybe because he wants to be like Cater, who seems easygoing and approachable. Why does Riddle live many other aspects of his dorm members’ lives? Why do the characters conjured by Riddle’s darkness to fully believe that Cater wants to transfer to Scarabia—a dorm known for having a friendly and relaxed leader? It could suggest an insecurity in Riddle, a worry that he, as he is, is not enough. Not smart enough for his mother’s approval, not kind or cheery or normal enough to make friends. So all he has is his crown, which he reverently claims to. It’s one of the few things he has to call his own, a decision he made for himself and something he earned through his own merit.

But ultimately, I see Riddle’s truest desire as… being his own person, having his own independence and things he chose for himself. Not letting himself be ruled by the shadow of his mother. (His Phantom fittingly seems to dangle him on strings, as if Riddle is its puppet or marionette.) It doesn’t mean complete chaos or anarchy, and it doesn’t mean being like other people. It means defining his own rules for how he should live. Walking forward on his own path. Making his own identity, not tied down to that of his mother. Riddle is so used to being to do what to do or how to be—by his mom, by some arbitrary set of rules. The fact that he confesses to the things he actually wants after his OB… that he wants to stand up to his mother over winter break… that he confronts the dream version of his mom with the declaration that he will open this door with his own hand, that he will walk forward on his own path… I think that says a lot.

…. Weeeeell, like I said at the start, that’s one interpretation 🤷‍♀️ It’s not necessarily “correct”, and it’s liable to change (especially since all of this information is still very fresh; I’m still taking the time to digest it myself). The wibbly wobbly dream magic is open enough to invite all kinds of interpretations, so I encourage you to take this all with a grain of salt and to come to your own conclusions?

I think it’s interesting that it’s Riddle’s dream that has resulted in many different interpretations, especially on the English speaking side? I wonder if that’s because the average EN player skews younger, so those fans can relate a lot with the struggle for identity and finding freedom from one’s parents, even if their circumstances aren’t exactly the same as Riddle’s. We project our own experiences and feelings onto Riddle, which informs our interpretation of his dream.

[abyssalzones]

apologies if i'm interpreting wrong, but do you not like the family aspects in gravity falls?

I enjoy the family aspects in gravity falls in terms of surface level enjoyment... but even then I do agree wholeheartedly with the post I reblogged and I think it's definitely applicable to a critical examination of the story, as it would be in Any story. mainly in terms of stan and ford's dynamic.

I've thought before about how stan's tumultuous relationship with ford really comes down to the failings of "the family" and particularly masculinity and the concept of The Family Man as a breadwinner and every time it frustrates me for what it is and intrigues me for what it potentially says as a deconstruction, even if an unintentional one. stan's core values are familial in nature, which to the audience is a purely noble goal. therefore, when stan does the things she (and I'm using she/her as always for stan because I interpret her as a trans woman) does, it's "all for this family", which is a very empathetic goal. but it's also one that snowballs into the devastating rift between her and ford: ford wanting to go to college and remove himself from The Family is implicitly depicted as a betrayal, if not to the audience then at least to stan. and yet it's perfectly understandable Why he does this if you actually examine the stan twins' childhood, which is that of two siblings being forced to compete in a black sheep/golden child dynamic in a poor household, overseen by the abusive patriarch figure that is their father. when ford refers to his dynamic with stan as "suffocating" (expecting dipper to relate), it's simultaneously insight we're meant to read as selfish and anti-family, as well as being perfectly logical. stan and ford depend on one another for survival and recognition as they deal with both the trappings of their home life and peer abuse at school- and, at the same time, are locked into their roles as "potential breadwinner" and "the fuck-up twin". would that not be suffocating? would you really feel secure trying to maintain a close relationship with your twin like that, even if you did love them?

I refer to this as a matter of masculinity because at its core the trappings of the (american, western, whatever you want to call it) family are often patriarchal in nature: everything revolves around the authority of The Father, who is succeeded by The Son. stan's lack of success in terms of bringing money to the family reflect her failures to perform as a man. the only time she begins to succeed in this role is when she's impersonating ford. (and here you can kind of see the foundations of my headcanon for her as a trans woman... but that's off topic) at the end of the day, ford's desires for agency outside of his family are punished by the story: "you care about some dumb mysteries more than your own family? well then-- you can have 'em." and this is only truly rectified when ford relents, admits the true importance of family, and gets on a boat with his twin. even if I think it's elaborated on in ways that lend itself towards a more complex story, even if I think it could work perfectly well as a deconstruction if you were to read it that way, I think this is the type of story they're trying to tell and the one that is most commonly related to by an american audience.

I say that this frustrates me because as much as I wish it were the case, I don't believe gravity falls intends to make a critical commentary on the nature of the family. I think it says a lot about how those dynamics can be strained or muddled by factors such as miscommunication, trauma, abuse, etc- but at the end of the day it's intending to be a very "familial love surpasses all" type of story. does that mean it's unwatchable garbage? not really. I obviously love the show and still enjoy familial dynamics for a lot of reasons and think there's good to come of those kinds of stories. however I also think there is a lot to be said about how dangerous the idea of "family comes first" is, both in terms of justifying violence and absolving or enabling abuse.

*note that my specifications of the structure as "american" or "western" are due purely to a lack of perspective. I'm sure there are examples of these types of trappings across various cultures I just can't confidently elaborate, and in the context of the show we're talking about a story that takes place with american characters. kind of a pointless amendment but just in case.

[fangdokja]

Rivals, fanboys, and haters all agree: your fanfic is a masterpiece… in the worst way.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 494

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who has dedicated his life to success, power, and the complete monopolization of your existence. Who is, by all means, an untouchable CEO, a name that inspires fear and admiration alike—except behind closed doors, he’s the most dedicated, sleep-deprived, and utterly deranged fan of you to have ever existed.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who owns every single piece of merchandise, every illegally obtained behind-the-scenes clip, every audition tape, and an archive of interviews that not even your own company has access to. Who can quote your lines better than you can, analyze your performances with the depth of a seasoned scholar dissecting philosophy, and who has, in his spare time, written a multi-chapter, 500k-word slow-burn angst fic of you that is currently the number one trending fic on AO3.

♡ Yandere! Producer who absolutely loathes fanfiction. Who has spent years perfecting your brand, crafting your public persona, and micromanaging your every move only to find out that some hormonal keyboard warrior had the audacity to make you submissive in a fic. Who is two seconds away from tracking the IP addresses of these degenerates and making sure they never write a single word again.

♡ Yandere! Rival who finds it hilarious. Who screenshots the most ridiculous fics and sends them to you at 3 AM with messages like "LMAO THIS U?" Who has no shame and will absolutely read smut aloud to your face just to watch you suffer. Who, after discovering Yandere! Fanboy’s fic, has immediately made it his mission to ruin his life by reading it in the most obnoxious voice possible.

♡ Yandere! Hater who pretends he doesn’t care. Who sneers and calls it cringe but has, in reality, read every single one of them and even left anonymous comments because he needs to correct these brain-dead interpretations of your character. Who treats it like a full-time job, dissecting each fic, criticizing bad dialogue, and complaining when a writer gets your personality wrong. Who definitely had an aneurysm when he found out Yandere! Fanboy wrote the number one fic.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams. ♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Disclaimer. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution—these tales explore obsession, madness, and devotion in their rawest forms.

[hwonnrinji]

BBANGSAZ AS YOUR . . .

'' to my... sweet darling— '' " ahhh!! burn it!!! "

── • bbangsaz x you hcs (in diff aus too wow) no shipping tho

── • kim minji x f!reader x pham hanni , requested , divider creds: @/cafekitsune , mild language

── • lolol i want them so bad

── ♪ light – wave to earth , nonsense – sabrina carpenter , brb – kasper

💗 .NON!IDOL BBANGSAZ. ゜

GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ who always yap their butts off regardless if you're listening or not because they have each other to listen to. they're like 5 year olds laying on their stomachs on the ground, their feet kicking up in the air as they talk about the most randomest topics... like pizza for example.

GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ who argue on a daily basis that your ears and brain hurts. you suffer from PBADS (severe bbangsaz argument aftermath disease syndrome) with all the yelling and near fistfights all day.

^ GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ who will be wearing a get along shirt 24/7.

hanni: "this is stupid."

minji: "it's your fault."

hanni: "shut your bitch ass up!"

you: "language!"

GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ who always put on a show (with dj haerin and dahye as background dancers) just for you to do something for/with them.

"music... cue!" hanni and minji both instructed haerin who was in charge of the music, their hands shaking in the air like cheerleaders with pom-poms. hanni starts off the song, her hands moving to her heart dramatically, her fingers clutching onto her shirt. "you are my sea, you are my sunshine. the stars, the moon," hanni's voice began to fade as she stepped aside for minji.

"there is a light," minji continues on. "not far away from us, from us," they both started harmonizing at the last part. hyein and danielle were doing some sort of an interpretative dance in the back, springing around like grasshoppers.you weren't impressed by their vocals, but more so on how much they're getting along at the current moment.

"fine, fine, i'll do it. i'll play league with you guys." you put up your hands in surrender. hanni looks ecstatic as she jumps around, her hands grabbing your face and pulling you into a kiss, while minji looks totally devasted and confused.

"hey, that's not what we agreed to!"

"sucks to be you, loser!"

GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ whose love language is acts of service (m) and physical touch (h). minji will tie your shoes whenever it's loose, or hold open the door for you, or take care of you when you're sick. hanni will always have a hand in yours, an arm around your waist, or her head on your shoulder.

GIRLFRIENDS!BBANGSAZ who makes everything a competition. whether it be who can get you a snack first or who can build you a house in minecraft the fastest. but you love the way they love you anyway, so it's all fine.

✎ 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

🎤 .IDOL!BBANGSAZ. ゜

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who write songs dedicated to you (much to the other members' dismay).

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who absolutely hate going out with you while wearing disguises because they want it to be just normal.

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who often gets shipped with other idols/have dating rumors so they address it, asking for the rumors to stop and have to reassure you about it.

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who sends you edits of themselves and spam it in the gc trying to make you fall for them harder.

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who talks about you subtlety on their lives while you're right next to them. you occasionally let out a little giggle or whisper, making the chat ask who it is. they ignore it, of course.

"we were hanging out with our girl... friend yesterday. our friend who is a girl. and she got us the cutest ring ever!" hanni holds up her hand to show a ring on her ring finger of all fingers. minji nods and shows the same ring on her own hand. you were sitting behind the phone, a small giggle escaping your lips when they began to pose with the rings.

user01: who was that

user02: was that your friend???

user03: lolol that's prob the gf they're talking abt

IDOLS!BBANGSAZ who are your famous secret girlfriends.

✎ 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

🌃 .SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ. ゜

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who always go to you whenever they're injured, claiming you're better than the hospital who might stick a needle in them. hanni will be whining for you to take care of her first when you're dealing with minji, and minji will be throwing a fit whenever you switch to take care of hanni.

hanni: "take care of me first!"

you: "jeez... okay..."

minji: "no! me first!"

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who will stop by your work to greet you or bring you your lunch if you forgot it at home.

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who team up and make some grand gesture for you that makes the news. for example, 'be our valentine's?' written by minji using spider webs, and signing it off with a cat and a spider.

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who abuse their powers just to impress you or to one up another.

you yelped as you felt somebody teleport and pull you into a hug from behind. even if you knew it was hanni, it still didn't fail to scare you. "oh my god, hanni, you scared me." she only chuckles and starts peppering your neck with kisses, her fingers digging into the your stomach. you tilt your head to give her better access, enjoying the way her lips were traveling around your neck and shoulder. until a sudden force tugs you away from hanni into the arms of minji, her hands resting on the small of your back as she sticks a mocking tongue at hanni. "both of you stop manhandling me."

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who hates dealing with villains when they have a date planned with you, so they try to get it over as soon as possible, even asking to reschedule the fight everybody expects (surprisingly the villain agrees because they have their own partner at home)

SUPERHERO!BBANGSAZ who make you worry to your core if they come home way more injured than usual, or don't come home until late. but you're just relieved that they're alive and breathing. they may be the city's greatest protectors but they're still your girlfriends.

✎ 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

✉️ .EXES!BBANGSAZ. ゜

EXES!BBANGSAZ who would argue with you over the dumbest reasons, leading to the breakup. it can be talking to another person for too long or not answering the phone when called multiple times, or paying more attention to the other.

EXES!BBANGSAZ who once serenaded you through your window only to have it shut on them after the song ended.

EXES!BBANGSAZ who tries to win you back with handwritten letters and desperate 'i miss you' texts late at night.

hanni (DO NOT RESPOND!!): we miss you.

hanni (DO NOT RESPOND!!): please hear us out.

hanni (DO NOT RESPOND!!): you know we love you. we didn't mean what we said.

to: my pretty girl, yn

from: kim minji

yn, love, i know our fight was unreasonable and we shouldn't have ever lashed out at you like that. please unblock us and call us back. we just worry about you and we care about you deeply. baby, please. we'll give up the world just for you to even look at us. text us. please. :(

EXES!BBANGSAZ who always ask your friends on how you're doing, and you hate how your friends will always tell them. hanni will always ask danielle because that girl can't lie and ignore for her life, while minji asks haerin with a promise of getting her food. hyein will tell them no matter what.

EXES!BBANGSAZ who try to woo you with your favorite things like coffee or snacks. you take it but then turn around on them after. if it's a big meal that they got you, you'll share with your friends.

EXES!BBANGSAZ who finally got you to listen and became yours again.

✎ 𓂃 𓈒𓏸

❤️‍🩹 .TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ. ゜— one suggestive

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ who you know is high-key toxic and isn't good for you but you keep coming back due to how gentle they coo and convince you that they're everything you need and kiss you after breaking your heart.

"no, yn, you were just... imagining things. i wasn't talking to any girl at all that night." you knew she was lying, but the way she was cradling your face and how soft her voice sounded made you think otherwise. she grins once she sees you melt into her, your walls coming down and trusting her again, and she leans down to place a sweet kiss full of lies on your lips. she breaks your heart again the next day when you wake up with an empty bed and a post from minji about her 1 month that you had no idea of.

you go back to hanni after the encounter with minji that you swore was never meant to happen. with a poorly suppressed wicked grin, she takes you in immediately and starts love bombing you, her honey voice combined with sweet words did a number to your brain. "i can treat you better, isn't that right, beautiful?" her words like a spell, going in one ear and out the other, but a bit stays. a bit that makes you want to believe she actually loves you. you see her with another girl a week later.

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ who flirts with you whenever you are alone with them, two voices in both of your ears saying promising words that makes you almost believe it, but then stop when other girls come by and openly flirt with them instead.

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ who, contrary to their gentle voices, are rough with you, leaving you with marks and scratches that lasts for months after hook-ups that you swore to never give in to again.

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ whose favorite activity is to love bomb you then ghost you the next day.

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ who gets confused when you start posting yourself more and stop responding to them. they're spamming you, asking why you're not responding just get blocked. they both stare at your photos all day together, thinking of how vulnerable and naive you used to be, but now you're all about self-care and... it makes them... miss you.

TOXIC!SITUATIONSHIP!BBANGSAZ who returns back in your life, asking and pleading for you and them to be permanent. you were hesitant at first, your friends telling you no, but minji and hanni keeps insisting so you give in. safe to say you were disappointed again when they end up drunk at a party and accidentally hook up with other girls.

hehehe @cassiespoiler @ninguitar @lararajjj @saysirhc

[transformers-spike]

I just wanted to ask what you thought TFP Ratchet, Wheeljack, Dreadwing, and Bulkhead were position wise in your mind. Like are they a top, a bottom, or a switch?

To me Dreadwing and Wheeljack are both tops. I fee like they both would really be into doming their partners. Wheeljack is kinky as hell so I can see him being into super freaky shit.

And I can see Dreadwing being a much stricter dom.

I see Ratchet and Bulkhead as switches personally.

Oh man, other than my typical "It depends on the situation" answer, let me think this through. Alright, so fyi I'm going to explain if they're a sub/dom, like being on top/being ridden, and if they enjoy getting their valves filled more than spiking (aka the Top/Bottom bit) Ratchet does enjoy being in control, but he's often pretty exhausted and starving, so it would be nice if you could take the reins without injuring yourself. He has some dom tendencies but is pretty mixed all things considered. He's happy being ridden or pegged in some way - but he's also just as eager to be on top and, if his partner allows it, use their dick/dildo as the world's smallest interface toy Bulkhead is a huge sub in my opinion. He prefers being ridden purely because it means he's less likely to accidentally injure his partner (dude chillll - you're doing fine). He's a lot more likely to let his human do as they please, he can adapt to just about anything. You can penetrate him too, he just doesn't feel as much unless you focus on his anterior node. His valve can take a good pounding, although sadly no human is capable of doing that

Wheeljack is rougher by comparison, a lot more willing to bruise his human in the heat of the moment. He's not afraid to push them to their limits, and he's just as eager to be used up. He's definitely the type to suggest you shove your entire arm in his valve. He doesn't care if he's on top or being ridden, he's going to find a way to be a bastard someway. He's an absolute brat even when he's in the dominant role, someone put him in his place Dreadwing (as I typically interpret him) adapts to his partner's behavior. He's typically more reserved but still capable of assuming a more dominant/strict role as we've seen in the show (channeling his inner squadron commander lol). If his partner's a brat and they like being manhandled, he's happy to do it (although carefully - he would hate to leave a mark). Otherwise, any position works for him - and he enjoys having his valve played with, which is way too sensitive for its own good

[olenoidedserratuspilled]

So I'm a gay man from a completely different part of the world from any of you, and so I don't have much insight into the dating culture of the US because I've never participated in it - or dating culture at all, really. Nonetheless, I'm gonna leave my two cents on this under the cut. Feel free to ignore them if you'd prefer to.

what's essential is understanding that other people including women are full humans just like you, who matter just as much as you.

I'm mostly sure OP already understands that. There's no indication that he doesn't, at least. In either case, this is by your own admission the bare minimum. We both know that the bare minimum isn't gonna cut it here.

there are so many women who are out there who want a guy who is caring and on top of his shit. like the bar is so low for some women, it's not hard to clear it.

See, showing other people that you're caring is hard, especially when you're showing it with the intention of pursuing them romantically - which, let's not kid ourselves, is the intention here. Even if you do mange to convey that - again, it's still only the bare minimum. It's good, sure, but not enough.

less dating apps, more befriending all sorts of people through hobbies and volunteer work.

"Befriend" is the key word here. Dating people you were friends with befrehand is complicated to say the least, we could have an entire separate thread about it, but to summarize my outlook I think it's half a matter of luck and half one of finesse. If you don't do everything exactly, perfectly right, it can easily end with both of you sad, angry and potentially traumatized - and it will be your fault, not in the sense you'll be blamed for it, but in that it'll be objectiely your fault.

figure out what you have to offer to the world, offer it, people will take notice.

Sure, they might. If they do though, will anyone want it? If they want it, why would they not seek it from someone else? Someone who's been doing it for longer, who's more skilled at it, or who's just got more to offer besides it? Just "having something to offer" isn't good enough, it's the bare minimum.

There's nothing you can offer that can't be easily found somewhere else. It doesn't matter who you are, there's always gonna be a billion other people exactly like you except better. And what, you want somebody else to settle for you when it'd be easier, less risky and more gratifying to just look for somoene better instead? That's selfish. I'm not being coy here, it is objectively, undeniably selfish to want that. I do need this to be clear: I'm not blaming anyone other than OP/the hypothetical man this advice is aimed at in this scenario.

it also really really sucks for straight women, my god does it suck ass. you need to understand the ways it sucks for women before you can improve your game, btw.

I mean, I think the ways it sucks are fairly obvious. A lot of people do it but at least for me it's kind of hard to ignore the murders, rapes and domestic abuse. By all means seek to understand them and work to not perpetrate them, but "Don't be a piece of shit" really doesn't paint a very clear picture of what, specifically, you're supposed to do beyond that point.

so many people want out of the box and are out of the box. go befriend and dare them.

If you pardon me being cynical (it's sort of my gimmick, if you couldn't tell), what reason do the people out of the box have to give some dumbass newcomer who just crawled out of the box the time of day? Just thinking "out of the box" isn't enough. It's the bare minimum. It's still just objectively not good enough.

you've set up an equation that means that you must always lose, and it's the type of equation that is primed to make you hate women.

I mean yes and no? From what I understood, one of the equation's components is "if a man fails to find a relationship, the failure is all his". If you interpret this as a false preconception that the world around you holds then yeah I can see how it'll lead down that path, but if you interpret it as true then at worse it'll just lead to hating oneself. Not ideal no, but at least no women are impacted as a result.

this equation is false, and based on false premises, that you and a ton of men and women think is gospel.

It depends on how you define false, really. If we go by objective, observable reality then actually both the presented equations are false and all human interaction is nothing but the absurd acts of chemicals (this is what I believe, to put all my cards on the table).

If you wanna be less Reddit-ey about it though, one could easily argue that - because "the equation" is, consciously or otherwise, upheld by the majority of the population (at least the ones involved in the straight dating scene anyway), then it's true in the sense that it is the social norm that you're expected to abide by. You can say it's morally wrong, sure, but it's still just as "true" as things like dining etiquette and formal grammar.

Feel free to ignore dining etiquette all you like, but you're gonna get a lot of mean looks from relatives and restaurant staff.

one of your falsities is that straight and bi women don't like feminine men. this is patently false. have you met a goth woman? have you met a woman who is in fandom? they are jerking it to the most pathetic and wet sissy rat men.

Fictional men and real men are radically different. For starters, fictional men are just plainly easier to grow emotionally attached to because they come with none of the... "Baggage", for the lack of a better word, and just because someone thinks baby-faced white twinks (because make no mistake, that is what 99.5% of fandom, regardless of gender, imagines when they hear the words "feminine man") look hot on TV doesn't mean they'd ever want to actually date one. Hell, even baby-faced white twinks are becoming kinda passé. Himbos are all the rage right now and I'm sorry but the average guy just isn't himbo material.

Another reason you shouldn't use people's attractin to fictional characters as a baromater is because fictional characters are just kind of... Innately superior to real people, in the sense that it's much easier to glance over all the less palatable aspects of their characters and focus exclusively on the aspects that appeal to you. You can't really do that with a real person.

This is of course not even taking cultural differences into account. I am gay myself and even I'm afraid of presenting as femininely as I'd like to beause (body image issues nonwithstanding) I live in rural Brazil and that's just not socially accepted here, be it by women or men. If I were a straight guy and I did try being A Little Gender and Gay I'd get rightfully told to go fuck myself.

So for my conclusion, I definitely don't know enough about the topic to say whether or not you're right about it, but the advice offered is only a basic foundation that only really helps if you've already got okay to good social skills - which let's be honest, just doesn't describe most men, straight or otherwise.

Even if a guy does every single thing you've advised here though, all he'll have accomplished is... Being a sort of okay guy, maybe. That's a good start for sure but even then you're still gonna fall short. You're still not gonna be interesting, or special, or exciting... Or good enough. And in my experience, if you aren't these things already, you'll probably never be.

TL;DR, here's my point: I think your advice is ultimately harmless, but commits the usual error of only providing a semi-real sense of hope. I'm willing to bet a lung that you and your casanove friends all have much, much more to offer to potential partners than anyone in this thread has or ever will have... And that's kinda the problem. The harsh reality you're avoiding is that some people aren't meant to find love - and if you haven't already found it, that probably includes you.

For what it's worth, I do at least have a boyfriend. We'll probably never meet IRL, but it's good enough for me. Maybe the real lesson OP and other guys should learn is how to acept the cards you've been dealt.

I looked at this thread

and it's another signal from the world of something like "sociosexual realism". Which is like, feminism or whatever told us that men and women were equally agentic, but unfortunately it was lying, and actually it's men's responsibility to be seductive, and if they fail at that then TFR goes down and the Amish win.

It's not just the thread, a lot of relationships and dates make me feel this way.

I'm stuck believing this unpleasant belief. What am I missing? Is the world not like that?

[xyywrites]

How Readers (sometimes) Misinterpret Authors’ Intentions

1. Intentional Ambiguity vs. Overthinking

Author’s Intent: “I left this scene open to interpretation so readers could make their own conclusions.” Reader’s Take: “This tiny detail about the red mug represents the protagonist’s repressed anger about societal norms.” Reality: Sometimes a red mug is just a red mug.

2. Symbolism Gone Astray

Author’s Intent: “This flower represents hope.” Reader’s Take: “This flower symbolizes death because it withers when plucked, and the author is making a grim commentary on human frailty.”

3. Romanticizing the Villain

Author’s Intent: “This antagonist is morally complex but undeniably a terrible person.” Reader’s Take: “They’re just misunderstood.”

4. When Flaws Are Misread as Virtues

Author’s Intent: “This character is selfish and manipulative, even if they have a charming exterior.” Reader’s Take: “They’re just confident and know what they want!” Reality: There’s a fine line between writing a layered character and readers excusing all their bad behavior.

5. The “Is This About Me?” Problem

Author’s Intent: “This story is completely fictional and inspired by nothing in my personal life.” Reader’s Take: “So the protagonist’s struggles with their mother must be based on the author’s own issues, right?” Reality: Nope.

6. Missing the Subtext

Author’s Intent: “This character is secretly in love with their best friend, and I hinted at it through subtle gestures and unspoken moments.” Reader’s Take: “Why didn’t you just make them kiss?” Reality: Not everyone picks up on the nuances of subtext, and that’s okay.

7. Fixating on Small Details

Author’s Intent: “This throwaway line is just a bit of flavor to make the world feel more real.” Reader’s Take: “This line holds the key to unraveling the entire plot!” Reality: …It doesn’t.

8. Ignoring the Author’s Voice

Author’s Intent: “This story has an unreliable narrator, so everything they say should be questioned.” Reader’s Take: “This narrator’s perspective is 100% accurate, and the author must share their views.” Reality: Narrators and authors are not the same person.

9. Forcing a Moral Where There Isn’t One

Author’s Intent: “This is a story about human nature, not a moral lesson.” Reader’s Take: “The author clearly wants us to see this as a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition.” Reality: Not all stories are meant to be prescriptive.

10. “The Author Didn’t Mean That”

Author’s Intent: “Actually, I did mean that.” Reader’s Take: “This interpretation is better than what the author said.” Reality: Sometimes readers assume their interpretation supersedes the author’s, and while that’s valid for them, it’s not always accurate.

Once a story is published, it belongs as much to the readers as it does to the author. Misinterpretations are inevitable, but they can also be insightful. They show how stories evolve and take on new meanings.

But if your readers are wildly off the mark, remember:

1. You don’t owe anyone an explanation.

2. It’s okay to clarify your intentions, but it’s also okay to let them speculate.

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 4

Masterlist

Previous (Chapter 3) // Next (Chapter 5) (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, panic attacks, implied prior noncon, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan was relieved to see that the boy was capable of cleaning himself up. The shower had only run for a matter of minutes, but as Rowan lingered outside the bathroom to eavesdrop – just in case he was needed - he heard the tell-tale clicks of the shampoo bottle opening and closing. Water splashed rhythmically against freshly cleaned tiles in a hum that was barely muffled by the door. Rowan waited a few painstaking minutes after the water had turned off, seizing the opportunity to practice his patience, before he knocked and reentered.

Although it was a deeply unsettling sight to see the young man kneeling naked in his bathroom, Rowan could already see that the boy’s skin was cleaner, and his wet curls still seemed lighter than when they had been coated with grease, sweat, and blood.

The shower also made clear that some of the yellow patches on the boy’s skin were not dirt, as Rowan had foolishly hoped, but near-healed bruises. Some wounds that had been scabbed over before the shower were open now, glistening red with nascent blood as the skin tried to stitch itself back together. Bright white scars danced with blue bruising, and a single drop of crimson trailed down from a recently reopened leg wound. It seemed that the boy had interpreted the instruction to clean himself up as an instruction to rub his scabs away, scrubbing at his skin until his injuries were raw.

Rowan made a note to himself to speak more clearly in the future. The next thing Rowan noticed was that the mirror was bone-dry, no signs of steam or beading water at the top of the glass. No hints of humidity hung in the air either. He felt his lip turn down in spite of himself.

“You can use hot water next time, yeah?” He offered as hopefully as he could, though his gaze was not returned. “Seriously, you can use the hot water, as hot as you can stand it. This place is great, because I only pay a flat fee for utilities. No extra charge for those long, hot showers. Feel free to sit in the hot water as long as you want. I mean, I certainly do. Anyway, you’re looking a bit cleaner now, so maybe you want to try on some of those clothes? You’ve got to be freezing after that shower. Come on, follow me back to your room.”

And the boy followed, damp hands and knees finding purchase on vinyl tiles, an unfamiliar rhythm across the condo’s floors. Rowan winced again, making sure to hide his disappointment by looking towards the ceiling. They’d have to do something about the crawling, get him back on his feet and walking with confidence. They’d also have to get him eating and drinking on his own, comfortable enough to take showers in hot water, wearing clothes by default, acting of his own will and guided by his own desires…

Rowan bit back a sigh. There was a lot to work on.

They made it back across the hall, and Rowan walked over to the file cabinet that was currently doubling as the boy’s dresser. He slid the bottom drawer open as the steady shuffle-crawl followed in behind him. Rowan’s fingers thumbed through the sweaters that he’d hastily folded just hours earlier, one after the other, a stack of cotton and polyester and sherpa promising warmth. There was a sweatshirt he remembered specifically from his clothing haul, something lined with fleece, certainly thick enough to restore a bit of warmth after a cold shower. Hands still digging through the drawer, Rowan defaulted to his rambling once again.  

“I know I set out sweatpants and a sweatshirt earlier, but there might be a warmer sweater in here. I’m going to guess you’re cold, so let’s see if-“ and as Rowan turned to look back at his guest, just to see if he was listening, his heart dropped through his stomach.

There, on the bed, the young man was presenting himself with raised hips and a carefully arched back, eyes looking up through thick eyelashes to meet Rowan’s own-

“Fuck.” Rowan gasped, and he took a step back so fast that his shoulder slammed into the filing cabinet. His hand snapped up to shield his eyes while his voice bubbled up from his chest, words coming out as an inadvertent shout. “No! Jesus Christ, no! No. Stop doing- stop doing that. Fuck, get down from there, just get down. No, we’re not doing that. I’m not going to- we’re not- just- fuck-“

Before Rowan could speak another word, the young man bolted off the bed and down to the floor, throwing himself flat against the ground so hard that the nearby furniture trembled. The sound of his bony knees hitting the ground resounded like two gunshots. In the blink of an eye, Rowan’s outburst had caused the emaciated victim to expose his scar-riddled back to the sky.

It was clear that he was waiting for Rowan to rain blows down on his skin, whether with fists or with whips, another line written in the book of abuse written for all to see. He trembled, but he was silent, utterly silent. This was routine, a punishment he’d been subjected to before. It was something the boy expected, that he waited for, that was the natural consequence to someone raising their voice.

All because Rowan had been a bit uncomfortable, and all because he couldn’t keep that discomfort to himself. He’d been given a sliver of power, a shred of influence, and he’d already resorted to screaming.

Guilt washed over Rowan just as coldly as shock had moments earlier. The sight of the boy offering himself up for punishment, moments after he’d offered himself up for use, jolted Rowan’s consciousness back into his body. He’d yelled, one of the very few thingshe wasn’t supposed to do, and had undoubtedly terrified his guest in the process. The boy’s hands were trembling where they rested, palms up, in front of him. Short gasps came from his mouth, just soft enough that they weren’t quite whimpers, but Rowan could hear the tears he was swallowing back nonetheless.

Rowan pulled in a deep breath, surprised to find that his own eyes were stinging with emotion and moisture. This was all too much. He knew what the victims endured in their abuse, he knew that he had brought a Romantic into his home, he knew all of this from when he signed the papers and looked through the PLF rehabilitation materials. But it was one thing to read the words on a page, and it was another thing to have a battered young man on his bed offering himself up for abuse.

It was the closest Rowan had come, now by himself and in his very own home, to seeing just what he’d been fighting to have dismantled all these years. It was the closest he’d been to direct complicity, to participating in the cruelty of man. It was the closest he’d been to hell on earth.

I can fix this, Rowan thought to himself, forcing another deep breath into his lungs. I have to fix this. I can smooth this over, make it better. This is what I signed up for, this is what I’m here to fix, this is what I have to deal with. I fucked up, so I have to fix it.

What better way to start than with an apology?

“I’m sorry,” Rowan hissed through his teeth as he fought to control his volume. He wasn’t going to yell again, no matter how hot the adrenaline felt in his veins. “I shouldn’t have yelled, and you’re not in trouble. You’re not in trouble, I promise, it’s all okay. You’re okay. You’re alright. Everything’s alright.” Rowan’s heart was pounding so heavily in his chest that it was hard to swallow his volume back. His head felt heavy and his hands tingled with the panic seizing his nervous system.

Yet Rowan knew that he was not the most terrified person in the room. No matter how scared he was at the seemingly impossible challenges ahead, and no matter how worried he was that he’d already ruined everything, the boy was infinitely more afraid. If his first instinct after a shower was to offer his body up for sexual abuse, and if his first instinct after a shout was to offer that body for physical abuse, there was little question as to what horrors he’d endured before this point. He hadn’t even been in Rowan’s home for more than an hour, and he had resigned himself to the service of a stranger who owned his body, who held a title to his very life. There was no sign of the defiance, or disobedience, or even displeasure. It was fluid, seamless, undeniable recognition of ownership.

The boy hadn’t moved despite Rowan’s attempted placations. A perfect pet, entirely obedient, unmoved by gentleness. This was everything WRU wanted in its output, in its products. Simultaneously, it was everything that made Rowan sick to his stomach.

After a painstaking deep breath, Rowan grabbed the clothes he wanted from the file cabinet, and took a step towards the body trembling on the floor. He kept his steps slow, movements as glacial as he could muster, hoping that the boy wouldn’t expect a blow.

“Hey, I’m coming over now, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not even going to touch you. Just-“

The boy flinched nonetheless as Rowan lowered the clothes to the floor beside his outstretched palms.

“Here,” Rowan offered, voice as soft and level as he could manage, “these are for you. To get dressed. Please, get dressed. I’m going to leave you alone now, okay? Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back later to check in. I think we both need… a minute, yeah? A minute to take a breather. Both of us. You’re not in trouble. Just, get dressed please.”

Rowan left as quickly as he could manage, shutting the door with a soft click behind him.

---

The pet could hardly choke back its tears. What had it done wrong? Had it erred by not offering to please Master first, settled square on its knees, eyes pointed upwards and an eager, open mouth? Had it not cleaned itself well enough, hair still damp from the shower, some wounds still raw and dripping blood? Had it not seen something obvious in this room that it should have found for Master’s use instead?

But the punishment it expected for its insolence and incorrect assumptions never came. Even though it had exposed its hands and its back, opening its skin for lashes or stomping boots, no such corrections came. It hadn’t been able to make out the precise words that Master had shouted, his precise displeasure lost to the ringing in the pet’s ears, but it knew anger from the tone alone. It always knew when its master was angry.

Anger, yet no correction. Shouting, but no punishment. Nothing but a bundle of clothes dropped on the ground beside it, a clear indication that it was supposed to get dressed.

And with that, Master left, closing the door behind him. The pet was left alone to cover its shameful body and await its uncertain future.

---

Rowan wasted no time in grabbing the now-wrinkled PLF Rehabilitation Manual from where he’d placed it on top of the fridge. He knew that if he didn’t separate it from the rest of the paperwork strewn across the kitchen counters, he’d certainly lose it amidst the chaos. On top of the fridge, placed alongside the boxes of now-stale cereal, was as safe a place as any.

He leaned the small of his back against the countertop and busied himself with thumbing through the pages. His eyes flicked quickly over the table of contents, then through the section headers in the body of the document. When he read the manual earlier, he swore he’d seen a few pages dedicated to fixing a fuck-up. That’s what this was, wasn’t it? It was a fuck up of fantastic proportions. Rowan hadn’t even made it two hours before he’d yelled at the abuse victim in his second bedroom, all but screamed at him, just for doing what he’d been so thoroughly trained to do.

He was the picture of a perfect pet, and Rowan had managed to get mad at that. In the boy’s mind, he’d done exactly as he was trained, and it still hadn’t been enough for Rowan. That was going to forever be his first impression of Rowan.

Some people are just more suited for fieldwork, the voice of his past mentor echoed in his ears. Rehabilitation and recovery isn’t for everyone. Just like Greyson has found his stride working on the administrative side of the PLF, you’re doing your best work out in the field. Rehabilitation is an entirely different skillset, a skillset that some people don’t excel in, and that’s fine. Everyone’s job is important here. Your job is important even if you don’t work directly with the victims, I promise.

And yet, despite years of being aware that he was most certainly not suited for rehabilitation work, he’d taken up this cross on little more than impulse. The only one who would pay for Rowan’s ignorance and impatience was the very person who needed him the most.

For the second time since he’d purchased the boy he felt his eyes sting. The weight of this new responsibility weighed on his shoulders now more than ever. There was so much that could go wrong, so much pain and misery he could unknowingly inflict. This time it was his own uncontrollable shock, something he should have been able to swallow back. What would it be next time? His impatience? His ignorance?

Rowan swallowed back the lump in his throat as he finally found the dog-eared page he’d been looking for. He’d dog-eared it, of course, because he’d been afraid he’d have to use it.

You Lost Your Temper – Now What?

In a perfect world, we’d never lose our temper when assisting the wards in our care. Much like we might lose our temper with friends, family, or colleagues, we might likewise lose our temper with our wards.

These moments, while less than ideal, present a learning opportunity for all parties involved. For you, the guardian, it is an opportunity to model sincere apologies and create a safe space for your ward to talk about how they feel. For your ward, it is an opportunity to learn that they deserve politeness and equal treatment from others. For both guardian and ward, it is the chance to discuss communication, expectations, and mutual respect.

Should you lose your temper with a ward in your care, take the time to collect yourself and your emotions. You might be feeling upset, disappointed, or even angry with yourself. You might even be upset with your ward for the actions that triggered the incident, even if you know those actions aren’t their fault. You might be upset with a ward who tested your boundaries, or exercised their freedom and autonomy, in a way that you aren’t comfortable with. These are normal and expected feelings. While it is healthy to process these emotions and acknowledge their impact on you, it is best to do them away from your ward early in the relationship, and in front of your ward later in the relationship. Both are opportunities to model behavioral processing in a healthy and focused way.

Once you have gathered yourself and recognized your own emotions, take some time to think about what caused that first negative feeling. Recognize the moment you lost your temper, recognize what triggered that initial negative emotion, and consider creating a plan to prevent a similar reaction in the future. Take as much time as needed for this process, and ideally, try to give your ward an adequate amount of time to process the event as well.

Finally, talk to your ward directly. Make an appropriate apology for your reaction. For example, if you yelled, apologize for raising your voice. Take the opportunity to remind your ward that they should be treated with kindness and respect at all times, and acknowledge that you did not fulfill that basic expectation. You do not need to share the reason for your reaction – in fact, doing so can cause unnecessary fear and guilt in your ward, particularly early in the recovery process, and even more so if the triggering behavior was due to their trauma or conditioning. Instead, offer them comfort and an opportunity to discuss how the event made them feel.

The rest of the page was filled with sample conversations, language for new rehabilitators to use in such situations. Rowan studied them carefully, feeling himself grow calmer as he did so. He wasn’t the first rehabilitator to fuck up, and from the looks of the manual, he certainly wouldn’t be the last. While this did little to alleviate the guilt, it allowed for a small sliver of relief. There wasn’t anything uniquely wrong with him. Instead, his response was one rooted in human emotion, another byproduct of the system and its cruelty. His disgust was with systemic oppression, not with the boy himself.

I have to do better, Rowan reminded himself, and he took yet another deep breath. His hands were still shaking from the adrenaline that had dumped into his system.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine how the boy was affected if he himself was feeling the effects of his own temper so severely.

That was the next thought in his mind. He couldn’t simply refer to his guest as the boy forever. Part of developing autonomy, including the autonomy necessary to process scenarios such as the one that Rowan had just created, came from a sense of independent identity. Right now, the boy was just that: the boy in Rowan’s spare room, an object, a legal possession. To recover, he would have to become so much more than that. The manual had said as much: giving the ward a name as soon as possible was critical to developing a relationship of equals.

That would all have to come later, and it would hopefully come from the help of a rehabilitator that Rowan prayed was on the way his condo. Hope was doing a lot of heavy lifting as Rowan sat and stewed at his kitchen counter. He took a moment to check his phone, then he checked a second time to confirm there were no new messages, before placing it back on the granite.

His heart was still racing, so he looked back to the manual with a glance, then over to the closed door of the den, then back to the manual. If either of them were going to make it out of this intact, the least Rowan could do was take the manual’s word as gospel.

What emotion am I feeling? It burned hot, Rowan knew that much, and it had spurred him to yell when he rarely ever did so. Is it anger?

But instead of a tightness in his throat and a burning in his head that he would expect from anger, Rowan felt a tingling in his fingertips, a tugging in his chest, a queasiness in his stomach. It was like he was in grade school all over again, waiting for a teacher to pass out a test he hasn’t studied for. It was that heavy, burdensome dread that clung to him every time he walked onto the liquidation event sales floor.

Rowan knew he could name the feelings as soon as he took note of their home in his body. It was one that he was loathe to admit, even as old as he was, because of the stigma of weakness that clung to those words. No matter how many times he had conquered these feelings in the past, he struggled to confront them now.

But he had to. He had to, for the sake of the person in his care, the very soul that was counting on him to move past the discomfort. Rowan would have to now, and he would have to again, for the both of them.

What am I feeling? He asked himself again, biting down on his lip in spite of himself. Coppery blood washed over his tongue from the open wound. What am I really feeling?

Anxiety. Fear, dread, distress.

Those feelings were so much more than mere anger, and they were budding like a nascent ulcer in his stomach. Those were the feelings that had governed his actions since he’d signed the contract just over 24 hours prior. Adrenaline had made him run like prey, a panicked creature hunted by an unseen predator. Rowan was a gazelle on an endless savannah, running for his life, uncaring of his destination so long as it put distance between himself and the lion on his tail.

In Rowan’s case, the lion was the system itself, the weight of an industry that would crush him if it knew what he was doing. It was ruthless, it was nefarious, and it would readily kill him if it knew of his efforts to liberate people from its clutches. If so, he wouldn’t be the first liberationist to go missing under similar circumstances.

Of course Rowan was frightened, and of course he had every reason to be. There was legislation, there was law, there was unspeakable amounts of money and power that he was up against. The PLF had always been at a systemic disadvantage in this fight, as had all of its victims, all of its wards. They were fighting on the side of the underdogs, and they would be underdogs until a significant change in the public consciousness occurred.

I’m smarter than a gazelle, Rowan thought to himself, fist tight in his lap. And the lion’s only teeth are rich politicians with a vested interest in oppression. I’m not their fuckinggazelle. I’m braver, I’m smarter, and I’m stronger. I have to be. I refuse to be their prey.  

A few more moments of steady breathing were necessary for Rowan to compose himself. And just as the manual had mandated, he’d named his emotions, processed them, and acknowledged their trigger: a victim, a ward who could not consent, offering their body for sexual and physical abuse.

Another minute passed, and much to Rowan’s pleasant surprise, his breathing had levelled. The buzzing in his extremities had relaxed, and his heart no longer felt like it was being squeezed in an unforgiving fist.

The next step was to confront his ward, the boy still waiting and terrified in the spare bedroom.

“I can do this,” Rowan muttered under his breath, the soft escape of his internal dialogue. “I can apologize, I can name my feelings, and I can offer reassurance.”  

He paused and searched his thoughts for something to bridge the gap. What had the boy responded to the best in these last few hours?

After a moment of mulling, Rowan realized that it had been the water. The boy had grasped the glass as if it offered his only salvation. He’d swallowed it in the blink of an eye, disappearing before Rowan could have even come up with the words to stop him.

Of course, as Rowan knew from more than a decade of field work, the victims that were prepared for transit were both starved and dehydrated to reduce any potential resistance during transit or during their first few hours with their purchasers.

Such practices resulted in a non-zero number of transit deaths each year, some of which Rowan had documented firsthand.

Rowan went over to the pantry and took out another glass, paced over to the fridge, and poured another glass of cool water from the filter. He filled it just below the brim, tall enough that the boy would be able to drink his fill, but not so full that shaking hands would be unable to raise it to equally unsteady lips.

Glass in hand, Rowan walked back over to the second bedroom’s door.

He paused. A moment, a deep breath, a hand raised towards the faux-wood painted in landlord-eggshell. And he knocked, once, twice, knuckles on the paint making a hollow thunk with each hit.

No response was expected. None came. After another two long seconds, Rowan grasped the doorknob and pushed into the room.

---

The pet had gotten dressed. It had dressed itself in the clothes that Master had tossed beside it after he had yelled, the command obvious enough even without it understanding the precise language.

It knew it had messed up. It knew that something it had done – perhaps it was the position? Perhaps it was the assumption that it would be taken on the bed? – had made its master furious. It had made its master so furious that he had thrown clothes at it, commanded it to cover itself, and left it alone.

So the pet had obeyed as best as it could. It clothed itself in the linens – softer than it had ever been granted with its old master, and so much warmer too – and resumed its position kneeling in the center of the room. Master had placed it here for a reason, certainly, alone with nothing but its thoughts and the ringing in its ears.

Fully clad, from its ankles to its wrist, in pillow-like clothing, the pet felt the pull of sleep. Even the fear from its Master yelling was not enough to overcome the exhaustion of its travels and of its last moments with its handlers. It was so tired that it was nodding off where it knelt, knowing full well that such an action would earn it a lashing like no other.

But its body would only be pushed so far before it broke.

Adrenaline returned when the walls and floor trembled with slight vibrations. Ever since the ringing in its ears had begun in earnest, the pet had learned to pay attention to the way the surfaces around it sang. Now, the floorboards rumbled with the sound of its Master approaching. Light steps – none so heavy as its old master – but an insistent knocking that carried through the wood and laminate.

The pet wished it could shrink in on itself, become smaller, offer an adequate with just its body. But it was already as small as it could make itself, swallowed by the billowing fabric of the sweatshirt, sleeves coming down past its wrists and covering its bony knuckles.

There was almost a certain chance that it would be asked to remove the sweatshirt in short order, anyway.

As it expected, Master’s feet appeared before it moments later. It took deep breaths, listening to the steady hum of Master’s voice. He wasn’t shouting, not this time, back to that level-set rhythm that the pet already found so soothing. If there was supposed to be anger or frustration, the pet couldn’t hear it.

That wasn’t saying much, given that it couldn’t hear much at all.

Much to the pet’s surprise, Master leaned down and placed another glass in front of it. This glass was crystal-clear, filled nearly to the brim with water, its surface rippling from the movement. Although it had happily drank the earlier glass of water at its Master’s command, the pet was still parched. And although its stomach was still in knots from how Master had yelled at it, how it had been waiting for a punishment yet to come, the thirst once again prevailed.

It knew better than to grab the glass with its greedy hands. Waiting, patience, showed the very skills that it had been trained time and again to embody. So it waited, waited, until Master’s voice raised with a sharp uptick in volume.

Drink.

The pet did so without hesitation. It reached forward and it drank eagerly, trying to still the trembling of its hands as it did so. Although it had to raise its head to drink, it made sure to keep its eyes pointed downwards in as much respect and deference as it could display.

The water disappeared in a matter of moments, the pet ensuring that it showed its gratitude for the generosity by finishing it with haste. Carefully as it could manage it placed the glass back on the floor where Master had set it.

Its stomach was still tight with worry, filled with the sandwich and the first glass of water, but it was confident that it would keep the meal down. It had to – if it got sick now, there was no telling when it would get food again. This nutrition was more valuable than anything else at the moment, it was the only way it could hope to have the strength to carry on.

---

“That’s great,” Rowan praised, trying to keep his voice steady as he had been. It had already been stressful enough to raise it to give the command to drink, but the boy seemed unfazed. In fact, he finished the full glass in a matter of seconds, drinking eagerly and without hesitation.

Figuring out how to get the boy to drink on his own would be a challenge for another day. For now, even if Rowan had to command as much, drinking something was better than not at all.

Now, for the reason he’d come back into the room in the first place, when all he wanted to do was leave the boy alone long enough to decompress.

“Hey, uhm, I’m sorry for yelling,” Rowan said. The apology came easily and naturally enough, so he pushed on. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. That was wrong of me, and you didn’t deserve it. You did nothing wrong. Really, you did nothing wrong. The fact that I yelled was my fault. I’m not angry at you. I’m not mad, and I’m not going to hurt you. Everything is okay.”

The boy didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t acknowledge a word beyond the command to drink. Just as all the other times Rowan had spoken, he seemed attentive, but didn’t react.

“I mean it,” Rowan pushed on. “I’m sorry. Everything is alright. You’re okay. You’re safe here, with me. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to ask you to do those things you had to do before. It caught me off guard, and my reaction was wrong. I shouldn’t have raised my voice”

Nothing. At this rate, it would be impossible to have the back-and-forth dialogue that the manual had encouraged, but Rowan knew that it was possibly asking too much for a first day, even a first week, or a first month. His one-sided apology was a start, at least.

“If you want to tell me how you feel, you can,” Rowan offered the floor up. “It’s okay. You can say how you feel – actually, you can talk, if you’d like, about anything. I haven’t heard you say anything yet, but you’re allowed. You’re allowed to talk as much as you want here. And- and you can get your own water, and your own food- ah. I’m getting ahead of myself, I think. The point I’m trying to make is that it’s okay, and you can talk to me. If I scared you, or upset you, you can tell me that. And if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll do my best to make it better.”

As Rowan rambled on, self-conscious of the words spilling out of his mouth, he forced himself to look down at the boy kneeling before him. This was no way to talk to a victim like this, was it? Rowan was still towering above him, voice booming downwards, the power imbalance as visual as it was ingrained in the boy’s blood.

So, after another moment, Rowan sat.

He lowered himself to the floor in front of the boy and sat down, crossing his legs like he was a child again. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as he realized how much flexibility he’d lost, knees straining and thighs tugging, as he finally got his ankles close to one another.

The boy perked up immediately, looking through his hanging curls in Rowan’s direction with those bright doe-eyes that Rowan had only seen a glimpse of once so far. Rowan smiled in spite of himself.

“Hey, is this better for you? I think it’s better, at least for right now, if you don’t want to stand up yet. This will let us talk to each other like equals, yeah? We are, you know. Even if you don’t believe it yet. So, I’ll say it again, and maybe you can think about it some more. I’m sorry for yelling at you, and yelling was wrong of me. I never should have raised my voice. I wasn’t mad at you, I was just surprised, because I don’t want to do those sorts of things to you. I’m here to help you, not hurt you, especially not like that. I promise that you’re safe, and no harm is going to come to you here.”

It wasn’t much, but it was something. As Rowan spoke the boy’s weight shifted slightly forward, so slight that Rowan almost missed it entirely, and his eyes flitted from his knees towards Rowan’s face. He never quite made eye contact, still hidden behind the curtain of hair, but it was closer than Rowan had been able to achieve from a standing position.

This was what had stood out to Rowan on the sales floor of the liquidation event. The boy seemed distant, but he was far from catatonic like some of the victims that were more difficult to rescue. There was a spark, an attentiveness, a willingness to listen and to obey. It was a flame that yearned for the chance to survive.

Rowan just had to figure out how to nurture that flame and reach through the glass between himself and the boy. They would have to break that barrier down if they were going to move towards healing.

“Yeah, we’re just having a conversation right now, that’s all.” He wasn’t sure how effective his soothing would be so soon after his yelling, but Rowan knew he had to try. “If you want to talk about how you’re feeling, you can do that, talk to me all you want. You can also just tell me to leave if you’d rather be alone right now.”

Nothing, still nothing.

“Can you nod for me if you want to be alone?” He asked, hoping to see some movement. Nothing. “Can you shake your head if you want me to stay?” Nothing again. 

A thought struck Rowan as he saw the boy’s eyes peek up again, still hunting, almost fixated on his lips. He tried again once he saw the boy look upwards.

“Can you nod your head for me?”

And just like that, the boy’s head moved slightly, once up, once down. It was short, but unmistakably the very nod that Rowan’s question had evoked. And once the nod had finished, the boy looked back down at the floor.

“Can you nod again?” He asked once more as soon as he was certain the boy was no longer looking.

No movement.

“Oh my god,” Rowan whispered out loud as realization flashed through him, and he clambered to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself as he did so, staggering to a standing position and darting behind the boy, back over to the far corner of the room, directly behind his ward. The boy was still kneeling, unmoving, his eyes were still pointed towards the door. Importantly, he was unable to see Rowan’s face even if he raised his eyes.  

Rowan snapped his fingers, a few times on his right, a few times on his left. No reaction. Then, after a pause to suppress the oncoming wave of guilt, he clapped his hands together with considerable force. The sound was sharp enough to echo throughout the small room.

This evoked a reaction. It was subtle, but he saw the boy’s shoulders twitch in some sort of anticipation. A fear response, automatic, but a response nonetheless.

“Holy shit,” Rowan muttered to himself, a hand running through his hair almost of its own accord. His epiphany was looking more and more like a plausible possibility.

“Hey, turn around,” he instructed. He made sure not to raise his voice, keeping it as neutral as possible, but still issuing the command with certainty. Again, no movement. He tried again, same tone, conversational volume. “Turn around, right now. Turn around and look at me.”

Nothing.

After a deep breath, and a final reminder that he was doing this for the boy’s own good, Rowan shouted.

“Turn around!”

And just like that the boy moved, turning on his knees in a swift, fluid motion. A blink later and he was kneeling in that same position, but this time pointed towards where Rowan stood at the back of the room.

A nervous chuckle slipped out before Rowan could swallow it. All of that pain, all of that suffering, the threat of death on the sales floor, it had all been under the guise of disobedience. Rowan was now certain it was anything but.

“Jesus Christ, kid, you’re not disobedient. You just can’t fucking hear me.”

There was a euphoria he couldn’t describe blossoming in his chest. This rescue wasn’t a hopeless mistake that he had made, this victim wasn’t beyond recovery or redemption. He simply couldn’t hear the very words that Rowan was speaking to him, commands or otherwise.

It was Rowan’s turn to drop to his knees, aging bones hitting the wood as he fell a mere foot from where the boy had stationed himself.

“It’s okay!” Rowan all but shouted, the boy’s flinch lost to the excitement. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s all okay.” His voice was as loud as he could make it without screaming.

“You’re safe. You’re safe now. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re home, you’re safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

A/N: Cheers to the rewrite for a chance to make it clear that Rowan's not an idiot, he's just out of his depth. That was one of the driving factors for the rewrite, actually. Sorry for those that hoped there'd be a few more chapters of misunderstanding and obliviousness from our well-meaning caretaker - it's important to me that Rowan is capable and aware of himself in this story, particularly given his role in other liberation efforts. But there will absolutely be other barriers to communication and understanding between the two, I can promise that much!

Taglist:

@honey-is-messi @octopus-reactivated @maracujatangerine @squishablesunbeam @tragedyinblue

@clairelsonao3 @den-of-evil @cepheusgalaxy @aswallowimprisoned @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@honeycollectswhump @rekiroyalstraightprincemaru @whumpzone @peachy-panic @whumplr-reader

@dislexiher @cc1010foxy @onlybadendings @panstardalia @tempoghast

@dokidokisadness @anonfromcanada @starfields08000 @bloodredfountainpen @pumpkin-spice-whump

@maenr @whump-enthousiast @taterswhump @whump-me-harder

[fandombingo]

Fandom Bingo: Valentine Trope Flash

The Fandom Bingo blog has reached 200 followers! And since Valentine's Day happens to be coming up, we're celebrating with a Valentine Trope Flash.

Like last time, this will be a quick flash event, with a 3x3 bingo format and a focus on love/relationship prompts.

This event is multifandom, so you can write for any fandom you want.

**Signups are open for one week, so this form will close on February 17th, 2025.**

General Rules:

You can interpret the prompts any way you want. If you think it fits, then it fits. All prompts can just be used as inspiration or a general fit, no need to actually include them word for word in the fanwork, and tenses and pronouns can be swapped accordingly.

You can write for any fandom you want, including crossovers and original works.

You can combine multiple prompts in one fanwork.

Each submitted fanwork should be new and complete, but it can be a standalone, part of a series, or one chapter of a multi-chaptered fic.

This event is primarily geared towards fanfic, but any medium is fine if you feel you can do it.

For fanfic, the minimum is 100 words with no maximum.

You can use fanworks submitted for this event for other events as well, so long as it’s okay with the other side too.

While signups are only open for a week, there is no time limit for completing a card.

There will be a total of 9 prompts on each card, and everyone can sign up for a maximum of FOUR cards (only one signup necessary).

All content and ratings are allowed but please tag everything appropriately, especially if there’s trigger-warning content.

Please be respectful of each other. If you see content tags you don’t like, just scroll past and move on.

All works must be your own creation. No plagiarism. No AI-generated works.

To Finish a Card:

There's no real requirements for this. Just cross off as many prompts as you can.

There is no completion form for this event, but if you make a masterpost after you finish and ping @fandombingo, I'll reblog that.

When Posting:

You can post your fanworks to this AO3 collection here.

If you make a Tumblr post for your fanwork, remember to ping @fandombingo and tag #ValentineTropeFlash so I can reblog it.

On your post, please clearly indicate the Fandom, Prompt(s), Rating, and Tag(s)/Content Warning(s).

If you have any other questions, don't hesitate to send in an ask!

@thebigbangblogproject

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hi ! I hope I'm not bothering you. I tried looking through your blog and I didn't find an answer to this question, though I'm à bit new to Tumblr so I hope I didn't just miss it! But I was wondering if you had a headcanon/idea on Harry's reaction if he were to meet his parents/Sirius back in time. You know, like these stories where he is sent back after the war/when he dies and wake up in the 70s/80s ? (Also, your blog is just sooo interesting! I love your ideas)

Hello 👋

And no, i dont think i talked about this before.

Like, this is fic territory, so you can go a lot of ways with this, honestly. It also highly depends on when in the 70s/80s he goes back to. Like, is James still the bully from SWM? Are we going for later in the period toward his death and are generous in his character interpretation? Is the war raging full force already, or is it the first years when no one really knows what it's going to become yet? Is Lily still friends with Snape? After or before Sirius ran away from home?

There are just a lot of details regarding the exact point in the timeline we chose that can really affect Harry's reaction. Similarly, when Harry goes back in time, it can be just as important. During OotP, Harry stops idolizing his father as much, so it would definitely affect how he sees him. Also, if say, it's a Harry in early PoA who goes back in time, he'd be sympathetic to Peter and think Sirius is the traitor. After GoF, I think Harry would react really badly to Peter, etc.

But we're talking post-war Harry (as you mentioned), who, let's say, meets his parents and Sirius at the same age he is, so all of them are recent Hogwarts graduates and full-time Order members who live on James' money in his house. Peter and Remus are also part of the Order, but not living with the Potters and Sirius trio.

I mentioned in the past I think Harry looks like a decent mix of his parents, but the combination of his hair + glasses makes everyone see him more as James. Point is, he looks very obviously like James and Lily's kid. And James, Lily, and Sirius aren't stupid. They're gonna be able to tell it's weird. Especially if Harry appears out of nowhere in front of them.

Honestly, I think Harry would cry a little seeing them alive and well. Post-war Harry would have some concerns about messing with time, but then he'd look at them again and go "to hell with it" and warn them about everything, I think. Like, I think he would just tell them. Especially if it's not post-war Harry, but one at the moment of his death. If he just appears next to a living James, Lily, and Sirius I think he'd have a little breakdown.

I mean, he is tired. He is traumatized, in pain, he just got the courage to walk to his death to save everyone, and here are the people who should've been there to protect him and make sure none of it would happen. The people who died so he wouldn't, and then he had to die anyway.

Like, that's gonna be emotional. It's gonna be painful and joyous. I think he'd think he's dead at first, that this is the afterlife, but when none of them really knows him or what's going on, that would be a pretty big clue he traveled in time (unless he knew he was traveling in time, of course, but that really depends on the fic).

Now, this Harry knows about the Horcruxes, and he knows exactly where all of them are. He's gonna speed run this killing Voldemort business, that would be like, a high priority of his. But I think he'd hesitate about walking to his death again after getting to know his parents and Sirius. At the same time, he'd wonder if he does it, if he dies again, he would return to his own time and Ron and Hermione. Becouse he loves his parents and Sirius, but he also loves his friends from his own time he left behind. The living ones who might now have a better life for what he changed in the past.

Basically, plenty of space for this sort of angst if you want it.

I think he'd end up really weirded out by James, in a way. Becouse, while James would treat him like family (therefore great, James was clearly loyal and treated the people he cared about really well), he would probably not act how Harry always imagined him to. Not that they wouldn't get along, but I feel like they'd have more tension in their dynamic. Becouse Harry knows about the bullying that he even lied to Lily about, but he also just really wants to love his dad. I think, if James really did grow up and become a little less arrogant with war and loss, they would get along better. I think though, even with a younger James, Harry would find him funny when he isn't being too obnoxious.

Lily would also not be who Harry imagined her as, not exactly, but I think they'd get along great. I think they just operate on a similar wavelength and have a similar sense of humor. Harry’s definitely gonna ask her about Snape, too (because he saw his memories already), and I think Lily would really not know what to think of Snape with what Harry tells her (though, you know Harry's gonna sugarcoat it becouse it's his mom and he doesn't want her to be upset).

And I low-key think a time-traveling Harry who meets a 19-year-old (he was born in 1979, he's a November baby) Sirius would have a little crush on Sirius. Like, the fic doesn't have to go that way, but Harry is likley going to be waxing poetic about Sirius Black’s haughty looks, silver eyes, and elegant black hair throughout the whole story becouse that's just realistic and how Harry is.

Sirius is also the one in this group Harry is closest to (yes, he knows Remus, but he wasn't as close to him as to Sirius, and if Harry met 18-year-old Peter he just might kill him on impulse or ensure he can't betray them again some other way). So Harry would probably still feel closest to him. I also think he misses him the most. I mean, he missed James and Lily all his life, he never really knew them — missing the concept of them is par for the course for him. Sirius and Remus, on the other hand, these griefs are new and so much more painful.

Personally, I like sending Harry back when the Mauraders (and him) are still at school. For more tension with James and so he wouldn't have the solution for the war already in his hands. Also, it could be really fun if he goes back in HBP, so it's after Sirius dies and after SWM. Also, he'd get to meet Snape (the prince) as he writes in the potions book and have a little breakdown over that too, so like, that could be fun.

It's not the most organized, becouse you can take this premise in many ways, but these are some of my thoughts. Obviously, Harry's reactions really depend on the exact circumstances and what kind of story you want to write.

[breathinginsulfur]

(Opinion) stolas hate is based on fandom misinterpretations and not the actual show because when the fuck does he act like a “baby”??

Stolas is probably the most over-hated character in all of helluva boss. And some of the downright incorrect statements i’ve seen about stolitz drive me insane

Despite his childhood abuse, neglect and forced marriage, stolas has always been privileged. He’s set for life with wealth, has butlers and staff who feed him and care for him, and can freely travel through the human realm with no legal issues. Obviously, he’s going to have a skewed perspective on life.

Because of his forced marriage and parental neglect, stolas has never really known what love is meant to be. His father didn’t know his name because he’s a king who has a shit ton of children. Stella never loved him, and he never loved stella. They were only married to have an heir. Stolas has an over-dramatized and romanticized interpretation of love, which i think is where the ‘baby’ misinterpretation roots from. Blitzo didn’t want to fuck him, all he wanted was the grimoire. But stolas didn’t realize this and genuinely believed that his first ever friend was the one who wanted him the most. Can you see how this would fuel his romantic dreams further?

Stolas, to me, was always in love with blitzo. And (hot take incoming) did not look down on him. “But charlie, what about when he said ___?” We can go through all the quotes that supposedly look down on blitzo and i can give my reasoning as to why i dont think he sees him as lesser. Stolas has grown up with imps his whole life (butlers), and it can be argued that these staff had a closer connection to him than his own family. He’s taught to view imps as lesser, as in the hierarchy they literally are, but stolas has no issue with interacting with imps and, of course, letting an imp have intercourse with him. If stolas truly looked down on imps the way people act like he does, he’d interact with blitzo in a COMPLETELY different way. As in, he wouldn’t even treat blitzo like a human. Stolas loves blitzo so much he want to be his partner.

I will say, Hierarchy is a major theme in helluva boss with several callouts to how the ones who are higher up mistreat the lower class. Just look at mastermind. Satan doesn’t let blitzo speak. But andrealphus is allowed to talk as long as he wants. Blitzo would’ve been killed for using the grimoire, but stolas just gets a punishment. Because verbatim “your life has actual value!” It’s such an interesting theme that does not nearly get as much praise as it deserves

Another huge misinterpretation with helluva boss i see is that people think the show is trying to normalize cheating. And i’ll be honest, i can kind of see how this misinterpretation happens. As much as i adore this show, there are some writing flaws.

In my opinion, helluva boss is not trying to encourage cheating on your partners. It’s trying to show you that it’s okay to leave your abusive relationships to better your life. I may talk about this a different time because this post is mainly about stolas but god i love analyzing this show so much i just go on so many tangents.

Of course, stolas’ love for blitzo pisses of Stella. Not because stella actually loves stolas, but because she is proud to be a goetia and wants to uphold her royal, priviliged status and sees stolas as an insult to the goetic line. Her and Andrealphus’s motivation is to uphold goetia standards no matter how corrupt they truly are. They’re rich people. THEY are the ones who see imps as lesser.

THERE IS SO MUCH MORE I CAN GO INTO. How this affects Octavia and why she is justifiably upset at stolas, blitzo’s perspective, themes of the show, etc. if you wanna see my takes on these things LMK!!! I love this show dearly

If you want to counter my interpretation you’re welcome to do so, however please only do it if you’re wanting to do an actual discussion and not just trying to be rude. Some of y’all are so fucking rude to the people who like the show it’s crazy. Just be respectful and i’ll talk to you.

[butch-bakugo]

I mean we all know doey is canonically a system, a did one at that, maybe osdd, but I really don't know if I, as a did system, can say if he is explicitly bad system rep.

Spoilers for Poppy's playtime chapter 4, Danganronpa 1 and the movie split.

Like i can point to a number of representations in media that are bad. Toko from Danganronpa has a homicidal alter. The monster from split. Split at least showed some of the more realistic representation via showing a little and protector and other alters but lost any good faith interpretation when it spread myths about blind bodies gaining sight from sighted alters and the whole .. the monster thing. Hell I can point to a few ambiguous representations that border good and bad like Sunnydrop and moondrop from Fnaf.

But doey is different. Doey is the enigma, litterally. His systemhood isn't explicitly demonized and his alters arnt the reason he attacks you. Even, Kevin, the "bad alter" dosent cause it. Sure his "bad alter" or the more aggressive one who doesn't listen to authority and throws tantrums has a short fuse but the reason he attacks in the end is because your actions killed the people he wanted to protect and didnt even achieve their goal. To an extent, he's justified.

He's more accurate and harsh system rep in the form of the fact most persecutory alters are meant to be or trying to be protectors in their own special ways. Its his voice, not Mathew's or Jack's, that repeats their mantra and warning, that people who speak gently to them often hurt them. Its a defense mechanism. Mathew and Kevin are both orphans in a facility that experiments on children who got sent there either due to having no where to go or being the children of employees who met similar fates. It wouldn't be a stretch to say Kevin was a victim of our broken foster/adoption system, one wrought with physical, verbal, emotional and sexual violence.

Jack is confused, Mathew is trying to hold things together peacefully and Kevin is just trying to keep everyone safe, including themselves. I don't know if I can see doey, even if he turns into a scary monster who tries to kill you in the end, as bad system representation. Because he's justified. You just litterally blew up the one thing he feels he can do right and feels like he can do to redeem himself. He's justified in attacking you. The visual of three people being trapped in the head of a body just trying to get out as they rip at the seems was viseral as a system. When I imagine my alters within my body, especially to defend it, it's similar. Like your head splitting at the seems like that girl from late night with devil and all these people coming out.

I don't think doey is the most sanitized, clear and easy to digest system representation possible. I know some touchy just-realized-they-were systems in teen bodies and "endogenics" who have no business in this space are gonna cry from the roof tops with zero nuance that because he becomes a monster at the end and dies a sad death, he's bad rep. No if, ands or buts. We aren't talking about a well thought out, barely visible background character in some grifter qUeEr Netflix slop that's all fluff and no hard candy.

But. For what he is, it's... Good? Not great. Not the best *tm. But certainly way above the worst. Way above bad. Although I could argue it could be better and your fair to be on the fence, I think he is. I think he's good rep. He's raw. He's real. He's clear and he's justified. Although we could make arguments day and night about wether or not the team at Poppy's playtime intended for doey to be system representation or not, I think it's pretty clear he was and for being made by a group of people without a (outwardly) system amongst them, it's good rep. He's ok.

I think we finally have one. One who shows it's not a death sentence even if he dies at the end and shows it doesn't make you a monster even if he becomes one. He's no bigger, scarier or more ruthless than any other experiment, not by a long shot and I think that's good. I wish he survived, I wish he didnt turn into a monster. I wish he would of simply escaped but I think he's ok. I see the representation and I raise you, maybe let the next one live to the end but keep up the good work? Its clear from the outside you tried and did a fairly good job. We need more casual rep.

*edit: didn't know the persecutory alter had a name, fixed wording.