#despite this just being really low effort I actually love how it looks

[adventure-of-a-lifetime-official]

BENDER JUMPSCARE

also big news I’ve started scripting the first chapter of the comic woop woop

[not-neverland06]

I don't know why I bite

Logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: Had Mitski’s ‘I Bet on Losing Dogs’ on a loop while writing this, now I’m sad Inspired by the isle of dogs quote “I’m not a violent dog, I don’t know why I bite” BECAUSE OUCH (they’re both toxic, fair warning) bittersweet ending Summary: You've tried for so long to get Logan to accept you the way he does the others. You want so desperately to be someone who means something to him. But he doesn't want you, maybe he never has. And you both seem to be stuck in this loop of hurting each other.

You’re stability, security, but you’re never comfort. Try as you might, you just can’t get Logan to accept you. You want to. So desperately, you want to be something good for him. But he hates you, or at the very least, he can’t stand you. 

You don’t know what it is about Jean that he craves, but you wish you could replicate it. You’re not your friend, though, you never will be. And it’s pathetic, trying to change yourself to make someone else happy. You’ve never done that before. Yet, there is something about Logan that you want so desperately to help. 

You clean his wounds, metaphorically because he’s never once needed anyone for that. You lift him up after a rough mission and you remind him that the team does need him. They do love him. They want him in that uniform beside them, even Scott. 

You have your suspicions that he doesn’t appreciate your efforts. He’s never outright said anything to you. But you can tell the novelty of your kindness is wearing off. He used to brush your efforts off with a simple look. 

But he’s begun to be mean, saying these little things that you can never completely call out. A lot of what he says is based in truth. “Do you ever stop talking?” No, you don’t. You like talking with your friends, like sharing stories, and laughing together. 

“Has anyone ever told you to fuck off?” Yes, and it hurt. And it continues to hurt. “Why don’t you just shut up for once?” You can’t. You can’t because if you stop talking, if you stop distracting yourself then you’ll actually feel everything. You can’t stop talking, you can’t stop taking care of others because you cannot take care of yourself. You’re incapable of it. 

You can’t say that he’s being rude or mean. He’s just being blunt, and gruff, that’s just how he is. That’s what everyone tells you. They tell you to just ignore when he’s being a dick because he doesn’t really mean it. That’s just what he does because he doesn’t know any other way. 

You shouldn’t have listened. You shouldn’t have placed so much faith in others. You should have just left him alone. Maybe then he wouldn’t have snapped, wouldn’t have said such cruel things to you. 

It broke you a little inside. Hearing what he really thought of you. Despite it all, despite the cruel words and harsh attitude, you had hope. You thought they were all right, that he just needed to warm up to you. And you so desperately just wanted to be something for him to lean on because you’ve never had that before and you know what it feels like to be so lonely. 

“Hey, Logan.” You step into the kitchen, rooting around in the fridge for something to snack on. “Weren’t there apples in here?” You’re talking aloud, but it’s meant for yourself. 

It’s that moment that it all finally comes crashing down. This pathetic illusion that he wants anything to do with you or your friendship. It almost makes you laugh, that this mundane moment is when you feel your heart shatter in your chest. When you get so sick to your stomach your bones ache and your limbs tingle with this odd phantom pain. 

“Could you just shut up?” his voice is low as he leans over the counter. His fingers spin idly around the neck of a beer bottle. You wonder how he managed to sneak it in here, Charles has banned alcohol. You watch the condensation collect on the cracks of his palm and shrug the pain off. 

You’re used to this. This is normal. “Right,” you squeeze past him and look in the pantry. “Sorry,” you whisper, if you speak any louder your voice will crack and that will just make everything worse. 

“You’re just always around, aren’t you?” You glance over your shoulder at him but you don’t respond. Deny it as much as he wants, you have gotten to know him. You recognize the tells. 

He’s had a bad day, he needs a way to get it out of his system. You just happened to walk into the kitchen at the wrong time. It could be anyone he snaps at, but today it’s you. Which seems to be happening more often. 

You do what you did when you were a kid, eyes forward, face flat. You keep yourself neutral, let yourself sink into that apathetic place so whatever he yells at you doesn’t hurt. “You tiptoe around me, act like I’m this wounded stray you need to fix.” 

Your brows pinch in confusion and you shake your head. Second mistake. You shouldn’t have walked into the kitchen in the first place. And you definitely shouldn’t have argued. “No, Logan, that’s not true-”

Although, maybe he has a point. You can’t fix yourself so you try and fix him. 

“I don’t know why they keep you around. You contribute nothing, you do nothing for any of us. We can’t even take you out on the field,” his voice begins to raise and you find yourself backing into the cabinets, hating the way this is beginning to make you feel. “You’re so fucking sensitive we can’t trust that you won’t just kill us all if something goes wrong! You don’t deserve a spot on this team!”

You jump back as he shouts at you, hip jamming into the corner of the island so hard you have to bite your lip so you don’t make a noise. Spit flies from the corners of his mouth, the ferocity of his voice and words are that strong. 

You take in a few quick breaths, blinking the sting out of your eyes and focusing on the wall behind him. “Get it through your thick fuckin’ skull,” he warns, his voice quieter now. “I don’t want you around. Leave me alone.”

You don’t cry, you can’t cry. You don’t speak because you’re afraid of what other cruelties that might provoke. Maybe you would understand all this if you’d been bugging him when he’d already made it clear he needed space. All you wanted was a fucking apple. 

You don’t feel much of anything as you slowly nod your head, not agreeing but appeasing. He watches you with something like surprise on his face. You don’t know that he’s wondering why you’re not saying anything back. 

It’s why he yells at you when he doesn’t know what to do. You can take it, you can put him in his place. But you’re not speaking and he doesn’t know why this time is so different. 

Finally, you turn on your heel and leave, footsteps soft as you retreat back to your room. Logan watches you go with an odd twisting feeling in his stomach. He didn’t think you could be pushed too far. You seem to always just have this endless patience. 

You treat him gently, even when the others get sick of the way he processes things. Today was hard, you just happened to be nearby. He didn’t mean half of what he said. He doesn’t know why he lashes out the way he does, he just doesn’t know what else to do. 

He doesn’t like it, contrary to what the others think. He doesn’t like hurting you or being mean to you. He doesn’t know what it is about you that provokes this side of him that no one else does. Maybe it’s because he’s afraid. He can’t say what he’s afraid of, he’s never been able to admit it to himself. 

He’s yelled at you plenty of times before. You don’t know what it is about that one day that was so different. Normally, it doesn’t bother you. You’ll set him straight or give him space. But today, it was needless. You weren’t doing anything. 

You didn’t deserve to be lashed out like that, cornered and scared in the place you call home. 

It was unprovoked and maybe it finally made you see him for what he really is. A bully. It doesn’t make sense, how he can be so kind and caring to Marie. How he can help Jean and Ororo so sweetly, but can’t muster one kind fucking word for you. 

You don’t let yourself cry, even though you want to. Even though there’s a cloying, suffocating feeling clawing its way up the back of your throat. His room is on the same hall as yours and you don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he made you cry. 

You, at the very least, finally stop asking yourself what you did wrong. Instead, you start to wonder what’s wrong with him. You get sick to your stomach, thinking about all the ways you cared for him. Remembering how much of yourself you gave up to make him happy. 

He was right about that, you are pathetic. He never deserved your help or your patience. You should never have offered him any grace. You’re embarrassed that you didn’t see it sooner. This isn’t a little boy pulling your pigtails because he likes you. This is a grown man who can’t regulate his emotions and decided you were the next best punching bag. 

You take in a few deep, shaky breaths and close your eyes until you’re forced to fall asleep. You don’t want to think or feel any of what just happened.

Logan hovers in front of your doorway for ten minutes before he heads downstairs. He’s got a class to run, he doesn’t have time to wait for you to wake up, he reasons. He’ll find you later and apologize then. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize he had gone too far yesterday. Even if you could take his usual level of dickishness, you didn’t deserve it. He just didn’t know what to do around you. You made him confront so many different conflicting emotions. It’s like every time he looks at you his brain is being ripped in twenty different directions and he doesn’t know what to do. 

You’re so endlessly patient and gracious. It makes him realize he wants to be a better man and he can’t be. He resents you slightly for that. For having such a wonderful idea of what he could be, even though he knows he can never be that man.  

He doesn’t find you that day. He makes up enough excuses that he goes to bed promising himself he’ll apologize tomorrow. Which he never does. Because actually saying it would be an admittance that he knows what he did was wrong. And what does that make every other time he’s yelled at you? What does that make him?

It returns to the same cycle it always does. He waits a few days until things are cooled down and you’ll have already forgotten about it. He starts to feel overwhelmed and he goes to find you because you always know what to do. And if you don’t, then you provide an outlet. 

He spots the back of your head in the gardens. You’re with Jean and he expects the usual dirty look she gives him after you’ve both fought. Instead, she smiles warmly at him and waves. Which is odd, usually you tell her about what’s happened between the two of you and she holds the grudge longer than you do. 

You glance over your shoulder, a small smile on your lips, to see who she’s waving at. Logan sees the way it falls when you see him and his steps falter. You never do that, you always look so happy to see him. 

“Jean,” he greets curtly, eyes on you. 

She says hello and they both look to you. Normally, you would have already spoken. But you don’t, you turn your eyes to the kids. Jean frowns and turns back to him, “Everything alright, Logan?” 

He can’t take his eyes off of you. You read his moods, and know them better than he does. You should have already offered to talk. Maybe he really does need to apologize. The thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

He says your name and your brows just barely raise in question, though you couldn’t seem less interested. “Need to talk to you.”

You shrug, “Sorry, can’t. I’ve got a meeting to get to.” You brush past him and walk back into the mansion. He and Jean both watch you go, each of them shocked by how dismissive you were. That’s never happened before. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean demands, the smile gone from her face and her tone deadly. She glares at him, clearly expecting an answer. But he doesn’t have one. Because this is something he’s done a million times and this has never happened. He doesn’t know what’s gone wrong. 

He thought your absence would be a relief. After a few more days he begins to realize that he was wrong. He thought that not having someone constantly badgering him to be better and set good examples for the kids would be a relief. 

There’s no one nagging him. No one forcibly checking on him after a mission when he doesn’t need it. No one to care. 

There are chunks of his day that you would normally fill that now seem to drag on. Lunches are quiet without you constantly rambling about nothing in his ear. When there’s friction among the team and they’re ganging up on him, you remain silent. He supposes he should be grateful. 

You finally listened to him for once. But he’s angry. He always seems to be angry and he doesn’t understand why. There is so much of his mind and life that was stolen from him. He wonders if he got any of it back if it would explain why he is the way he is. 

It doesn’t matter because it wouldn’t fix what he can’t undo. He sees you with the others constantly. You’re always laughing, always happy. Like nothing’s happened. Like you haven’t cut him out of your life completely. And then, when you’re around him, it’s like a switch is flipped. 

You’re irritatingly silent. Practically a brick wall. He pokes and he prods, using every weapon in his arsenal to try and provoke a reaction from you. But you give him nothing. 

There is an ache in his chest when he sees the way your smile drops when he walks into a room. He doesn’t understand the feeling. This is exactly what he wanted. To be left alone. 

It feels so wrong. 

It happens in the kitchen again. Odd, that that’s become such an important place to you. 

Your back is to the entrance and you’re busy slicing up some fruit for yourself. You don’t hear him come in. Not until he speaks. “I’m-” you jump at the sound of his voice. Whirling around with a shocked look on your face. 

He chuckles a little at the reaction but when you don’t smile he stops. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out. It sounds semi genuine. But it also sounds like it hurt him to say. “I’m sorry, so can you please just stop ignoring me?”

You shrug and go back to cutting up the fruit. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“No?” He demands. “Then why don’t you talk to me? Why don’t we eat lunch together anymore? You can’t even fucking look at me.”

You slam the knife down on the cutting board, taking in a deep breath so you don’t do something you regret. Your nails dig into your palms, trying to center yourself. “I’m doing exactly what you wanted,” you utter, voice low. 

You turn just enough to make eye contact. “I’m leaving you the fuck alone. That’s what you wanted right? I don’t think I could have misheard while you were screaming it at me.” You turn to leave, abandoning your fruit because you don’t have an appetite anymore. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispers before you can make it out of the kitchen. “I,” he stops and starts again, “I miss you. I’m not a mean person, I don’t know why I hurt you.”

You stare at him, face unflinching. You give him nothing and he knows it's what he deserves. “I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I’m not asking for it-”

“Good,” you cut him off with a disgusted sneer. “Because I’m not looking to hand it out. Especially not to you. You only want me because you miss what I do for you. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. You don’t deserve me.” You turn on your heel and walk away from him, unwilling to entertain any more conversation. 

This is what you’ve always done. When someone hurts you, really irrevocably hurts you, they’re gone. They’re gone from your life. From your mind. More importantly, your heart. You don’t have any obligations to entertain him or speak with him outside of professionalism. 

You thought cutting him out of your life would hurt more. But it’s like you can breathe for the first time in months. You’re no longer striving to gain someone’s approval. You’re not chasing after something you’ll never catch. 

You can find happiness within yourself. Begin to do the things you would do for him, for you. It’s a relief. And a little sobering. Perhaps, in your mission to help him, you’d burdened him with the desires you had for yourself. 

You believe that you’re unfixable. You believe there are facets of yourself that are too dark to face. That you are undeserving of love and kindness. You recognized those things in Logan and tried to force on him what you’ve always wanted for yourself. 

It was wrong. A mutually toxic relationship that never would have made it far had anything actually happened between you two. You can’t paint yourself the victim and you never meant to. It’s why you didn’t tell anyone what happened between the two of you. 

They wonder, of course, why you no longer spend lunches together. Why you no longer rush to defend him when he doesn’t need the help. Why you don’t smile around him anymore. There are questions that you deflect. Saying, you just needed space from each other. 

Your harm was a silent one. Forcing him into a mold he was never going to fit in. Despite the claims of loneliness, you can see the way your absence benefits him. He’s calmer, less likely to yell when provoked. He just needed the space to find himself. Not to have someone try and make him something new. 

You feel an ache in your chest when you think about how differently things could have been had you just let him be. If you had let things happen between the two of you naturally then maybe you really could have been something great. 

A month goes by without speaking to each other. After that day in the kitchen, he seems to understand that there’s no putting back together what was broken. It was already cracked to start with, the break was inevitable. 

You warm slowly to him. Give him polite greetings when you see him. And he smiles at you sometimes, on the jet when Scott says something ridiculous, or just in passing. It’s nice, being a stranger to him. It’s comforting. 

“We need to stop meeting like this.”

You look up from the paperwork in front of you and give Logan a small smile. He’s hovering in the entrance to the kitchen and you know he’s waiting for your permission. “Hi,” you say softly.

He takes that as the go-ahead and walks in, heading for the fridge. You listen to him rummage around before he pulls out a beer. “Where do you hide those things?” You ask, and you almost bite your tongue. This is the most you’ve spoken to each other in a long time. It feels wrong to joke so easily. 

“Can’t tell you or Wheels is gonna stop me,” he grumbles. You just nod and turn your head back to your paperwork. It’s silent for a few minutes after that. He sits a little further down the island, nursing the beer while your pen scratches across the reports your students gave you. 

He clears his throat and you glance over at him from the corner of your eye. “I,” he starts but quickly closes his mouth. “Ah, forget it.”

Your brows pinch in confusion but you decide to leave it. You oddly don’t feel scared or anxious. You don’t worry that he’s going to snap at you if you provoke him. You choose not to because you’re not interested in engaging. 

You don’t really recognize the man before you. Maybe it’s because you never tried to get to know him before you tried changing him. It causes that familiar clenching feeling of guilt in your gut. 

You know if you gave him a chance things would be different. You could be friends, real friends. There’s a reason you latched so readily onto him. There’s a familiar pain in him that’s reflected back in you. 

You stand up, shuffling the papers into a neat stack and pushing your stool in. Logan straightens up as he watches you wash off your dishes and collect your items. Before you can make it out of the kitchen he’s standing from his chair. 

He stops in front of you, hand outstretched before him. “Logan,” he greets. 

You tilt your head in confusion, glancing between him and his hand before it finally clicks what he’s trying to do. Start over, reintroduce yourselves. Actually give each other chances to understand the other. 

This all started because you shared the same pain and you resented each other for it. But you could comfort each other instead. Be pillars of stability and strength in each other’s lives instead of trying to tear the other down so you don’t see yourself in them anymore. 

You were both too afraid to face who you truly are and it nearly destroyed you. But this is a stranger in front of you. You don’t know this man, but you think you’d like to. You give him your name and shake his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you,” you whisper, a slight joke to your tone. 

He holds on for a second longer than he should, the breath rushing out of him like he hadn’t thought you would accept. You smile softly at him before you pass by to go upstairs. His hand lingers on your, skin tingling under your touch until you can no longer hold on. 

You don’t know what it means for you, this odd new truce between the two of you. But you won’t linger on that tonight. You’ll go to bed feeling comforted that for the first time since you’ve met him, Logan has made you happy. 

a/n: felt more like a diary entry than a fic, sorry lol

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always ♡

[hcneymooners]

౨ৎ kiss me, and you will see how important i am.

ex-wives!pazzi au. men and minors dni.

synopsis: nothing brings together two people like their child's birthday party and the subsequent emotional breakdown.

cw: angst, emotional hurt/comfort, happy ending though open, mentions of infidelity (assumed, but nothing occurred), i would say p is slightly toxic but i really think it's just two adults being complex human beings and making mistakes.

notes: you all were so lovely and kind to me following my pazzi debut. i wanted to post this because i've been sitting on it for a while. i love people who still love each other despite the distance. i hope you enjoy. as always feel free to come into my inbox. i love speaking to you. love you.

“have you not told your mother that we’re separated?”

paige looks up to find her ex-wife standing above her, staring her down in all of her quiet, effortless radiance. azzi looks like the american dream: sun-bronzed and golden, long-legged, with perfect, plump, dark pink lips. she’s wrapped in a mid-thigh dress the color of a late spring bloom—pale lilac, delicate but striking. the fabric spirals down the curves of her waist and hips, cinched in places by thin rings of fringe that sway as she shifts her weight. her curls are slicked back into a bun that blooms at the crown of her head, petals of hair shaped to align with the spring showers theme of the party.

paige hums low in her throat, fingers brushing the hem of azzi’s dress. “you look good, ma.”

azzi swats her hand away without hesitation, leveling her with a look—sharp, unimpressed. paige bites back a grin.

“thought of me when you got dressed?”

azzi’s brow furrows until realization flickers across her face. the purple. paige’s color. her lips part on a scoff, irritation slipping through in a low noise before she schools her features into a tight smile.

“no, i was not. i wasn’t thinking of you at all, actually," she says, her voice light, deceptively sweet. "not until your charming mother came up to me and said she was so glad to see me. oh, but that’s not all.”

paige arches a brow, intrigued, and reaches out to pull azzi closer by the waist, nudging her forward. “no?”

“no.” azzi lets out a breath, clutching the large present perched along her hip. the wrapping paper is a particular shade of green, the birthday girl’s favorite. “then she tells me she understands my brand partnerships have been monopolizing my time, which is why she hasn’t seen me with you in quite some time.”

paige leans back against her seat, stretching her legs out lazily. “i’m not seeing the problem, az.”

azzi stiffens. “you’re not—!” she cuts herself off, inhaling sharply through her nose, shoulders rising and falling as she tries to steady herself. “do you not understand how that makes me look?”

“like a busy wife?” paige quips, knowing full well she’s fanning the flames.

azzi’s eyes flash, but her voice is measured when she speaks again. “like a neglectful mother.”

that sobers paige instantly. she sits up, studying azzi’s face, the tension lining her features. “did she say that?”

“it’s implied, paige.” azzi shifts the present under her arm, pressing her fingers into the wrapped edges. “you’re always bringing our daughter around, always having fun with her. and then i take her for holidays, and it’s like—wow, azzi makes no effort to be there in any other way.” her throat tightens, and she shakes her head. “i mean, come on. i know you’re punishing me for leaving you, but can you at least give me this?”

paige’s tongue flicks out, pale pink swiping over her lower lip, brow knitting together. punishing azzi was never something she wanted to do. but before she can find the right words, a small blur of brown crashes into azzi’s legs, nearly sending her toppling over.

“mommy!”

azzi folds like a house of cards, collapsing to her knees in the grass without a care for her dress. she gathers their daughter into her arms, pulling her in so tightly it’s as if she’s afraid to let go.

“my mia,” azzi murmurs, voice low and thick with emotion. “happy birthday, baby.”

mia beams, the gap in her teeth dark and small, laughter bubbling up as she buries her face in her mother’s neck. it’s almost uncanny how much she looks like azzi. the same wide, joyful smile. the same burst of blush that rises along their cheeks when they’re excited. even the same curls, though looser—tumbling around the glittering spires of her birthday tiara.

azzi cradles mia’s face, thumbs stroking the plush of her cheeks. she fusses over her, straightening the sequined sage-green tutu and retying the laces of her chunky mini sneakers, her fingers gentle and practiced. paige knows it's a chance for her to collect herself. azzi hates crying in front of other people.

“mommy, i’ve been waiting for you! you weren't at home!”

“i’m sorry, baby. there was traffic,” azzi croaks, her voice betraying her. her hand flies to her throat—her tell, the reflex she always has when she’s trying not to cry. “but mommy sped a little bit. she just couldn’t wait to see her favorite girl.”

mia frowns. “you should be careful. mama says we shouldn’t go too fast, or we can get hurt.”

azzi exhales a quiet laugh, smoothing a hand down mia’s back. “yeah,” she whispers. “mama’s right.

paige clenches her jaw, something bitter and painful lodging itself deep in her ribs. she feels so sick at the idea that anyone could believe azzi doesn’t love their girl, this spitting image of her—maybe the only thing of azzi that she has left. she watches them—azzi, kneeling in the grass—and stands, her drink dangling dangerously from her hand, going to join the two. but then azzi stands and is gone—dragged away by mia’s small hand and even smaller strength.

she watches as azzi jogs along behind her, her heels puncturing the earth like glass through a lung. her hair bounces, streaked from the sun, and her body looks as though it’s trying to vibrate out of itself, her love so evident that it struggles to leave her and get to the child in front of her.

the light catches on the strands of her hair, identical to mia's who is bouncing with each hurried step.

and it’s so obvious—the way she moves, the way her whole body seems to vibrate with affection, her love so intense it barely fits inside her. it pours out of her like light, desperate to reach the child in front of her.

paige swallows hard.

𓃹

paige finds azzi in the kitchen, her hands braced on the countertop before they come up to wipe her face.

“why are you crying, mama? c’mere.”

azzi exhales sharply, shaking her head. “please don’t.”

paige doesn’t listen. she steps forward, hands curling around azzi’s waist, gentle but firm. azzi lets herself be held for a second. just a second. then she presses her hands against paige’s chest and cuts her off. she wraps her arms around herself as if she’s attempting to recreate the warmth.

paige sighs. “you mad at me?”

azzi laughs, quiet and humorless. “yeah, p, a little. there’s a point at which i can no longer take being ignored by my wife.”

the nickname just slips out. it’s muscle memory.

paige stills. “azzi.”

azzi tilts her head, searching her face. “i feel like—it’s just. you’ve only ever wanted me when you didn’t have me,” she murmurs. “and my whole life, i’ve been right there.”

paige opens her mouth, then closes it. she looks away, rubbing a hand over her jaw. “you know that ain’t true.”

“and then we got married, and i thought this would be it. we’d be happy and okay. but then—i don’t know. you were less my wife and more the most famous woman i knew saying hello from my ipad.”

paige’s eyes lower, growing dead and dark. azzi watches her for a long moment, recognizes the signs of her checking out, then sighs. “paige. why haven’t you told anyone we’re separated?”

paige blinks at her, called back into the present, and then lets out a short, incredulous breath. “azzi, you can’t be serious. i don’t want this.”

azzi’s jaw clenches. her hands shake as she turns away, pressing her palms to the counter again. the position emphasizes the toned silhouette of her arms.

paige steps closer, voice softer now. “i don’t want this.”

azzi swallows hard, staring at the marble beneath her hands. “i’m tired, p,” she says quietly. “i just want to wake up and love you and know you love me back. i just want to go on my walk and come back to find you there. i want to be with mia all the time. i want you to start talking to me.” her throat tightens. “but i’m never going to get that, am i? maybe it’s just too much to ask.”

paige exhales sharply, jaw tightening. “azzi—baby, you have to know that i didn’t step out on you. i wasn’t with anyone else. i wasn't. i just got caught up in the pressure and—”

“i know,” azzi says, finally looking at her. “i know, p, everything i do, i always understand. i always understood. but honestly, infidelity would have been better than the things i was feeling.

paige runs a hand over her face, lets out a rough laugh. “like what?”

“endless loneliness that was never going to stop.” paige remains quiet, her teeth digging into her bottom lip until it splits. “then we did ivf and had mia, and for a moment i was okay. i was better. i was good.”

“i couldn’t complain,” azzi says. “i didn’t.”

paige shakes her head, muttering something under her breath. “man, you act like i’m tryna hurt you.”

azzi closes her eyes. “it’s not like that.”

paige doesn’t know what to do with her hands. she shifts her weight like she wants to argue, but azzi doesn’t give her the chance.

“the fact that it’s not intentional is what makes it hurt so much,” azzi says after a moment. “that’s why i kept letting it go. it’s so easy to forgive you.” her mouth twists into a pained smile. “despite your mistakes, you’re not a malicious person.”

paige presses her lips together, her fingers twitching at her sides. “azzi, please—”

azzi shakes her head again, this time slower, more deliberate. “you don’t mean to hurt me, and so i’m still here. it’s my fault, really. no one is asking me to stand in the wreckage of the life i can’t seem to walk away from. that i still want.”

paige swallows hard, her throat bobbing. she wants to reach out, to pull azzi close, but she doesn’t. for the first time in her life, she doesn’t know how to reach her. azzi breaks the silence, wiping underneath her eyes with a bit of paper towel.

“come one. it’ll be time for presents soon.”

paige watches her walk away for the millionth time, watches how her back ripples with the flex of her muscles. in the following silence, she only thinks of azzi’s eyes and how dark they are. just like mia’s.

𓃹

the night is a welcome change. the house is quieter, the soft hum of the city bleeding in through the balcony doors. the partygoers have gone, goody bags in hand and heads lolling sleepily along their parents’s shoulders. mia herself had been babbling nonsensically, her hand tight around her brand-new barbie doll. paige had it specifically made to look like her mommy.

it was mia’s favorite present of the day. it made azzi cry for the second time that afternoon.

inside, the house is still cluttered with evidence of a child’s birthday well celebrated, a day well lived. paper plates are stacked on the counter, ribbons forgotten on the floor, the faint scent of frosting lingering in the air. paige tosses a few cups into the trash and wipes down the counter before realizing azzi isn’t beside her anymore.

she roams the halls, peeking into rooms until she finds her on the balcony just outside of paige’s childhood bedroom, leaning against the railing, a thin, silver vape pinched between her fingers. the glow of it flares as she takes a slow inhale, her body unmoving except for the way her shoulders rise and fall.

paige frowns. “since when do you smoke?”

azzi exhales, a thin stream of vapor curling into the night. it smells a bit too sweet, a few inches too far from the cherry it aims to evoke. it’s clearly not hers.

“since i shattered my knee and my dreams and became my top athlete wife’s accessory?” her voice is light, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it. “i’m kidding. only recently. i don’t do it all the time, though, and never around mia.”

she shifts and paige steps closer, leaning against the railing beside her and sliding her hands into the pockets of her black sweatpants.

“truth be told, i hate how it makes me feel.”

“so why are you doing it?”

azzi huffs out a laugh, breathless, humorless. she tilts her head back and blinks up at the sky like she’s searching for something. “feels better than this.”

that’s when paige sees it. the sheen in azzi’s eyes, the way her lashes are clumped together, the tiny tremor in her fingers. she’s been crying again.

paige exhales, something tight wrapping around her ribs. without thinking, she reaches out and takes the vape from azzi’s hand, flicking it off and setting it on the balcony ledge. azzi doesn’t stop her.

“you’re such a crybaby,” paige mutters, but it comes out soft, almost affectionate. she turns, crowding azzi’s space just enough. “i don’t know why you don’t talk to me—”

“i don’t want to bother you,” azzi says, and her voice is incredibly small.

azzi looks at her then, really looks at her. for a second, it feels like the air between them shifts, something raw and fragile opening up. paige can feel her pulse in her throat, a nervous tremor she isn’t used to.

azzi reaches up, slow and deliberate, and cradles paige’s face in her hands. her thumbs skim the sharp edges of her jaw, her touch featherlight but grounding. paige exhales, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. when she opens them again, azzi is watching her with something so deep it makes her ache.

“you know i’m so proud of you, right?” azzi whispers. “regardless.”

paige lets out a breath, something falling away miles down inside of her. she nods, just barely, and then—because she can’t help herself—she presses their foreheads together.

“you know that i love you, right?” paige says, voice rough. “for fucking real, az. you’re it for me.”

azzi closes her eyes, and when she breathes in, paige breathes with her. she doesn’t say anything, but her hands stay where they are, holding paige steady like she’s afraid to let go. her grip tightens, and then she goes to pull away but paige stills her with a hand around her wrist. azzi is cooperative with her touch this time, allowing paige to guide her back into the bedroom.

she doesn’t ask any questions when paige pulls her to the bed, pushing her down until she’s on her side. her head is heavy, afflicted with the buzz of nicotine, and she stays silent as her wife climbs in beside her. the two of them are two crescent moons made of flesh, mirroring one another in their grief and desires. paige presses their foreheads together once again and azzi focuses on the feeling of her warm skin, the hard bone.

she breathes out and paige breathes in as if to inhale her. azzi’s breath smells like cherry—real cherry.

“i hate it when things change,” azzi says, and her voice is strained with emotion.

“you could never make a decision,” paige teases, and azzi laughs wetly.

silence, then,

“p?”

“hmm?”

“i don’t want this either.”

paige pulls her closer, lifts one of her legs so that her dress slides up, and reveals the soft meat of her thigh. she settles azzi’s legs on top of hers, ensuring that they’re closer together.

“i know, ma. that’s what i’ve been trying to tell you.”

azzi’s buzz continues, drifting gently over her limbs until they’re heavy; her thoughts hazy around the edges. the world feels softer somehow; the pain is less jagged. she can feel every point where her body meets paige's—hip to hip, chest to chest, the tangle of their legs a familiar comfort she's been starving for.

the familiar scent of azzi’s perfume—something floral, threaded with dry vanilla, and subtle—fills paige's lungs. it's the same perfume paige had bought her for their fifth anniversary, the one azzi had worn every day since, even after she'd left.

"where you staying at?" paige asks, her voice low and rough against azzi's ear.

"the marriott downtown," azzi murmurs, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on the cotton of paige's shirt. "just until i figure things out."

paige makes a noise in the back of her throat, disapproving. "nah, i don’t like that. don't want you living out of suitcases in some hotel. and marriotts are very unsafe, you know. read an article that said they have the highest break-in rates of any hotel franchise.”

“and where was this article from?” azzi asked, her voice thick with amusement.

“girl, don’t even worry about it.” her hand travels up azzi's spine, warm and steady. azzi presses back into them, her body contorting in its search for comfort. "just come back home to me, mama. i'll sleep on the couch if you want, but at least i'll know you're safe."

"safe," azzi repeats, a small, broken laugh escaping her. "as if that's ever been the issue with us."

"it's always been the issue," paige counters, her fingers now threading through the loose curls at the nape of azzi's neck, careful not to disturb her bun. "you not feeling safe enough to tell me when i'm fucking up."

the honesty surprises them both. azzi shifts, propping herself up on an elbow to look at paige's face. in the dim light filtering in from the balcony, her features are soft, open in a way azzi hasn't seen in months.

"maybe we could try therapy," paige suggests, the words so deeply obvious of their difficulty.

azzi's eyes widen slightly. "you'd do that?"

"for you? for us?" paige's throat works as she swallows. "yeah. i would."

azzi leans in, drawn by something familiar and inevitable between them. their lips meet, soft and hesitant at first, then with growing urgency. it's not frantic, not desperate, but deep and prying. when they touch like this—in any capacity really—their lives feel as though they are their most sustainable.

paige's hands drift to azzi's waist, holding her close as if afraid she might evaporate. they're trying to get closer, always closer, as if the mere millimeters of space between them are too much to bear. azzi shifts until she's practically melted into paige, their bodies remembering each other in the dark.

they are teenagers again, rediscovering that the other feels the same, trying to live inside of each other.

when they break apart, azzi's lips are kiss-swollen and so dark, all the blood sucked to the surface. her eyes are heavy-lidded from more than just her high.

"i never signed the papers," she confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

paige stares at her for a moment before a genuine laugh bubbles up from her chest. "you really can't make a decision to save your life, can you?"

"shut up," azzi mumbles, burying her face in paige's neck, but there's no heat behind it. she loops a hand through paige’s hair, taking in the spill of gold across her palm. "i kept finding reasons to put it off."

"what kinda reasons?" paige asks, her hand sliding beneath the hem of azzi's dress to rest on the warm skin of her thigh, the touch reverent and possessive all at once.

"i don’t know. um, mia's birthday was coming up. then it was our anniversary. then it was…" she trails off, her voice dropping even lower. "then it was because every time i went to sign, i couldn't—i couldn’t remember why i was leaving in the first place."

the admission hangs in the air between them, heavy with implication. paige's hand stills on azzi's skin.

"you still love me," paige says, not a question but a revelation.

"that was never the problem," azzi replies, the words muffled against paige's collarbone. "loving you is like breathing. i don't know how to stop, and i’d die if i did."

paige's arms tighten around her. they still aren’t looking at each other. "then don't. come home, az. we'll figure the rest out."

"it's not that simple—"

"it is. it could be," paige insists, but her voice is gentler now. "i know i fucked up. i know i let my career become everything. but i swear to god, az, i'm done with that shit. nothing's worth losing you. nothing."

azzi lifts her head, her gaze meeting paige's in the semi-darkness. the proximity has left her thoughts fluid, boundaries blurred, making it easier to say what she's been holding back. "hope is a dangerous thing, p, and you’re giving it to me.”

“i know," paige agrees, her thumb brushing over azzi's bottom lip. "but what's the alternative? living half a life? watching mia grow up in two different homes when we both know that ain't what we want?"

azzi closes her eyes, letting the weight of paige's words wash over her. when she opens them again, there's a quiet determination there, fragile but present.

"i'll consider coming home," she says finally, her practicality still firm despite her emotional exhaustion. "but we have to go to therapy, and you have to try. no excuses."

relief floods paige's face, so naked and earnest that it makes azzi's heart clench. "yes, yes, okay," she whispers, pressing her forehead to azzi's. "thank you, baby.”

"you don’t have to thank me," azzi replies, playing nonchalantly but there's a softness to her words that takes away the sting. her hand comes up to rest against paige's jaw, her thumb brushing over the bone. “i want—i miss you so much. it hurts sometimes, aches right inside of my ribs. i haven't been able to sleep without you.”

"i'm right here," paige murmurs against her temple. "i'm always gonna be right here, waiting for you."

they lie there in the quiet, bodies intertwined, the world spinning just beyond the balcony doors. neither speaks for a long time, content to exist in this fragile moment. azzi closes her eyes, her head heavy on paige's chest, rising and falling with each breath. the buzz is fading, reality seeping back in, but she holds onto this feeling—hopes that she will get to feel it again.

she thinks of mia, pictures their baby girl sleeping with her mouth slack and none the wiser to the complexities of loving someone else. she hopes she never finds out.

"you're it for me, az," paige murmurs into her hair, the words a quiet repetition from earlier. "always have been."

azzi doesn't respond for a moment, but her fingers tighten in paige's shirt, holding on as if to say: i know. me too.

"i know," azzi says, out loud this time. "you’re it for me too. i mean, you're paige. we go together. you're everything. i don’t think there was ever anyone else for me."

paige's heart clenches, a painful pulse in her chest. she smooths a hand down azzi’s side.

her heart pumps, thumps out a message.

azzi’s heart thumps back.

© hcneymooners.

[cheriladycl01]

Kinktober 31/10/2024 The Grid - Halloween Party

Plot: Halloween Party Couple Costumes

MAX VERSTAPPEN:

You both went to the party as the characters from Kill Bill, it was one of Max's favorite films and you were excited to dress up as the Bride. Originally you were going to go for the full latex outfit but because Max had a few parties in the same night you'd both be travelling between you had to do a bit of makeshift work.

"You look hot" he says looking over you as you unzip the bright yellow top you had on, just to show off a little more cleavage for him.

"Yeah?" you ask pulling the katana up and holding it in positions being goofy as he took some pictures of you.

"And i think dying your hair blonde ... good shout" he grins running his hands through your freshly dyed blonde locks just so you could pull of this Halloween costume without a wig.

LANDO NORRIS:

You wanted to be funny and go as Gru and Vector ... but no McLaren thought it was too 'silly' and wasn't a 'good image' for Lando as a now championship contender.

So you guys decided as you were only going to a small Quadrant Haloween party that you guys would go lowkey and just try and use as much stuff as you could from home.

Naturally you were both at home when he had the idea of both going as the game characters from Subway Surfers, out of all the games both you and Lando played you didn't expect to go as mobile game characters, something from Valorant or even Tarkov but no here you were with a red beanie, hitched up red underwear under low rise jeans and an empty aerosol can.

"Cant believe you convinced me into this" you shake your head, knowing all the girls there would be going as either really hot people or would be very funny like you'd intended ... but at least you were with Lando and you guys both couldn't escape the costume police you knew would be at the party.

"You love me babe now come on lets go jump some trains"

OSCAR PIASTRI:

When Oscar had met you when he first came to England you made of point of forcing him to binge your comfort show, Peaky Blinders with you which led to this years Halloween costume for the both of you.

While Oscar was the gentleman and got his outfit as show accurate as possible you took the hot slant on it despite having a shirt, waistcoat and jacket covering up the majority of your upper body leaving your legs to do all the hot girl work.

"We look good" Oscar smiled looking at you guys in the long full length mirror in your apartment as you guys were about to leave.

"You're right we do" you smile reaching up to kiss his cheek forgetting the bright red lipstick that was covering your lips.

"AH AH. Let them dry first" he says putting his finger on one showing the stain.

When you got to Logan's party you were met with such a different vibe. You and Oscar had decided to stay in America for Halloween which was a good choice as they were crazy for any kind of holiday celebration.

"Will anyone here know who we are?" you ask wondering if you're costume was too niche.

"Lets hope they don't, quick and easy conversations so we don't look rude and unimpressed" he kisses the side of you head, knowing how introverted you both are/

CARLOS SAINZ:

Of course you had to go as young Morticia and Gomez Addams. It was something you knew for a fact Carlos would look incredible in and you had the perfect features to pull of Morticia.

You guys were attending a Halloween Party that actually had a lot of the drivers at, it was in a club that had invited you all as a brand deal with F1 and you guys all didn't really have an excuse not to go.

You guys got an uber, which is a strange experience when you have a boyfriend who drives for a living.

So many of the other wags were there and a costume competition had been held which you and Carlos had ended up winning, you think Lando most defiantly forged the votes but you couldn't deny that you and Carlos looked like you both put the most amount off effort in.

CHARLES LECLERC:

Charles didn't ever really understand the hype for spooky season, enjoying other more family oriented holidays more such as Christmas or even birthdays.

But when you said that your sister was hosting a small party (that of course ended up being not so small at all) that she was dying for you to make an appearance at you had to go despite the late notice.

So there you guys were two days before ironing patches to blue and red tops you'd brought from the most accessible shops in Monaco and because you were bringing Charles and you wanted to match but with the lack of time options were thin.

So of course doing a really bad attempt at Sally and Lightening McQueen was the option Charles decided on and everyone at the party found you guys so funny especially once they realised who Charles was as a famous racing driver.

To say despite the 5 minute crafts outfit you guys put together you were everyone's choice of conversation both at the party and after.

YUKI TSUNODA:

Chef Linguine, absolutely not Chef Tsunoda and you as his Remi. It meant you got to dress up as a sexy mouse while Yuki could live his dreams of being a chef, dressing up in the whole outfit that you were surprised to see he just had in his closest already.

"You look like a cute mouse" he smiles looking over the white corset and sort grey skirt you'd opted for.

"Do i make a good Remi?" you ask sweetly and he nods.

"I still don't get why you didn't go as Collette" he sighs, thinking it would be odd for him to kiss you tonight when this was your outfit.

"Because canonically Collette is a better chef than Linguine because actually Linguine cannot cook without the rats help ... so I'm still not sure why i went as the rat. Maybe i should have gone as Chef Skinner" you groan now overthinking the whole costume.

FRANCO COLAPINTO:

Franco's nickname for you was 'princesa' so of course you going as one of the Disney Princesses made sense however when he said you guys should do Flynn Ryder and Rapunzel you almost lost your shit.

You were going to suggest the little mermaid as you'd love to see him in Prince Eric's soft pirate outfit but the Flynn outfit was just as exciting and you of course looked great in purple and could use your naturally blonde hair.

"Are you ready my Princesa?" he asks from the bottom of the stairs. You were expecting to turn round the corner with a soft graceful smile to see HIM awestruck at your costume.

Unfortunately god had other plans and it was you who was gobsmacked at your incredibly sexy boyfriend.

"Fuckkkkk Francoooo. Lets skip the party" you say running down the stairs to grip onto his arm.

FERNANDO ALONSO:

As an older couple on the grid who still loved a party and having fun you and Fernando decided old school was the best way forward. And for Fernando seeing you in sexy leather pants and a tight black top he was all but happy to keep pulling you away for sneaky kisses once you'd got to the club.

Nando was normally very ... sexually driven but this outfit of yours had turned him into some kind of beast and you were not complaining.

Especially when you guys got home that night.

ESTEBAN OCON:

Being the Marvel nerd that he was he'd asked if he could do Deadpool and you do Wolverine, which you did want to at first but when you couldn't find the right hairstyle and decided the outfit just didn't look good this year it fell through to be picked up another year.

Which is where his next idea came in, you'd both decided to go as Spiderman's he'd worn some grey joggers with him as the suit was pretty tight on him and he didn't want anything to come out in the media however you took the Spiderman look the whole way and for the whole night Estaban had to stay close to you warding off all the other guys who were watching you with what he explained to you as 'fuck me' eyes.

Taglist:

@littlebitchsposts @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @eiraethh @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount

[verstxppen33]

A night to remember

part 1 of the series: Where we belong

summary: lando was partying around, until he locked eyes with you.

next part

genre: a sprinkle of fluff

warnings: mention of being drunk, supermodel!reader

As you walked into the club, the energy was electric, a vibrant pulse that thrummed through the floor beneath your feet. Drunk people were dancing wildly, bodies swaying and colliding to the beat, while others were lost in each other, making out in darkened corners.

The usual stuff, nothing out of the ordinary. You made your way to your usual spot at the bar and ordered a champagne cocktail, the bubbles tickling your nose as you took a sip.

But something felt different tonight. It wasn’t your hair or your makeup—both were perfectly in place. It was more like a heavy gaze was locked onto you, an unseen presence lingering just at the edge of your awareness, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turned around and caught someone staring at you, with a drunken smile. He waved at you, locking eyes with you. You both stared at each other until the mysterious man walked up to you with a grin.

“Hey there, sweetheart. What’s a pretty woman like you doing here all alone?” he asks with a smirk, sliding onto the barstool next to you. His cologne is strong but not unpleasant, mingling with the scents of alcohol and sweat that fill the air.

“Oh, I’m usually here for the drinks,” you reply casually, taking another sip of your cocktail. Your gaze drifts, despite your best efforts, to the few buttons he’s left undone, revealing a hint of his toned chest.

You catch yourself staring and quickly shift your eyes back to his face, feeling a flush creep up your neck. He notices and his smirk widens, leaning in closer.

Continue reading!

"Oh, really? You do seem more like an ambivert? Introvert? Whatever. What's your name, beautiful?" he asks you, locking eyes with you again. God, those hazel eyes made you crazy.

As you told him your name, he grinned, a playful spark in his eyes. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he said smoothly. "I'm Lando, by the way. Lando Norris."

It was obvious he was flirting, but you didn’t mind. Not one bit. How could you, when he looked like that? Those messy brown locks that framed his face perfectly, the hint of stubble along his jaw, the way his shirt stretched over his muscular chest—it was all enough to make your pulse quicken. His confidence was intoxicating, almost as much as the drink in your hand.

He quickly snapped you out of your loving thoughts with another question, "What do you work for?" You smile at him and answer, "I am a supermodel, what about you? You seem quite muscular."

He raises an eyebrow before chuckling. "I appreciate it, love. I'm a Formula 1 Driver, actually." he answers casually, like it's no big deal. You widen your eyes in disbelief and excitement. "A formula 1 driver? You do seem familar. That's pretty cool!"

As the night went on, the two of you talked and laughed, your conversations flowing effortlessly over the loud music. You found yourself leaning closer to him, drawn in by his easy charm and the way his hand occasionally brushed against your thigh, sending sparks up your spine.

You felt a heat in his touch, a silent promise that lingered in the space between you. Finally, as the hours passed, he wrapped up the conversation with a playful smile. "So, what do you say?" he asked, his voice low and inviting. "Would you like to stay at my place tonight?"

"Oh, um, sure!" you replied, your voice wavering with a mix of excitement and hesitation. You felt a flutter of nerves in your stomach but decided to go with him. Something about his presence made you feel alive, and you weren't ready for this night to end just yet.

He gently takes your hand and leads you out of the club, waving goodbye to his friends. His hands were rough and soft at the same time and you couldn't help but admire the way he was holding your hand.

He opens the passenger door of a McLaren and leads her inside, before going to the driver's seat and buckling up as well. The moonlight casted a nice glow between both of you, making Lando admire you for a moment, then starting the car and driving to his apartment.

The ride back to his apartment settled in a comfortable silence, Lando sometimes glancing at you. After you two reached his apartment, he quickly walked over to your side and opening the door for you again, grinning.

"You look stunning tonight. Have I told you that yet?" he randomly says, opening his apartment door. You step in, looking around and saying, "Yeah, I think you did." "Are you hungry?" he asks you while looking into the refrigerator. You think for a moment and then humming in denial.

"Well, I'm pretty hungry," he pauses and turns around, walking closer to you. "For you." He suddenly captures your lips in a gentle kiss, cupping your cheek gently. Woah, did he just kiss me?

[taycherouzz]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍

✩ eternal sunshine collection ✩ return to masterlist

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Rafe x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: while packing your things from Rafe’s apartment, uncovering memories of love and heartbreak make letting go feel impossible despite your wish to move on.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1k+

The apartment was a mausoleum of memories, each corner holding whispers of a life you were trying to leave behind. The pictures on the walls still hung crooked from the time you’d wrestled over who got to hammer the nails. The couch cushions bore the faint imprint of late-night arguments and even later reconciliations. And the air—God, the air—still carried the faintest trace of his cologne, like it was mocking your attempts to move on.

You stood in the doorway, clutching the last box you’d brought to pack up your things. It was small, almost laughably so, a cruel reminder of how little you truly claimed for yourself in this space. This was his world, after all. You’d just been a visitor, a pogue trying to carve out a place in the gilded chaos of Rafe Cameron’s life.

Your hands trembled as you opened the cabinet near the front door. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to find—maybe a stray key or an old receipt. Instead, your fingers brushed against smooth leather. You pulled out a pair of worn dress shoes, and your stomach twisted. Those shoes.

The memory hit you like a wave, dragging you under before you could catch your breath.

It was his birthday, a warm summer night that smelled of salt and possibility. You spent weeks working every odd job you could find—cleaning boats, waiting tables, even babysitting tourists’ kids. Every dollar you earned went into a jar hidden under your bed, the one labeled Rafe’s Shoes in your messy handwriting.

When he unwrapped the box, his reaction was instant but understated, the way only Rafe could pull off. His eyebrows raised, a faint grin curving at his lips as he lifted the shoes from the tissue paper. “Nice” he murmured, turning them over in his hands. The leather gleamed under the soft glow of the kitchen lights. “You actually got these? These must’ve cost you”

Your breath caught for a moment, worried he might see through the facade. “It’s no big deal” You lied, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. You didn’t want him to know how much effort it had really taken, how many sleepless nights and double shifts were folded into the glossy leather.

His smile softened. Setting the shoes down, he stepped closer, cupping your face in his hands. “You’re something else, you know that?” he said, his voice low but warm. “A pogue saving up for someone like me? Who would've thought” You both laughed, that's when he stopped and said “You didn't have to”.

“That’s the point” You teased, trying to keep it light. “I wanted to”.

Rafe leaned his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours. “Thank you” he said simply. And for a moment, the world felt uncomplicated, as if love alone could bridge the divide between you.

The box fell from your hands, snapping you back to the present. The shoes stared up at you like relics of a lie you’d told yourself for far too long. You wished they didn’t make your chest ache. You wished you could look at them and feel nothing but anger at the way he’d unraveled everything they could have been.

Your gaze drifted to the sweater still draped over the chair, folded neatly from the night you left. You hadn’t had the heart to take it that day, and now, as your fingers brushed over its soft fabric, the weight of the memories came rushing back.

It had started with something small—something it always started with. But by the time you both were standing in the middle of the apartment, voices raised and defenses up, the air between you felt sharp enough to cut.

“You don’t get it, Rafe” you said, your voice trembling with equal parts anger and hurt. You stood with your arms crossed, a shield against the storm brewing in his blue eyes. “I’m tired of being your little secret. Like I’m not good enough to be seen with you”.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small living room like a caged animal. “It’s not like that” he snapped. “You’re twisting it”

“I’m twisting it?” you shot back, your voice rising. “Do you know how humiliating it is to hear your friends talk about me like I’m just some... some fling you’ll get over?”

“They don’t know what they’re talking about” he muttered, avoiding you gaze. “Who cares whatever the fuck they think anyway?”

“I care, Rafe!” you yelled, the words echoing off the walls. “I care because you’ve never done anything to prove them wrong. You let them talk like that, like I’m disposable, and you don’t say a word. Do you know what that feels like?”

He stopped pacing and turned to face you, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t care? You think it doesn’t kill me to hear that bullshit too?”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Why can’t you just... acknowledge me? In public. To your family, to your friends. To anyone!”

The silence that followed was deafening. His gaze faltered, dropping to the floor as the weight of your words sank in.

“Rafe” you said quietly now, the fight draining from your voice. “If you can’t love me out loud, then maybe you don’t love me at all”.

His head snapped up, anger flashing in his eyes. “Don’t do that” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t act like I don’t—”

“Then show me!” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Because right now, it feels like I’m the only one trying. I’ve given up everything for you—my friends, my family, my pride—and for what? To be hidden away?”

Rafe’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep his temper in check. “You don’t understand what it’s like” he said finally, his voice tight. “The pressure, the expectations... you don’t get it”.

“Of course, I don’t” you said bitterly. “I’m just a pogue, right? What would I know about a perfect life?”

“That’s not what I meant” he said, but the damage was done.

You grabbed your bag, your hands shaking. “You know what? Forget it, Rafe. I’m done. I can’t keep doing this”.

“Don’t” he said, stepping toward you. But you were already at the door.

“Goodbye, Rafe” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. And then you were gone.

You sank onto the floor, the shoes and sweater beside you, and let the tears come. They weren’t the kind of tears that brought relief; they were the kind that left you feeling hollow, like the tide had pulled everything out of you and left nothing behind.

Your voice broke as you whispered to no one but yourself “I wish I hated you”. But you didn’t. And, deep down, you know that maybe you never would.

[cyucya]

Building off of what anon said, I was also thinking that maybe Sonic and Shadow had SC as a way to ‘fix their problems’ (I actually sent this quite a while back, but it may have been buried XD)

But if we’re really thinking about, it could make sense, I mean, Sonadow are ALWAYS at each other’s throats, if they were divorced by the time SC came around, then chances are they were already having quite a bit of trouble in paradise, so what’s *usually* the number one thing that keeps people together? A Family!! Wow Sonadow, you’re so smart, that is exactly what we need. A kid to have that kind of connection to each other again, to remind them of why they fell in love in the first place.

And so SC is born, except, he’s not what they thought they would be. While they were looking for someone more along the lines of how *they* were, the perfect combo of both of them, they instead got a sickly, low energy, powerless kid. How can this be? Sonic’s the fastest being in the universe, speed perfected, and Shadow’s the ultimate life form, how is it that they created something so utterly powerless?

Now instead of fixing their problems it only made them worse. Now they’re playing the Blame Game, because “he couldn’t have possibly been that way cuz of me!” And because “I’m the Ultimate Life Form, I don’t produce people like this” and lo and behold they’re at each other’s throats again. What was supposed to be the solution to their problem actually became the cause of their problems hence causing the divorce. Obviously this takes a toll on our poor SC.

HOWEVER! Let’s take this a step further ( >:) ), and let’s now include Spark. Few years pass and Sonadow are missing each other because for all their problems and fights, they are still the only ones who can keep up with each other, and despite everything they still technically love each other very much. So they start trying again, just to see if it works out. Now I don’t actually know if Spark was planned or not, but it sounds like initially at first she wasn’t, but once they realized she was on the way, they were like ok, let’s give this another shot, maybe it’ll be better this time, and they officially get together again.

Spark is born, the most perfect little girl, who is *exactly* what SC was supposed to be. SHE is the one with the abundance of chaos energy, SHE is the one meant to continue Sonadow’s legacy, SHE is what they were going for the first round with SC. And so obviously this is not a good thing for our dear lovely SC.

Because for the first time it looks like he might be seeing what his parents were originally doing for him. Because now he’s realizing that Spark is the one that fixed their relationship.

Spark became the very thing Skylar-Chilli was supposed to be, and that shit is SEVERELY messed up. Poor SC, free my boy.

~Love, Evie

Oh wow, this message is absolutely incredible—I love seeing such deep, thoughtful takes on my AU! The way you’ve broken it all down and connected the dots is just plainly awesome. It makes me so happy to know that people are thinking about these dynamics as much as I am!

That said, I don’t want to comment too much on it just yet since I’d hate to accidentally spoil anything, but just know that I really appreciate this message and the effort you put into it. It genuinely made my day—thank you so much for sharing your thoughts!

[heraldeez]

i saw your requests were open temporarily, may i request a first kiss with jayce ? i think it'd be cute. i hope youve been well !

I have been well, thanks for asking! Life's crazy because I'm getting ready to move.

DEFINITELY CUTE. I want to smooch him. I wasn't sure if you meant his first kiss, the reader's first kiss, or their first kiss together, so I just knocked down two targets and hoped for the best 🙈. Hope you enjoy!

Jayce x Reader | 962 | SFW

Contains: bad group projects, falling asleep on someone, and some sweet sweet smoochin.

Jayce stiffens as your jaw comes to rest against his shoulder, hands freezing their progress. Chancing a glance down, he confirms that yeah, you’re out cold.

It's another late night at the Academy, spent doing curriculum work instead of work that could change the world someday. Jayce was fighting with a tricky relay of copper fittings. You'd finished your share of the project twenty minutes ago, both the clean copy of delicately illustrated schematics and all the vocal presentation bits that Jayce dreaded.

Nobody likes group projects. Jayce knows he isn't out of the ordinary there. He just can't help but feel that it grates on him more than the average student, faced with the fact that most of his peers didn't actually care about discovery. They just cared about making themselves look good. 

Not you, though. He'd only shared classes with you this semester, but you were always fair in your division of the work.

And you were one of the only people who seemed to be able to stand his… candidness, always laughing it off when he’d get frustrated with the pace, being slowed down by others.

‘It’ll get done either way, slow or not.’ You'd been smiling at him so sweetly when you'd said that, despite the fact that he knew he had been nothing but irritated and fussy. Your patience had left him stricken with… something.

Jayce decides to leave you be, asleep on his shoulder. This project wouldn't have been a problem if the rest of your group members had anything to offer except slapdash efforts and excuses, leaving the two of you with the brunt of the work.

Tonight, Jayce is the one slowing you down, grumbling his way through fixing the shoddy work your other partners had put forward and finishing the things they had neglected to do entirely. To get this project up to his usual standards…

It’s eating up far too much time. The least he can do is let you rest a bit.

---

Your pillow is talking.

“Finally. Alright, I’ve got it dialed in so the fluid can actually cycle through all of the cooling chambers even as a prototype – the professor should be impressed. This is almost professional quality, so our marks should be flawless.”

Your pillow also smells incredibly good, nice and warm, so you elect to ignore it and nuzzle deeper.

“Are you listening?” – it sounds incredibly put out – “Hey. Wake up, we can go home now.”

Blearily, you blink your eyes open and find yourself caught up in Jayce’s gaze, the low lamplight reflecting off the gold of his eyes and revealing him peering down at you, close and tired and – dare you say – almost fond looking.

This close you can see every last eyelash, and how his stubble is starting to come in from the late hour on the alluring curve of his jaw. Despite the bags under his eyes, they’re bright and satisfied, his face almost glowing, the way it always does when he’s worked hard and made something perfect.

In fact, you can almost feel that glow on your skin. When did he get so warm? His ears are starting to get red.

That little detail reminds you just how close your faces have become, but a sleepy contentedness has drizzled its way into your joints, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

He’s just so –

“You’re really lovely when you’re making progress, you know that? It opens you up,” you sigh, still half dreaming, watching the flush spill across his face.

Jayce is too busy looking at your mouth to respond, his own ever so slightly parted.

Were you not half asleep, you probably never would have chanced it. But the way he was looking at you almost lost, how close he was –

It felt natural, to wriggle in closer, tilt up your jaw invitingly.

You catch the way his brows shoot up just as your eyes slip shut, and your mouth slots perfectly against his, slow and –

And unmoving. A little shocked stiff. Jayce makes a funny little noise in the back of his throat, something aching and perhaps a touch confused.

You jolt back, suddenly a whole lot more awake. “Sorry. Wow, sorry, I should have asked first –”

“It’s fine,” Jayce cuts in, a little strangled, busying himself with wrapping the prototype in oilcloth and setting it inside its small crate as an excuse not to meet your eyes. “You were – It was nice, just – I’ve never done that before.”

The end of his sentence leaves him in a rush. If it’s possible, his ears seem even redder now.

“Never?” you echo, a bit disbelieving in the wake of how plush and soft his lips had been against yours.

His shoulders hunch up defensively, looking awfully small for such a large man. “I’m kind of a busy guy, alright?”

Jayce’s fingers snap the clasps shut on the lid of the box, but your brain wrapped itself around the way he’d said your kiss was ‘nice’, and you’re itching to try again, to give him something even nicer to latch on to.

“Too busy to give it another go?”

Jayce’s wide eyes cut over to yours finally, from where he’s tucking the prototype into his satchel.

His fingers loosen on the strap of his bag. “Well. Maybe not,” Jayce mumbles, leaning in close enough for you to close the gap again.

The shuddering exhale Jayce gives you when you bring your lips together this time is everything, your hand coming up to cup his jaw and guide him into the most comfortable angle. His movements are still a bit stilted compared to yours, but he’s mimicking your motions in an incredibly earnest fashion.

You have no doubt he’ll be a quick study.

[putmeinmoviebaby]

I’ve felt used so many times in my life, like everyone around me was taking advantage. I just wanted them to stop seeing me as a "little girl" and see me as more mature.

Despite my efforts to show this maturity and ability, it seemed like no one noticed. At that exact moment, hopping from party to party in Hollywood, I only felt emptier inside.

"Miss Y/n, would you like another glass of wine?" – I hear the waiter’s voice, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yes, please," I say, extending the glass in his direction.

Being an actress has its good and bad moments; having to attend all kinds of parties to bring publicity to your name is one of them.

People around don’t care much about whether you're polite, hard-working, or intelligent. The only thing that matters to them is beauty; if you’re beautiful in their eyes, you’ve already won.

Right then, I found myself at one of these parties, in an expensive dress, trying to look perfect. I had to laugh at the men’s jokes and run my hand through my hair, trying to play the doll.

Tired of that whole atmosphere, I was sitting on a sofa in the back of the room, with glasses scattered on the table and a lit cigarette between my fingers.

Looking to the side, I see a tall man with blue eyes and mature skin, short hair. He was walking toward the empty spot beside me.

"Would you mind if I sat here?" – I hear the man’s husky voice, close to my face.

I turn to look at his face and shrug, signaling for him to sit. He settles beside me, holding a pack of cigarettes in one hand. His long fingers place a cigarette in his mouth.

"Could you lend me your lighter, darling?"

I take the lighter from my pocket and bring it to his face to light the cigarette. His face was striking, with thick eyebrows and intense blue eyes. He cupped his hands around the flame, lighting the cigarette between his lips.

I see his eyes scan my face, observing every detail – lips, eyes – tracing over my entire face.

I felt a chill run through me, the wind brushing against me on that cold and cloudy night.

"Aren’t you cold? It’s freezing out here, love," I hear his husky voice, close to my face."

I feel a warm, soft touch on my shoulders and realize he had placed his jacket over me.

"You didn’t have to, I was fine." – I say, avoiding his eyes.

"You were shivering all over, love." Hearing his words, I feel my face heat up, growing embarrassed.

"Do I know you? Are you a model by chance? Maybe you know my son, Lennon; he’s a model," – I hear the man’s voice as I see smoke leave his lips. "Talented kid, takes after his father, obviously," – he says with a laugh.

"Actually, no, I’m an actress. I’m currently working on a project with Tarantino," – I reply, looking at his face. "Although I have seen Lennon walk the runway once."

"So you’re Liam Gallagher?"

"Yes, the one and only." He laughs as he says this.

I didn’t recognize you; you look different from the last time I remember." – I say, looking into his eyes.

"Yeah, age catches up more and more each day, I’d say."

"You look great; you seem young," – I reply, looking at him, seeing those eyes watching me intently.

"Thank you, darling. You look beautiful tonight."

Liam leaned closer, and the smile on his lips showed he noticed the way I looked at him. His blue eyes examined me intently, a direct and unhurried gaze that seemed to see beyond the surface.

"So," he said with a slight smile, his eyes never leaving mine, "you don’t really seem like someone who feels comfortable at parties like this. Or am I wrong?"

I gave a slight smile, tossing my hair to the side and holding his gaze firmly. "Let’s say this party doesn’t have much to offer me, besides a few glasses of wine and… some interesting conversations."

He leaned in slightly, resting his elbow on the sofa and moving a little closer. "Interesting?" – his voice was low, husky, as if challenging me to continue. "And how am I doing so far?"

I studied him, holding his gaze with a confidence that seemed to surprise him. "I’d say you’re still in the testing phase, Gallagher. But I have to admit, you’re piquing my curiosity."

He smiled, the kind of smile only someone accustomed to attention would give – confident, but with a touch of mystery. "Well, I’m glad to know I’ve at least earned your curiosity," he replied, keeping his voice soft and his gaze fixed on me. "But I didn’t come to parties like this just to be tested."

I leaned in his direction, feeling the tension between us grow. "Oh, really? Then tell me, what do you hope to find here?"

Liam kept his intense gaze, as if carefully weighing each word. "I hoped to find something... out of the ordinary. Someone who, like me, sees beyond appearances and all the theatrics."

I let out a light laugh. "So, you’re looking for authenticity in the most superficial place in Los Angeles?" – I teased, still holding his gaze, not backing down.

He shrugged, with a smile of someone who loves a good challenge. "Believe it or not, sometimes the most unlikely places hold interesting surprises." He leaned a little closer, his blue eyes fixed on mine, and I felt the atmosphere around us change, as if the party noise gradually disappeared. "And you, what are you looking for, then?"

I crossed my legs and settled into the sofa, savoring the moment, unhurried. "Something similar, maybe. I’m tired of living the same kind of night, with the same people, the same conversations." I paused, seeing the gleam in his eyes intensify, and added, "I guess I’m also looking for something out of the ordinary."

Liam nodded slightly, a satisfied glint in his eye. "Interesting... Seems this tedious party had a surprise in store for me, after all." He leaned a little closer, his face just inches from mine. He exuded a mature confidence, as if he understood the game between us but wasn’t rushing the next move.

"The luck is all yours, then," I replied, in a light tone but with a challenging smile. "Not everyone here is ready for a conversation that goes beyond the surface."

He laughed, with that easy smile that seemed to carry stories that didn’t need words. "I’ll take that luck. But, who knows, maybe I can do something to prolong it a bit," he said, while keeping his gaze locked on mine, not looking away. "Want to go for a walk? I think we both deserve something different from what this party has to offer."

I analyzed him, still feeling the intensity of his gaze on me. "Tempting proposal, Gallagher," I said, letting a smile slip. "Maybe that’s exactly what I need."

He smiled and stood up from the sofa, making me follow him. As we approached the exit, I felt his hands on my waist, pulling me closer to his chest.

Reaching the exit of the large mansion where the party was happening, Liam asked the valet to call a cab.

"Would you like to go to my apartment? It’s not far from here," I say near his ear.

"You decide, darling," I hear his voice as he runs his fingers along my cheek.

The cab stopped in front of us, and Liam opened the door, gesturing for me to enter first. I got in, and he followed, settling next to me. The small space between us in the back seat felt intense.

As the cab drove along the road, the silence was comfortable but charged with expectation. Liam put his arm around my shoulders, pulling me slightly closer to him. I felt his presence, his distinct scent, and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to capture that feeling.

We arrived at my apartment. I got out of the car, and when I looked back, he was already beside me, so close I felt his breath as he leaned in slightly, as if the air around us was filled with possibilities.

We went up to my floor, and when I opened the door, the calm of the apartment seemed to envelop us. Liam took a few steps inside, observing the place, while I left my purse on the entry table. The tension that had existed between us since the party seemed to grow with each second.

He turned to me, approaching slowly, until we were face to face. His hand found my face, sliding through my hair as his eyes watched me with a silent intensity.

"So, this is where you hide from the world?" – he asked, with a slight smile on his lips.

"This is where I try to be myself," I replied in a low voice.

Liam moved closer, his fingers tracing a gentle line along my face, moving down my shoulders and lightly pulling me toward him.

He leaned his face toward my neck, and his lips trailed repeatedly along my shoulder, drawing sighs from me that traveled through every fiber of my being.

He slid his fingers over my face and, without saying a word, moved closer once more, his lips brushing against mine, in a light, slow touch, as if wanting to make that moment last forever.

As he pulled back slightly, his eyes held an intensity that seemed to promise something beyond that moment. "You realize we’re just beginning, don’t you, love?" – he said, with a smile on his lips.

I smiled back, letting myself dive into that feeling, not worrying about what would come next. "Maybe that’s exactly what I was looking for without knowing it," I replied, letting my gaze express what words couldn’t.

He laughed softly, with that confidence that intrigued me so much. "Then let’s see where this takes us, darling," he murmured, his fingers still entwined with mine.

The End

[merakiui]

I can't get Alien Jamil out of my head. He lives rent free now 😭

Alien Jamil who uses his ability to hypontise darling to spread their legs for them, maintaining eye contact to keep the spell. Darling being under his control as he filled darling up with eggs. Only looking away once he was done and Darling's stuffed to the brim <3

Then let's say Darling's a researcher for his species and is now being made to carry it for research purposes

(cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, breeding, oviposition, hypnosis, ntr/cucking)

:O !!!!!! Imagine being a researcher alongside Kalim... omg and Jamil watches day in and day out from his enclosure as Kalim attempts to get closer to you. Despite his outgoing and friendly personality, he's a little awkward with some of his flirting methods and so Jamil is able to pick up on Kalim's romantic interest in you fairly quickly. At first Jamil thought nothing would come of this, as you always seemed so absorbed in your research and you were always paying so much attention to him. Jamil is nice enough to act obedient and polite when you step into his enclosure to study him up close, feigning a harmless outward appearance. You're the only one who is allowed to do this; everyone else is frightened away or threatened with low hisses and sharp, piercing glares. Jamil has a soft spot for you, but he hides it with stoic indifference, choosing to look unbothered while you lean in close to admire his scales or the many snakes that make up his hair. You're so lucky he has an admirable amount of restraint, otherwise he would have plastered you to the ground and fucked you full of eggs months ago.

But it's when you actually start to entertain Kalim's interest that Jamil begins to worry. First the two of you would have dinner together (in front of Jamil, much to his annoyance) when you had to work late in the lab, and Kalim was just so irritatingly sweet to you. So genuinely himself. And you kept smiling and your body temperature was rising because you were flattered and happy and appreciative... Jamil refuses to lose you to that airheaded researcher. And then you'd work so closely together, side by side, shoulders nearly touching. Jamil is much too observant for his own good, which is both a blessing and a curse, because it only proves that you've warmed up to your fellow researcher.

It starts small. You can't understand Jamil unless he's hypnotized you, and then those fearsome hisses sound like the sweetest song, lulling you into a daze. For a while you seem more scattered than usual. There are gaps in your memory, and you're not sure why you always seem to come to in the lab. You could have sworn you were in your bed, sleeping so soundly until the whispers of something snake-like invaded your dreams... You're always led to Jamil. Maybe you really are so dedicated to your work that you're unconsciously drawn to it even when you're asleep. Kalim worries, insists you should rest more and that he can handle everything at the lab, but you don't want to push more work onto his plate. This is a team effort, after all.

It's like push and pull. Jamil holds you under for longer, slowly but surely snuffing your interest in Kalim, and releasing you from the spell of hypnosis before anyone can question it or grow suspicious. You're not going to love Kalim. You're going to love the specimen you look after. You're going to love Jamil. This is how it should have been, and this is how it will be.

Ultimately, it culminates in claiming. Jamil must stake it, must mold you to his form so that you'll only ever know him and no one else. The look in your eyes is empty and dazed, but you're smiling at him, entrapped in the coils of his tail, and it's a happy, drunken sort of smile. You're such a pretty human, so sweet for him when you open yourself without complaint or struggle, shedding that pesky clothing to reveal all of the curious parts to your anatomy he finds absolutely riveting. He fucks into your tight, slick warmth for hours, bodies pressed flush and never separating. Your moans fill the enclosure, adding to the sinful sounds of sex, and he falls for you all over again. You're truly so precious, so blissfully dumb and obedient when you're taking his cocks like the good researcher you are. Jamil can't resist; he has to fill you up, make this claim one you'll remember. And you can't object. You're not allowed to, not when he controls your every reaction. If he tells you to cum, you will. If he tells you to take just a few more eggs, you will.

And you'll like it because that's what you're told.

Only once you're filled to bursting, tummy packed full of his clutch, does Jamil gaze sidelong at Kalim, who looks on with concerned horror. Jamil tilts his head, acting as if he doesn't understand the smallest of human cues. He does, but Kalim doesn't need to know.

He smiles, his hold on you tightening ever so slightly. You're Jamil's now. Forever and always. As you were meant to be. And no one shall come between you.

[milling-around]

The Bad Batch Finale and Joel Aron’s cryptic tweet

Okay so Joel Aron, Director of Cinematography Lighting & VFX at Lucasfilm, tweeted this:

Initially, I thought that this was going to be the runtime of S3E15 The Cavalry Has Arrived. This episode being longer would make sense as it’s the finale of the show and it’s close in length to S1E1 Aftermath. However, I saw a screenshot floating around the other day that says the runtime of the final episode “spans 24 to 25 minutes”.

If this episode is the typical length then this timestamp must be referring to a different piece of media. The question is, what media? In an effort to determine what could happen in the finale, I went to that point in the films to see what I would find. None of them strike as much fear in me as what’s happening in A New Hope.

The Phantom Menace - Anakin has just won the pod race and they are celebrating his victory.

Attack of the Clones - Jango Fett and Boba Fett have just attacked Obi-Wan with seismic charges.

Revenge of the Sith - Anakin is looking out over Coruscant from the Jedi Council room. He has just revealed to Mace Windu that Palpatine is a Sith.

A New Hope - Before leaving to disable the tractor beam on the Death Star, Obi-Wan delivers a line which may foreshadow what’s to come in The Bad Batch.

Empire Strikes Back - Luke is trying to lift the ship out of the swamp on Dagobah.

Return of the Jedi - Luke, Han, and Chewbacca, along with the droids, are captured by the Ewoks.

Star Wars: The Clone Wars - Anakin and Ahsoka are heading towards Tatooine to deliver Jabba’s son back to him.

At 01:09:56:01 in A New Hope, or as close to it as I could get (Disney+ sucks) this is what we see:

Sorry it’s a photo of my computer, I don’t know how y’all take screenshots of Disney+.

“Your destiny lies along a different path from mine.”

Many people have been theorising that the show could end with the Batch and Omega surviving but being separated, either by choice or by circumstance. This line from A New Hope, as well as the fact that Omega’s voice actor, Michelle Ang, has described the ending as “bittersweet”, definitely make that a solid theory.

Maybe I’m barking up the wrong tree though. There’s also speculation about whether Omega is force sensitive, so maybe Luke using the force in Empire Strikes Back is the real clue. Despite Ventress not believing Omega to have a high m-count, and her not being one of Hemlock’s designated m-count specimens, we have seen characters with a low m-count who were capable of wielding the force. Sabine Wren, for example.

Still, Omega being force sensitive doesn’t prevent the theory that she gets separated from the Batch from being true. It could actually be a reason for that separation because she may pursue training or decide that her proximity to the Batch endangers them.

But wait, there’s more!

At this timestamp in S1E1 Aftermath, Omega is on the Marauder with the Bad Batch (minus Crosshair) and they’re setting off on what will be her first big adventure. Omega’s Theme is playing and she’s gazing out at space with child-like wonder. While they’ve just parted ways with Crosshair, the overall feeling in this scene is hopeful.

If the tweet is referring to this episode, it could mean that we get a wholesome Bad Batch family moment. Whether Tech is there or not may rely on CX-2 being unmasked. Perhaps it’s bittersweet because Tech truly is dead or because he’s alive but they cannot save him from the Empire. Or maybe it’s bittersweet for a whole host of other reasons.

Honourable mention

@kiffobaby also looked into what is happening at this timestamp if you combine the runtimes (including credits) of all episodes in clone relevant story arcs and didn’t really find anything of note. If credits were removed then it would put at us a different point in the arc, however it’s unlikely that we’d be looking for a timestamp in an arcs combined duration anyway.

If you’ve read this far, I love you and don’t worry, we’re almost done.

Secret 16th episode?

Seasons 1 and 2 each had 16 episodes which leads me to speculate that this timestamp could actually be the runtime of the final episode, a secret 16th episode.

Is it likely? No. Can I dream? Yes.

[silver-itallics]

My Favorite Inside Source

Leon Kennedy x reader

Part 2!

Warnings: Non-con, drugging, kidnapping, kind of cnc, Leon being a weird old man and feeling bad about it

Title is from Rape Me by Nirvana

This is inspired by Waste Me from @gilfhub !! super cool awesome person I love their brain

This was a stupid idea.

Most of your ideas have been stupid recently.

But you feel stupid, so your antics fit.

You don't have enough self respect to care anyway.

There's a red solo cup in your hand, inside it a mix of alcohols that will probably give you liver damage in your thirties. Raising it to your lips, the drink isn't half bad.

Or maybe you're just too drunk to tell.

The alcohol burns your throat, making you feel a strange mix of nauseous and euphoric. Around you, everyone else seems to be in the same condition.

People grind against their partners in a sorry excuse for dancing, stumbling as much as you are.

It's perfect.

For the past few weeks, you've been doing this. Getting drunk or high out of your mind, sometimes both, in hopes of someone looking your way. You've exhausted your skimpiest of outfits, and worn enough makeup to provide for a beauty pageant.

You leave your cups unattended, and drink any suspicious substance you can get your hands on. You flirt without paying attention to any red flags, letting your neckline hang low enough to practically show nipples.

It's like you're begging to get scooped up and thrown in the back of a trunk.

Actually, what you want is worse than that.

All of your antics are an attempt to get bent over in a stranger's bedroom or a dirty bedroom while you scream "please, no!"

In your mind, no one will lay their hands on you unless you're one step away from unconsciousness.

Pretty girls get taken home. Pretty girls get paid attention to.

You, however, are begging to get raped.

Quite literally.

The last guy that came close enough to shoving his hands down your pants got scared away. You begged him to rape you; you were drunk enough for it to be considered the sort.

He pushed you off, calling you a freak and all sorts of names without even touching you.

Ever since then, your efforts have doubled.

You put your body on display, despite how unattractive you find it. Even in a skirt so short you can see your panties and a shirt so low cut your bra is showing, you barely get any attention.

Maybe it's your soft jawline, or hip dips. The lack of attention could be chalked up to your round tummy or the pimple below your lip. Or it could be your frizzy hair, or the fact that you only talk about three things.

You could make a list out of things you hate about yourself.

Instead, you're fishing for attention, using your tits and ass as bait on a hook.

Still, you keep coming up empty handed.

As you lean over the bar, purposely looking away from your drink, you can feel eyes on you. You push the thought away, your insecurities not believing that anyone would look at you that way. But actually, quite a lot of people look. Only because your pussy is practically hanging out of your skirt, but you catch their eyes anyway.

This time, though, you don't feel just a fleeting glance. You can feel staring.

Turning, you find the culprit. A man twice your age with shaggy dark blond hair watches you like a hawk. You're surprised, considering he's quite attractive. The guy is well built, with muscles and a sharp jawline with a bit of stubble. Pretty. You'll bite.

You give him a smile, playing up how drunk you are. However, it's not hard, considering you'd probably break a breathalyzer with how much alcohol is in your system. The fact that you haven't thrown up yet is a miracle.

Instead of walking over to him, you shift your focus to the bar once more, playing hard to get. Guys like that. At least you think they do. You've never really caught enough guys' attention to say for sure.

Shifting your hips, you arch your back to give him a good view of your panties. The skirt you're wearing is already quite short, but the angle makes the fabric slip up your behind even more. At least there's enough fat in your body to give you some semblance of an ass.

That seems to do the trick, as in a few minutes, you feel a warm hand on your lower back. Now that you've got his attention, time to reel him in.

"Hey handsome," you slur, stumbling a little. That gives you the opportunity to press your cup against his chest in hopes he takes the chance to roofie your drink.

The guy catches you, his hand slipping to your waist. You have to stop yourself from melting into his embrace and begging for it already. He smells like whiskey and gunpowder, and you can feel his strength in just the simple touch.

"Hey yourself."

You talk with him for a few minutes, making sure to compliment him as much as possible and insult yourself at every given chance. Playing the pathetic role isn't difficult, as you aren't really pretending.

Eventually, you learn the man's name is Leon, and as you guessed, he's quite a bit older than you. Almost twice your age. Which is even better in your twisted mind.

"Gonna go pee." You shove your cup into his hand, walking to the bathroom at the back of the bar. There's a long line, which gives Leon enough time to decide what to do with your drink.

At first, he protects it. His hand is wrapped around the opening, and he keeps an eye out for anyone that might have looked your way earlier.

But really, he should be protecting you from himself.

Leon didn't come here with the intention of taking anyone home. Especially unconscious.

But you played into his hands so perfectly, practically putting yourself on a silver platter for him. You probably wouldn't even notice if he slipped something in your drink.

Guilt twists in his stomach.

Girls were always hard for Leon. They liked his looks, but never stuck around long enough to appreciate his personality. At least that's what he told himself.

Except for you.

You liked both his looks and personality, easily charming jokes out of him. And you even laughed.

Some of them you genuinely found funny.

Plus, your self esteem was so low, you'd probably give him what he wanted if he asked politely. Still, there was the chance you'd fight, and he couldn't have that.

The thought made Leon feel sick.

What the hell was he doing?

As quickly as the nausea came, it subsided. The feeling was replaced with the memory that Leon hadn't had pussy in years. He knew you had a nice warm cunt that you'd turn over in minutes.

But you'd be tighter if he took it from you.

That was what helped him decide.

He was only a man, one with needs. You were a fragile, insecure girl.

This would be a cakewalk.

Leon slipped his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a few melatonin tablets. He kept them on him because he couldn't sleep most nights.

He probably wouldn't be sleeping after the guilt of what he was about to do, but the need to feel your plush walls was stronger than any morals Leon had.

Normally, he'd be better than this. But after his entire team got killed in front of him because of a stupid mistake he made, Leon hadn't been the same.

He dumped the pills into your drink.

They drop down to the bottom, fizzing as they start to dissolve. Hopefully the little tablets disappear fast enough for you not to notice. That way, the only evidence would be the effects you'd feel later. Hopefully he'd be able to keep you entertained long enough to scoop you up.

Just in time, you appear behind Leon, dragging your fingers up his arm.

"Sorry, line was long. Miss me?" You tease.

"Lots," Leon chuckles. He gives your drink a subtle shake before handing it back to you. Without even checking the contents, you take it.

"Protected it with my life."

You smile at Leon's stupid joke, taking a big swim of your drink. You really hope he put something in it.

"Well, thank you for your service."

Swishing your drink, you make sure not to look down at the liquid. Leon is glad you don't, as the pills at the bottom are still dissolving. God, he's even bad at drugging stupid sluts at bars.

The only thing he feels he's good at is guns.

They're easy, people aren't. When his gun jams, he knows exactly what to do. But Leon's mouth goes dry when you look at him with those doe eyes of yours.

The two of you talk a little longer, and you make sure to down your drink quickly. Once you get down to the bottom, your face twists a little at the unfamiliar taste. Leon notices, and panics a little. But he needs to be calm. Pretend like nothing's wrong.

So he claps a harsh hand on your shoulder, shaking your body with the motion. He almost forgets what he's doing as he watches your skin jiggle a little.

"It's okay, kid. I didn't like alcohol at first, either."

He manages a smile, but Leon knows he's an idiot. Calling the girl he's about to take home and fuck senseless a "kid" is not the right move. Even if fucking isn't the right word for what he's about to do to you.

Thirty minutes. Leon needs to occupy for thirty minutes, so that the melatonin kicks in. Surprisingly, the task isn't as hard as he thought. Even if you're a little annoying, you entertain yourself well, talking as if he cares. You're like a puppy chasing its own tail. He almost feels bad for what he's about to do.

Almost.

Leon pulls you closer as you yawn, supporting your weight on his biceps. Jeez, you're heavier than he thought you'd be. That might be a problem.

"'m sleepy," you mutter, completely forgetting what you came here for. Well, either way you wanted someone to take you home, and that's exactly what you're gonna get.

You lurch forward, feeling dizzy and sick. Even in this dazed state, you realize: you've actually been drugged. Fear creeps up your belly, latching itself on each of your ribs. For so long, you've fantasized about this, and now that it's happening, you're getting cold feet.

There's a look of inebriated panic on your face, clear as day. Feeling sluggish like jelly, you reach up, pointing a wobbly finger at Leon's chest.

"Leon… you…" slurring, you can't even get the words out. The bartender looks curiously at the two of you, to which Leon puts on one of those charming smiles of his. The one that's gotten him so far, the one he's mastered from years of kissing up to the president.

His hand slides into place around your waist, pushing down your accusatory finger.

"Think she's had too much to drink," he chuckles, looking down at you. "Haven't you, baby?"

Baby.

The word is enough to make you compliant. Leon's voice repeats in your head, putting you to sleep like one of those audiobooks you listened to as a kid.

Sleepily, you nod, relenting your body to him. You're like a bunny chasing a carrot on a string. Except you'd follow that carrot even if it led you into an active volcano. Leon almost pities you. But he pities himself more.

He's rough when he shoves you into the car, and you drift off in seconds. You're out like a light, so he's gotta work fast to get you to his apartment. Leon could always rape you in his car, but he's classier than that. He's a private man, even if he's a dick.

When you're finally on his bed is when he realizes what he's doing. Sprawled out on his pillows, your hair drifts out like a halo. With your eyes closed and lips parted, you look sweet. Even if you're not a blonde bombshell on the cover of playboy magazine.

You're just some girl, an average one.

Some might even call you a victim.

Leon feels nauseous again. Normally he can hold his whiskey, but this is a different type of sick feeling. He's sick in the head, and he knows it. Like a parasite in his head, one he can see, but can't remove.

That same parasite is what makes him crawl between your legs as you're sleeping, pressing his face to your panties. Nice ones, too. He lifts up your skirt to get better access and a better look at the lacy fabric covering your slit. He takes a deep whiff before pushing himself back up.

Leon's gotta work fast, as you're just asleep, not paralyzed. Another amateur mistake. He might have to concuss you if you make too much noise. Surprisingly, he's okay with that. He's broken plenty of skulls, and yours would be just one more. Except you're not infected with any disease, except for a similar one that he has, and you're not a war criminal.

Looking you over, Leon notices what little clothing you're wearing. Claire would tell him it's not good to say that girls are "asking for it", but it kinda seems like you are. He's not sure whether that makes this whole situation better or worse.

Whatever.

The top of your obnoxiously colorful bra peeks out from your shirt, and Leon tugs it down. Your boobs are average, but the first real ones he's seen without paying for them. Even if he'll probably pay for this later. Just not in money.

He's old now, and can't get hard as easily as before. But that doesn't stop his dick from trying to. Man, he's stooped low.

In his twenties, he had girls throwing themselves at him, but never the ones he wanted. Before, his expectations were high. But now he's getting chubbed from the sight of some average tits.

You're an average joe in almost every way. Boobs aren't too big, and your ass isn't huge either. You're mostly fat, which is probably to blame for most of your ass anyways.

But if Leon is good at anything, it's dealing with what he's given.

So he lowers his mouth down to one of your tits, taking your nipple in his lips. He's not as good at it as he used to be, but the skin hardens anyways. Maybe you're good at settling, too. Just like he is.

You squirm a little each time he sucks on your nipples, eyebrows creasing. Leon takes them both in his hands, and each of your boobs fit nicely in his palms. Maybe this isn't so bad.

He jerks his hips forward, trying to get his dick hard. You make it a little easier for him to get it up, compared to the night he spends alone. At least he has some material tonight that's not on paper or a screen.

Your panties are starting to get wet, which is fine, even if he'd prefer you a bit drier. You'd be tighter that way.

He leaves most of your clothes on, figuring you'd be less violated than way. Leon's line of thinking doesn't always make the most sense, but he does it anyways. When he pulls away your underwear, he chuckles a little. You've got a pretty pussy for an average joe, but with a hack job of pubes.

At least you smell nice.

He slides your underwear off your legs, tossing them into a drawer in his nightstand. A keepsake. Trophy. Or maybe material if you ever get away. Probably evidence if you ever go to the police.

Maybe Leon's life will turn around if he gets arrested. Or the president will just break him out and he'll be back to fighting nightmares day and night.

He's trapped in this stupid job. But he's not trapped with you. With you, Leon finally has control. He can make you jerk by playing with your nipples and whine when he kisses your clit. But being nice is boring.

Normally he'd eat a girl out, for the sake of chivalry or whatever. But this is about him, not you. You don't have control here.

He pushes his jeans to his knees, just enough to get his dick out. At least it's hard now, from the sight and smell of your pussy. Probably your best feature.

When he presses the tip against your pretty folds, you gasp. The first sound you've made tonight. Leon doesn't find the noise to be unbearable, so he keeps going.

When he pushes in, he's the one that makes a noise. You're tight as hell, and just wet enough to slip in, but not too much to be sloppy. Christ, you squeeze him like you're trying to kill him.

This is when you wake up. If the state you're in can even be considered consciousness. You feel like you're dreaming, but you fight Leon off anyways. Or try to. The way you push at him is pretty cute honestly. Similarly to how a kitten plays with a piece of string.

"Leon! Stop… it hurts…"

Your smaller hands push at his clothed chest, and he easily catches both of them in one of his larger hands. Sure, you wanted to be raped, but now that you are, you're scared. The fear in your eyes is laughable.

"Thought you wanted this," he mumbles out, struggling to push into your tight walls. You bleed a little, which helps him slide in. Leon's used to blood on his hands, or really everywhere. But never his dick.

Now you're crying. You feel stupid, incredibly so. But Leon's only focusing on the bounce of your tits and stomach, the tight squeeze of your cunt.

"I did!" You hiccup. Your hands still push at his own, despite the fact he's got you pinned and straddled. "I- I don't know!"

Your sobs subside as you focus more on the feeling. The pain is still there, of course, you haven't had dick in years. But it feels good in the same way that popping pimples does or sticking safety pins in your fingers.

Even in sex, you're self destructive. You stop fighting, even starting to enjoy it a little. With the melatonin still in your system, you drift in and out of sleep, which probably helps your case. Leon's thrusts are a little too rough to take fully conscious.

"There we go," he says, speeding up. He's taken to a rhythm that feels good for him, and if you like it too, that's fine. He'll hate himself afterwards either way.

Leon grabs your chin, squishing your chubby cheeks between his fingers. He lets go of your hands, which fumble for his shirt, but not to push him off this time. You're pulling him in even closer. Wiping the tears off your cheeks, the older man smiles down at you. It's sadistic, but a smile nonetheless.

"Good sluts take what they're given, yeah?"

You whine, nodding dumbly. Your tongue feels numb in your mouth and your pussy feels sore. In a way that you probably shouldn't like. Leon's fucking you in a way that will probably cause you to book an appointment with a pelvic floor therapist.

He grunts, and your eyes go all starry. Leon ignores the stupid look you're giving him, splaying his hands on your fat thighs, spreading them further. He's close.

Maybe fifteen years ago, he'd be able to last longer or be kinder to you. But the squeeze of your cunt and soft, slick noises are driving him crazy. Crazier than he has to be to do something like this.

He's about to tell you of the predicament, figuring you'd be relieved. But you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his hips flush with yours. The pain of his dick hitting your cervix makes you a little nauseous, but you're sick enough to like the sting. Your head is thrown back in a moan as he cums inside of you.

For a moment, Leon feels like he's actually fucking someone he cares about, not just some slut he drugged at a bar. There's a sense of normalcy as his brain goes fuzzy with the orgasm. Your tight pussy makes him cum so hard he sees stars. Something that hasn't happened in years.

But when he comes down, slumping on top of you and breathing heavily, he realizes what he's done. Leon rolls over to the other side of the bed, giving you more than enough space. You're falling back asleep already when the post nut clarity hits him like a truck.

He almost cries, even if he's not the one that is currently bleeding onto his sheets from being treated so roughly. There's even slight bruises on your jaw and hips from where he'd been grabbing you all night. Feels like the night he planned to kill himself all over again. That time he had Sherry to keep him alive, but now she's all grown up and better off without him.

You mumble something in your sleep, causing Leon to turn his head to look at you. He didn't even have the patience to undress you fully; your tits are haphazardly pulled out of your shirt, and your skirt is bunched up around your hips. He didn't even look close enough at your body, the way you deserve. The way he can't give you.

God, he's an asshole.

Or probably even worse than that.

Leon watches you sleep. You're not the prettiest, or the most confident, but now he's stuck with you. Trapped the way he is with his job. In a strange way, he feels connected to you. Not in a love way, but in the way that the bruises on your jaw are in the shape of his fingers. Not anyone else's.

Maybe he won't end it tonight. Maybe he'll stay alive another day. Since he roughed you up so badly, and you're still living. Even if you're leaking a mixture of cum and blood on his sheets. Stupid thing, did nobody teach you to pee after sex? But Leon's not going to wake you. He's probably not even going to get up, either. You'll have matching UTI's and be stuck even closer in this fucked up spiderweb he's created between the two of you.

Sometime past five in the morning is when Leon falls asleep. Surprisingly, he's been given a decent vacation after his last screw up. God knows how long that'll last.

When he wakes up, blinding light filtering in through his dusty apartment, the first thing he sees is you. You're laying on his chest, still barely dressed. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you're drooling a little on his shirt.

He's not even considerate enough to try not to wake you, shoving you to the side so he can go pee. You fall to the side, blinking slowly as you wake up.

"Where are you going?" You ask, voice scratchy from sleep and all the crying you did last night. Screaming, too.

Leon can't even look at you. He's still stuck in that state of realization. Because now he knows what he is. Before, he was the golden boy, the president's favorite. But now he's a rapist and overall a big splotch of a mistake.

"Gotta piss," he grumbles, already halfway in the bathroom. You watch him curiously, as if you want to come in. Leon immediately shuts the door, a bit too harshly.

He stays in the bathroom too long. Your blood and other fluids dried on his dick and pelvis, which he only cleans off because it's itchy. But also because he doesn't really want to be reminded of what he did. Leon wishes he could clean off last night like the dried blood on his skin.

But he knows he can't.

Once he's done, he stumbles into the kitchen, planning on downing a bottle of whiskey for breakfast. Or lunch. It's already past noon.

Leon's plan comes to a screeching halt as he smells food cooking. You're fully dressed again, albeit, without underwear.

All of the guilt he's been feeling all night can't compare to the absolute misery he feels watching you.

The girl he raped last night.

You're cooking breakfast for him, like a little housewife.

The fact that you're not crying even hurts more. You're humming softly, poking around some bacon in a pan with a spatula. Somehow, you found something to cook for him, though he's been living off of takeout and microwave meals for about a week now.

After a few minutes of staring is when you notice that Leon is there. You turn, confirming the fact that you're cooking for him.

"Hey," you're smiling at him, bright doe eyes and rosy cheeks. "I just wanted to say thanks for last night."

God. What the hell has he done?

[evilmoldywizard]

More Logan headcanons because I'm being given messages from god (pt 2!)

- music taste is actually just fucking all over the place with just being a weird combination of literally anything he's liked over the entire time he has been alive. do NOT let his silly ass on aux he will play something from the 20s followed by rob zombie or literally Creed or something and be like “Yeah I remember when these came out” like it's even remotely the same time period

- can and has frequently had fleas

- this is in addition to his “likes animals” hc I had but I feel like he sort of just collects them, sort of like Will Graham and Hellboy with dogs and cats, but hell just be here keeping his weird ass bear in the woods near the school that he shows up to feed and hang out with, and will bring home baby raccoons and opossums in just jacket at the time

- paranoid about sleeping next to anyone or anyone trying to wake him up because of his PTSD and how he wakes up from nightmares, especially after almost killing Rogue in the first movie.

- as far as immortality goes, he seems to be coping pretty well, but by god does this man need anxiety meds, and a high dose. Like now.

- has a lot of irrational small little fears despite being effectively immortal, like his canon fear of airplanes, I feel like he's also super freaked out by the ocean and large bodies of water. Like he will complain through a flight about feeling like its going to crash and kill him, but at least he doesn't need to SEE the water he's going over.

- the younger kids at Xavier's school have basically peer pressured him into really liking Halloween over time, he will even put on a really low-effort costume but he really does get excited about it now that he's around kids frequently, he will never admit it though.

- in addition to that, he honestly loves interacting with kids so much, and is really good with them. His situation growing up was godawful of course, especially with his immune system being as bad as it was before his mutation kicked in, so he is just subconsciously really careful about how much they look up to him and how he treats them. Most of them see him as like a cool uncle, and he would absolutely die for them no questions asked.

- is super sensitive to smell and hearing of course, but also he will usually hate this, and gets a lot of sensory issues because of this. Yeah, its super helpful, but he really is bothered by this and he has a hard time managing it. He's definitely curious about looking into ear protection but none of it is usually effective enough for him. He usually will just be able to hear electricity moving around with headphones and it bothers him a lot.

- On top of that, this is another reason he fucking stinks, is because most scented products like literally any deodorant bother him sensory-wise so much.

- he can of course survive any conditions really, but he's actually a big baby about discomfort that isn't direct pain, especially temperature, because of his mutation and immense sensory issues, he also literally has a metal skeleton, so cold is a nightmare. He will power through getting shot multiple times and stabbed easily, but the second its any degree near freezing he complains so much.

- he also just loves to complain👍

- adding, honestly though him complaining is a good sign from him that he's doing well. He's so used to dealing with insanely harsh conditions, and having to power through it, despite feeling every ounce of pain before his healing will kick in, including his claws. But when he starts to be annoying about the temperature or something, it really means he feels safe.

- again, I cannot express how much this man CANNOT drive! I don't care how much he is seen driving a car in x men media, I am NOT LISTENING. Motorcycle is different though to him. For some reason. Especially stolen. He CAN however steal a car, he just can't drive one, and will frequently get other xmen to drive him places like the little passenger princess he is. Mostly Scott. Scott hates this, Logan knows it.

- super sensory seeking with touch, as its one of his few senses he can control completely, so he will usually wear lots of layers, is super big on physical touch as a form of showing affection for people, anything deep pressure calms him down fast.

- he hoards bedding like a little nest. One million pillows and blankets for the freak. Again, deep pressure and control over temperature.

I think this is it for now, I will for sure be back with more, this thing (Logan) is so headcanon-able for some reason.

[uponawhitehorse13]

Ragna The Bloodedge SFW alphabet

Fem! version below

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Not really open with affection. Will accept anything you initiate though but gets a bit weird with hand holding due having lost both arms.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As usual, always a bit annoyed but never willing to fully push you away.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Seems grumpy but actually enjoys it. Always big spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Not being on the run would be a welcome change of pace for him. He’s not used to keeping a space clean but at least he’s good at cooking.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Tries not to hurt your feelings.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Never really thought about it. If you mention it he’s open to the idea as long as he picks the venue.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He can be pretty mean but will do a complete 180 if he notices he actually hurt your feelings.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not a big initiator but will always hug back.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Once in a blue moon. He does say it often when he thinks you’re asleep.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He trusts you enough to not have to worry about other people. Will get aggressive if they’re too stubborn and don’t back away.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses are always short and soft, on the cheek or forehead. Sees it as a way of reassuring you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Surprisingly good with kids. May act grumpy but actually has a lot of fun with them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He’s used to staying low during the day so sleeping in is a common occurrence.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most active at night but if you’re too tired he’s content to just keep watch while you sleep.

O = Open  (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say  everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He will tell you about his past but only once. It will be a very intimate moment but he doesn’t want to repeat it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

May seem to anger easily but he’s actually a pushover and caves in to almost any demands.

Q = Quizzes  (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little  detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He does what he can to remember stuff you tell him but sometimes slips up with certain details.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Despite everything you go through, your first meeting will always be stuck in his mind.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He would lay down her life without hesitation for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He always puts in a ton of effort and it almost always pays off.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

He has a lot of trouble being honest with his feelings.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Doesn’t really care. He just sticks with his reliable red jacket.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He has lost a lot of things in his life but losing you would hurt the most.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

You will definitely have to deal with Rachel appearing out of nowhere on your dates just to comment how terrible taste you have to end up with him as a partner.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wouldn’t be happy if you started associating with the wrong people. He has a lot of enemies.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

If he’s sleeping with you he will completely crush you. It’s a subconscious thing he does.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Not really open with affection. Will accept anything you initiate though but gets a bit weird with hand holding due having lost both arms.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

As usual, always a bit annoyed but never willing to fully push you away.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Seems grumpy but actually enjoys it. Always big spoon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Not being on the run would be a welcome change of pace for her. She’s not used to keeping a space clean but at least she’s good at cooking.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Tries not to hurt your feelings.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Never really thought about it. If you mention it she’s open to the idea as long as she picks the venue.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

She can be pretty mean but will do a complete 180 if she notices she actually hurt your feelings.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Not a big initiator but will always hug back.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Once in a blue moon. She does say it often when she thinks you’re asleep.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She trusts you enough to not have to worry about other people. Will get aggressive if they’re too stubborn and don’t back away.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Her kisses are always short and soft, on the cheek or forehead. Sees it as a way of reassuring you.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Surprisingly good with kids. May act grumpy but actually has a lot of fun with them.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

She’s used to staying low during the day so sleeping in is a common occurrence.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Most active at night but if you’re too tired she’s content to just keep watch while you sleep.

O = Open  (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say  everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

She will tell you about her past but only once. It will be a very intimate moment but she doesn’t want to repeat it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

May seem to anger easily but she’s actually a pushover and caves in to almost any demands.

Q = Quizzes  (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little  detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

She does what she can to remember stuff you tell her but sometimes slips up with certain details.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Despite everything you go through, your first meeting will always be stuck in her mind.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

She would lay down her life without hesitation for you.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

She always puts in a ton of effort and it almost always pays off.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She has a lot of trouble being honest with her feelings.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Doesn’t really care. She just sticks with her reliable red jacket.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

She has lost a lot of things in her life but losing you would hurt the most.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

You will definitely have to deal with Rachel appearing out of nowhere on your dates just to comment how terrible taste you have to end up with her as a partner.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She wouldn’t be happy if you started associating with the wrong people. She has a lot of enemies.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

If she’s sleeping with you she will completely crush you. It’s a subconscious thing she does.

[utilitycaster]

The fact that OP has "theist" in their DNI, paired with other terms for bigoted people and how they can die under their boot heels, shows that this person might not be the right person to make a sound and unbiased argument

Hi anon, I do try not to go after people on the basis of their bios but rather by the fact that their post cannot comprehend the idea that a colonized people might have more complicated motivations other than throwing off the yoke of the West; or that actually you can be radicalized in harmful ways even if you have justified grievances, or that perhaps the people of the global south are just as much human and fallible and capable of making their own choices, which might be good or which might be bad, as the people of (for example) the United States of America.

It would not really matter if OP's bio instead said "heya! I'm just a sweet normal person without any violent power fantasies who makes a genuine effort not to other people from colonized countries and definitely hasn't recreated my own personal version of the Noble Savage mythos in order to justify my hatred of fantasy gods that I also simultaneously and incoherently argue aren't even "real" gods, a claim that has meaning, and also when people pushed back on me on my post I definitely didn't resort to ad hominems about how pathetic it is a 40-something adult is interested in Critical Role despite the cast also being 40-something adults and despite my claim that this is actually a deeply intellectual and complex work which one would think would indicate that maybe it would have an appeal to adult audiences," because like, they did say some REALLY racist shit right there. Imagine the bio is gone and look at the post. It's still a bigoted western-centric fantasy that romanticizes and flattens the experience of people in colonized countries; it is just one that paints the west as the only source of evil, rather than the only source of enlightenment and freedom.

I am finishing up a post addressing some other themes that I and others who have criticized Campaign 3 have been accused of failing to engage with, and truly, while I don't expect unbiased takes (it is the nature of humans to have biases, that's actually part of the issue I take with that post, that it assumes that everyone in a disprivileged country automatically places the blame precisely where it truly belongs and isn't influenced by their own cultural biases) but I would love for like...a coherent take on C3 being good and/or leftist? Literally I'd love to hear an argument that doesn't actively contradict itself, is supported by the text, and is also not, you know, dehumanizing towards a huge portion of the world population. That's a pretty fucking low bar and I haven't seen a single person clear it.

[onskepa]

Can I request a headcanon for A'onung with a shy and like softie reader? Pls-

_(:3 」∠)_

Heeeeeeeeey! thanks for the request! hope I did justify your desire!

-------------------------------

Yuey

I think we can all agree that ao'nung is a cocky little shit that sweet tsireya has to deal with every day.

But she doesnt have to deal with it alone. Oh no. When there is a sweet, there is a sweeter one.

A shy girl lives amongst the Metkayina clan. She is very quiet and more than often keeps things to herself.

It's not that she is anti social, its just she is painfully shy. When she tries to talk to others, her words get all jumbled up and anything that comes out of her mouth sounds like odd sounds.

More than likely, everyone knows she is around, but doesnt do much to talk to her. Except for surprisingly, Ao'nung.

Ao'nung has known the shy girl for a while. Was surprised that he never known nor met her in his entire life, despite both living in the same island, in the same clan.

He met her in a form of wanting to trade the fish he caught for some pretty shells the girl had. But the girl was so painfully shy that she just dropped her basket and ran.

After some time, and actual effort, Ao'nung managed to get the shy girl to speak to him, via a bit stuttering, but managed to complete sentences and be a bit more confident to speak to him.

Despite his brash attitude, Ao'nung likes the shy girl, her little quirks and the way her ocean eyes look at him, and only him.

He enjoys the little things she does to get his attention, be it a little tug on his tail, small taps on his shoulders, or just looks at him waiting to say something.

Despite being shy, the metkayina girl is really good at creating jewelry from seashells and other materials. She would give away her creations and not ask anything in return. Rather just enjoy the smiles and happiness other na'vi So it is no surprise that she would often gift Ao'nug jewelry as gifts, as means to show affection and gratitude from being her friend.

Sometimes Ao'nug is so proud he will parade around the village to show off was his shy friend did for him.

In time, Ao'nug developed a soft, loving, caring, very protective side for his shy friend. Would begin to nick name her "Yuey".

"good morning ma'yuey", "where are you going yuey? mind if I join?", "did you make something for me ma'yuey?", "ma'yuey why must you be so cute?"

Would tease her by addressing her with "ma". To slowly display his real affections towards her, slowly as to not scare her or give her the wrong idea.

She does blush every time he does, and ask him to stop or not to say it in front of others. But he loves the blushing look so much, he would do it on purpose in front of everyone and smile as his yuey weakly hits him. Which feels like mere tickles.

Should anyone bother, or mistreat his dear Yuey, he wont hesitate to start a fight. Which has happened, thankfully, not all too often.

But the times it has happened, Rotxo would join in those fights. Tsireya would try to stop them but it be the shy girl to disrupt the fights with a simple tear. Making Ao'nug quickly stop. And treat any small wounds he has.

She wont stay mad at Ao'nug, pout definitely, and be annoyed with Ao'nug calls her pouts "cute" and "adorable" and would poke at her cheeks.

"your cheeks are so cute ma'yuey how can I not?", "I'm sorry yuey", "ma'yuey, can I pinch your cheeks?", "yuey, you're adorable when you pout"

Ao'nug for sure begin to see a future with his lovely Yuey, perhaps with a steady flow, get his yuey to be more confident in herself, but still be gently, and soft to the others.

Heck, Ao'nug would begin to secretly make courting gifts, and perfect and hone his skills as to impress his yuey, and pray to Eywa that the shy girl sees him the way he does to her.

But he wont present them until his sweet girl is ready or begins to show her feelings for him.

Which we all know, she low-key down bad for him. But wont say anything due do over thinking of the possibility of being rejected.

When will they confess? only Eywa knows the answer to that.

Yuey = beautiful [inner beauty]

Thank you Mandomaterial for this request! I hope it is to your liking!