#i have never known what i'm doing and that's not about to change

[bewitched-hours]

Good morning/evening.

Well its me again :] and I'm here for another request.

Basically, Mafioso x Bartender?Reader oneshot [You can make it into yandere if you want; No pressure].

Where Reader was once Mafi's best friend when they were young adult [During that time, They didn't know that He works and is a mafia himself.]

However, They had end their friendship after slowly realizing They're being friend to a dangerous criminal. After that, They live hidden with the fear of being mistaken as His accomplice and fear of geting revenge + beaten.

As for that, They faked their identities and hidden their true job under cover as a bartender since all the people come to the bar to drink [get drunk, remember nothing next morning = barely see the bartender's face well + They hidden their identities.]

But They didn't even expect to meet Him IN THAT FRICKING BAR THEY'RE WORKING-

[Extra note: Mafioso in Forsaken, not in Dream game.]

Well, the rest is up to you. Stay safe and hope you have a great day :]

-Phalpelisk

Ooo, what a good little prompt I've been fed today~ And tbh, I can't even really find much about dream game aside from fan-stuff so I always just assume Forsaken with Mafioso... (Seriously, where do I even start-)

Reader gets She/They~

Do you regret it? Probably not.

Even getting indirectly involved with the Mafia would've been too dangerous for your tastes. You did what you had to do to make sure he wouldn't be looking for you.

You had faked your death, started over with a new identity, even dying your hair and wearing lenses along with a brand new closet. Though you always had a hat on that shrouded your face in shadows just to be sure.

Nowadays you were just a bartender taking care of the unfortunate and letting them air out their frustrations for the night while you collected tips for your sweet attitude. It was hard to act like that at times but you've never lived better!

But back when you were still younger... You sometimes catch yourself still thinking about your best friend. You felt bad leaving him behind but you didn't want to be seen as his accomplice or anything if push came to shove. You were too scared to let that happen.

Still, you couldn't help but wonder where he was now. Maybe he stuck to the Mafia business? Or maybe he could've changed? Was that possible?

As you thought on such manners in the quiet of the evening, you heard the bells of the door ring their gentle tune. It was him...

You hadn't expected to find him strolling by your workplace but tried to keep your composure. He didn't look too different from when you last saw him and you could always play off your anxiousness- if he noticed it- by pointing out the fact he was a mafia boss or just his looks... Was he known as a mafia boss even? Maybe it was time you invested yourself in the news more...

"Gonna need a Tom Collins..." He sighed, sitting down as you began mixing without a second thought.

Tom Collins... Gin, lemon juice, some simple syrup, a club soda and some ice with a little lemon wedge and cherry for garnish. It's actually one of your favourites...

As you shook your shaker with the ingredients, you couldn't help but notice his tone. "Long day, huh?" You somehow managed to keep a calm voice as you spoke up, straining your current mixture into his ice-filled glass and topped it with the soda and garnishes. "Nothing a little gin and lemon can't fix though, right?" You tried to keep it lighthearted, your sweet act going right past him as he began drinking.

"Just on the hunt for someone." He suddenly chuckled, catching you off-guard. Mafioso was always someone who could somehow see right through you and made you feel predictable. Though you blamed that on him having known you for practically an eternity.

Although, curiosity was practically your second nature. "Oh? Anyone special?" You asked casually, refilling his glass as you figured he might need a couple glasses before even getting tipsy... Well, at least you could probably get away with being casual considering your fake identity.

Except... He knew. "Just an old friend... Faked her own death." He looked up at you to note your slight slip-up in hesitation.

Even though you tried to play it off as simply wanting to see the time, keeping on your signature sweetness as though it was nothing as you continued. "She must be important then, to have someone look for her even so." You faked a chuckle, it all went right past him.

Your act was like glass to him. It frustrated him a little that he couldn't break through it and keep you to himself like he initially planned but he needed you to slip-up so he knew he was stalking the right you.

And you were basically giving him just that as he went on. "One way to put it. Not like I can blame her but she didn't do that good of a job covering her tracks." You couldn't see it but you could hear the smugness in his tone as you hesitated again to subconsciously think about your steps back then.

You felt your heart race as you knew you were caught but still attempted to shake it off in hopes he didn't catch on... Which he did...

"Is that so?" Seriously- How were you keeping such a casual tone despite being caught red-handed? "Any leads then?"

Your nervousness only grew when you heard him chuckle. It felt more menacing than anything. "Just your newfound sweetness... Your acting's better though." He sounded satisfied with himself, taking one last sip of his glass before handing you his card.

"You can run the tab on this and meet me outside. I'll be sure to speak to your boss so you won't have to worry." He got up and allowed you to see his smirk, making you sigh in defeat as your act dropped. At least the other patrons were all already tipsy or drunk enough to not intervene or report this...

You quickly run his card and let him type in the pin as you made your way around to the back where you could change to your usual outfit.

A knee-length dress that you simply had worn today because it made you feel cute, thigh highs to keep your legs warm and a pair of comfortable but fancy looking shoes to match the dress... What luck-

Getting outside, he had been waiting for you by an oddly casual looking car and approached as soon as your eyes met.

"Feel free to smoke a bit until I'm back." He simply said as he handed you a pack of cigarettes and a lighter before heading inside, leaving you no room to question him.

But with a huff, you did light yourself one and began smoking to calm your nerves. How did he even find you? Did he hire someone?

The thought made you shiver slightly but you went further ahead and decided to have a look at his car.

All black, even inside. Slightly tinted windows, a bunny- A BUNNY???

"Ya like him?" His sudden appearance made you practically jump as you dropped your cigarette. "His name's Gubby, you can hold him on the drive if you'd like." He didn't even really acknowledge the cigarette so you subtly stomped on it and quietly nodded before walking around to get in the passenger side.

Gubby practically bounced forward to meet you, sniffing your hands and squeaking happily as you pet him. It was pretty cute...

Almost makes you forget you're basically being kidnapped by your old best friend-

You must've been subconsciously smiling on the quiet ride as Gubby nudged himself against your fingers if you stopped petting him for even a second.

"Feels good not to act?" Mafioso snapped you out of your thoughts and you sheepishly nodded, realizing you've been letting down your guard already. Not like he didn't know.

"I just can't figure out how you managed to figure me out." You sighed, giving into Gubby's demands for affection again. "I got a new identity, dyed my hair and cut it- I even got contacts!" Your little pouts seemed to amuse the man you had known.

"I had a little help but it wasn't too hard to pick up a trail when looking through some old documents." Another shiver ran down your spine. Did the Mafia have access to government files or something? Sounds hard to believe...

Once you seemed to be close to your destination, Mafioso handed you a blindfold and looked at you expectantly. "I'm taking you to my hideout but I'm not having you remembering the way in or out in case anything happens." He sounded more serious and firm and honestly? You didn't have the energy to argue today so you just wrapped the blindfold around your eyes and used the little space below your eyes to just focus on Gubby instead. At least someone in this car can enjoy themself that way...

It was maybe half an hour to an hour of just hearing the engine of the car and the radio playing some songs from a CD Mafioso had on him. You kinda liked it even though it wasn't your usual cup of tea so you allowed yourself to hum along, much to his amusement.

"Glad you like it, [Reader]. It's really the only music I got available." You shrugged in response, trying to get used to your old name again.

It felt... Odd. You were so used to your new life but your old name was both comforting and eerie to hear... Especially out of an old friend's mouth...

But when the car finally stopped, you almost instinctively scooped up Gubby and held him in your arms as you waited for Mafioso to guide you again... Since you- ya know- STILL COULDN'T SEE-

Instead, he decided to lift you out of the car and carry you in a bridal carry as you practically clung onto Gubby to avoid him falling off. Not a single word fell from either of you though as you tried to listen around in confusion.

When the blindfold was finally off, you were greeted by the sight of Mafioso's goons... Who all seemed very curious about your appearance as you were finally let down to the ground and one of them took Gubby off your hands to let you move your arms again.

"This is [Reader], as you all know..." Did he talk about you? Wait- did they help Mafioso find you??? "They're staying with us indefinitely." waitwhat-

"Hold on- Indefinitely??" You questioned in shock, noticing the goons looking a little nervous as Mafioso sighed. "Yes, indefinitely. I put in a lot of work to find you and I'm not risking that again so we'll have your stuff brought here. You'll be taken care of so you won't have to worry." He sounded way too calm for your tastes but were you really in the mood to argue with a mafia boss? Nope.

With a groan, you began following the goons to your new room as they struck up conversation, asking about you and talking about themselves before letting it slip...

"Boss was pretty careful to make sure you didn't notice him following ya-" The goon was pretty quickly shut up by the others in a panic as you stared at them in confusion and slight anxiousness. "What does that mean?" You demanded to know, practically clawing at your own arms to not freak out right now.

"Ah- well-" Their mingled explanations were barely audible over each other so you stomped your foot once and the sound was luckily loud enough to get their attention back to you and allow you to speak.

And for once, you had a pretty mean glare on that managed to make them hesitant. You were able to drive a little fear into them and they were beginning to see how you and Mafioso fit together. "I'm not dealing with a headache today so I want one simple explanation, even if it's fake. I'm not driving myself to paranoia over not having a solid explanation for what you mean when you said he followed me." Your tone was firm and frustrated.

They all looked between each other nervously before one of them decided to step forward and satisfy your curiosity. "Well, we only found out you two had been friends recently. He told us you were someone dear to him and we were to help him find you at a set time each day. When he finally found you he had some of us visit you in disguises to find out what he wanted but because you put up an act he decided to go himself."

You stared at them for a while, trying to process their words until sighing and letting your shoulders slump. They took that as satisfaction and all sighed in relief. You could tell they were at least half-truthful but...

Were you really that important for Mafioso to hunt you down like that?

Who were you kidding, this is the most stubborn man you've ever known. It wasn't unrealistic to make yourself believe that Mafioso was just that stubborn to find you after your supposed slip-up in your plan years ago.

Still, you never wanted this! You've faked your death and created a new identity for yourself to get away from Mafia business! Not be dragged into it!

Sighing, you let the goons lead you to your room again and you were actually kinda surprised to find out it was decorated to your liking. It was mostly based on stuff you used to like back then but those things you still enjoy today so maybe Mafioso made a lucky guess in the new stuff. It would be more touching if you weren't basically the main character in a mafia romance novel.

No, you told yourself you wouldn't act like one. Never. That was way too cringe for your liking but at least you could finally lie down again.

You immediately noticed the comfort in the plush bed as you flopped down with the goons leaving behind a button and telling you to press it if you need help before disappearing. You didn't know what it would do but knowing Mafioso, it probably had a tracker or something in it. Whatever...

Back to the bed, it was comfortable enough to tempt you to fall asleep right then and there. It was the closest you've ever felt to sleeping on a cloud. But you couldn't let that distract you.

Especially not when you heard tiny scratches at your door and were almost excited to open it. You knew it was Gubby and you were more than happy to have him join you. He was in your lap on the bed in mere seconds with you happily scratching between his ears.

"Maybe this won't be so bad if you keep me company, right?" You said playfully, enjoying the little squeaks to comfort yourself for what felt like hours.

What have you been doing for that time? Daydreaming of course.

What about? Hey, you're the reader here, you think of it yourself lmao-

Nonetheless, you were a little embarrassed when you were brought back to reality by the door opening and Mafioso stepping through with a sigh and slight chuckle. "[Reader], I think you're starting to copy Gubby..." Was all he brought out for you to notice you and the bunny both had the same expression while looking at him. And you couldn't stifle your giggling for long as Gubby began jumping in front of you and squeaking in protest, his hind legs stomping against the plush bed in anger.

If only you knew the full extent of the lengths he went to to find you...

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[thevulturesquadron]

Ok, here's how it goes. I will unblock just so there is a chance at a decent conversation. Saw you reblogged from a different account so it was weird to just leave it hanging. I don't block people here cause I have something personal against them or because I dislike a conversation - but neither of us were born yesterday and we know most times people don't actually want to have a conversation online, they just want to be right. I mostly block people on tumblr to curate my experience here, cause I am often times just tired of negativity. And you know what? Sometimes I may even agree with that negative feedback, but I don't want that to be what I surround myself with, especially if there's an undertone of aggravation to it. I didn't jump on the post randomly. It landed on my dash, and it wasn't about you specifically. It was about a nonstop horrendous attitude I keep seeing online. While your comment isn't by any means the absolute embodiment of that attitude, I do believe it contributes to that. Was my answer spicy? Yea, it was. Even a bit preachy I'd say. Was your reaction to that old-as-balls tweet also out of proportion? Yeah it was. It would be unfair if you'd pretend otherwise or say you weren't expecting your post to create reactions that are instigating something one way or another. On my part, I see no malicious meaning behind his old tweet. If anything, there is frustration BECAUSE of the limitations they had back in the day and because of years of fans complaining about the horrible hair options for qunari - hell, I hated those options myself. It's probably one of the reasons why I couldn't play a qunari Inquisitor. But I never went out there complaining to the devs, calling them names or lazy or incompetent. And maybe neither were you. But we both know that there were and still ARE walls of entitled answers or reactions directed at these people. So what the heck do we achieve if we continue to harass them or behave like we know better than them? You mentioned that he was a writer: he wasn't responsible for full character design as such. That doesn't mean he wasn't aware of the limitations the teams had. Every team and department in a game production has to work together to deliver the end product (regardless of how well or badly managed that production is). Of course he knew, especially as the lead writer of that project. It was his job to know in order to deliver the part his team was tasked with. And even in a worst case scenario, he still had a better grasp than anyone else outside the dev teams. You see how your own statements are far from being neutral or inviting to a proper conversation, right? I don't want a back and forth on this, and there is no malicious intent of stopping you from voicing an answer. I know people generally assume the worst online, that it's always a war about having the last word. Well, in this case it ain't. I just value my peace and I don't want to start a crusade of changing people's mind online. In the end it's ok if we see things differently and it's ok to block me in return. I'm aware that you yourself are more than just one random opinion online, but it's also ok if we don't vibe. I'll say one more thing (that's just tangentially related to the topic of this convo) and I really don't mean anything shitty by it: I wish that everyone who's so set on judging every little thing a creator says or does has the chance, at least ONCE in their lives, to be a creator of something big and well known, to pour their love into it, and be exposed to a wide audience for it. I feel like it might help people have more patience and understanding for one another.

also obsessed with how mad david gaider got because this fanartist drew a bunch of hairstyles they wish were available over the qunari cc

[formulafanfics13]

Hi!! it's been a short time since I've been reading your works and I'm loving it 💜 so I'm here to ask for one 👀

I would love to read one in which the reader is a famous Italian actress (29 years old) who has just ended a relationship publicly with a famous actor and ends up commenting to Lewis because they have been friends for years because she appears in a few races a year, creating this closeness but they have always maintained just a friendship. She's also friends with Charles, Carlos and George and when they find out that she's broken up, they bet each other how long it will take Lewis and her to give in 👀😈 (I'd love a smut hehe)

💜💜

What Are The Odds - LH44 🔥

masterlist

Summary It starts with a drink in the McLaren hospitality suite and ends with Lewis Hamilton’s mouth on yours. You don’t plan it. You don’t even want it, not really — not after the breakup, not with the whole paddock watching. But when Charles, George, and Carlos place a smug little bet about when you and Lewis will finally cave after years of tension, something shifts. You pull Lewis aside. You leave the party. You follow him upstairs. And for once, it’s not about the cameras or the gossip. It’s about every moment you didn’t kiss him over the years. Every time he held back. Every text at midnight. Every time he looked at you like a secret. Now there’s no holding back. The sex is slow, deep, sacred — the kind of full-body craving that leaves you ruined in the best way. And when it’s over, tangled in sheets and breathless laughter, you both know something’s changed for good. Let the whole grid talk. Let George collect his winnings. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Warnings emotional smut, friends to lovers, mutual pining, tension built over years, alcohol (non-drunk), Lewis being soft but wrecked, gossiping drivers, emotional sex, praise kink, teasing, gentle dominance, aftercare, affectionate banter, Charles being messy, George being right, slow burn finally combusting.

It starts with a drink in the McLaren hospitality suite and ends with George Russell transferring fifty euros to Charles Leclerc. You don’t know that yet, though. You’re too busy pretending your world hasn’t just shattered.

“You look incredible,” Lewis says softly, and your glass stills an inch from your lips.

You glance at him, trying not to flinch. “Don’t say that like I look like a tragedy.”

He tilts his head, half-smile curving. “I didn’t.”

You don’t mean to sigh, but it escapes. The ice in your drink shifts with the movement, clinking gently like it’s mocking you.

Three weeks ago, you were walking Cannes red carpets with one of the most recognisable men in Hollywood. Now? Now you’re sitting on a folding chair at the back of a Formula 1 paddock pretending not to care that the internet has dissected every photo of you since the breakup like it’s a damn war crime.

Lewis, as always, is calm. Warm. Steady.

You’ve known him for years, met him during your first F1 race experience and he’d shown up to the afterparty in a deep red suit that made your entire group blink twice. You’d danced. Talked. Laughed. Swapped numbers and never stopped texting since. He’s the constant. The old friend. The only person in this circus who doesn’t make you feel like you’re being watched under a microscope. Except tonight. Tonight, something’s different.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Lewis says gently, nodding toward the lounge. “We can go somewhere quieter.”

You shrug. “I don’t care what they say. They’ll talk either way.”

His jaw flexes. God, you really are tired. From a few feet away, Charles is watching you like a hawk. Carlos is whispering something behind his hand. George is grinning like a devil.

You narrow your eyes. “What the hell are they doing?”

Lewis doesn’t look. “Don’t ask.”

You do anyway. You get up, slide your sunglasses into your bag, and saunter across the suite with all the grace your publicist has drilled into you since you were twenty-one and nominated for a damn BAFTA. Charles tries to look innocent. Fails.

“Spit it out,” you say, crossing your arms. “What?”

Charles clears his throat. Carlos looks away like a child who’s just broken a vase. George cracks. “Alright, fine. We placed a bet.”

You blink. “A what?”

“Not a serious one,” Charles says immediately. “Just-friendly. Harmless.”

“Not helpful,” Carlos mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You raise an eyebrow. George is practically gleaming. “We bet how long it’ll take you and Lewis to sleep together.”

You go still. For a long second, no one speaks. Then you huff a disbelieving laugh. “You’re all idiots.”

“We said that with love,” Charles adds quickly.

“I said two weeks,” George says proudly.

“I said never,” Carlos grumbles, “but only because they’ve had years to fuck and haven’t.”

“Charles?” you ask.

He shrugs, unapologetic. “I gave it a weekend.”

You blink. “You’re unwell.”

He beams. “You love me.”

You don’t answer. Just stalk away, heart pounding too fast for comfort. Lewis is still leaning where you left him, watching you with that quiet calm he always carries like armor. You grab his arm and tug. “Let’s go somewhere else.” He doesn’t ask where. Just follows.

It’s quieter by the loading bay, just the hum of engineers packing crates, the sharp hiss of hydraulics being depressurised. You’re leaning against a concrete wall, fingers gripping the edge of your skirt, heart beating like a metronome in your throat. “They placed a bet,” you say without preamble. “About you. About us.”

Lewis exhales. “Charles, Carlos, and George?”

You blink. “How did you-?”

“They’re predictable.”

You laugh. Then stop laughing, because you’re suddenly aware of how close Lewis is to you, how the evening sun is catching on the gold in his earrings, how the veins in his forearms are more interesting than they should be.

“I told them it wasn’t happening,” you say, quieter.

Lewis looks at you. Really looks. And suddenly he’s not just your friend. Suddenly you remember every afterparty where he leaned a little too close. Every hotel lounge where you sat across from each other sharing secrets. Every premiere he sent flowers for. Every time he looked at you like you were more than just a beautiful face in a glamorous life.

He doesn’t touch you. He doesn’t say anything stupid. He just says, “I’ve never wanted to risk losing you.”

You forget how to breathe. “Until now?” you ask, voice smaller than you meant it to be.

He shakes his head. “No. I’ve always wanted to. I just… didn’t want to be the reason you walked away.”

You swallow. This isn’t the man you just broke up with, the one who kissed you on carpets and slept in other people’s beds. This is Lewis. Steady. Careful. Smart. Soft. And you suddenly realise that if he kissed you right now, you wouldn’t stop him.

You don’t. He doesn’t. Not yet. But when you brush past him, heading for the cars, he follows close behind. Quiet. Patient. Just like he always has. And somewhere back in the paddock, Charles Leclerc checks his watch and says, “I give it until breakfast.”

The afterparty that night was supposed to be forgettable. Just another race weekend wrap-up with too many people, too many cameras, and not enough air. The DJ played a remix of a remix, drinks were poured like the world was ending, and Charles looked way too smug from his corner booth, sipping tequila like he’d invented the bet himself.

You’d lasted an hour. Max tried to get you to shotgun a beer. Carmen complimented your shoes. George gave you a knowing smirk every time Lewis walked past you. By the time Carlos suggested karaoke, you’d had enough.

Lewis was already waiting at the elevator. You didn’t ask if he was leaving alone. You just followed.

Now it’s quiet. The door to his suite closes behind you with a soft click. Your heels hit the floor a second later. His jacket is draped over the chair like it lives there. You feel your stomach twist.

This is Lewis Hamilton. Seven-time world champion. Your oldest friend. Your not-quite-anymore friend. And he’s looking at you like he’s never wanted anything more.

“Are you sure?” he asks softly, not moving closer yet.

You nod, throat tight. “I’m not drunk. I’m not confused. And I’m not pretending anymore.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. Then he’s there. His hands are warm on your face. His mouth covers yours in one slow, deliberate press, like he’s trying to memorise you all at once. It’s soft, yes. But it’s also desperate. Like he’s known how you taste since Monaco 2018 and never let himself admit it.

You sigh into him.

It’s been a long time since someone kissed you like this, no agenda, no performance, no audience. Just Lewis. Just the way he kisses. Mouth to mouth, forehead to forehead, hands tangling in fabric and skin and time lost.

The first moan slips from your throat when his fingers brush your waist under your dress. He stops. Pulls back.

You shake your head, tugging him in. “Don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. Not for a second. Clothes fall like they’ve been waiting to be discarded. His chain brushes your collarbone. Your dress slides to the floor. He kisses every new patch of skin like it’s sacred.

When he lays you back on the bed, you’re breathless. And when he says your name, just once, in that way that sounds more like a prayer than a question, you could cry.

“Touch me,” you whisper. “Please.”

He does. His hand traces every inch of your skin like he’s learning you from scratch, like you’re a map he’s wanted to study for years. When his fingers slip between your thighs, you gasp. His mouth finds your neck. Your ribs. Your inner wrist. “You’re perfect,” he murmurs, voice low and cracked. “God, I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

You arch into him. “Then do it now.”

His laugh is a breath against your cheek. Then he’s between your legs, lining up, and you feel his breath catch too. “Look at me,” he says, voice hoarse. “Please.”

You do. And when he sinks into you, it’s not just sex. It’s years. Years of parties where you could’ve kissed and didn’t. Of messages at midnight. Of longing hidden behind sunglasses and racing helmets. Of Charles fucking Leclerc betting on your future without knowing he was right.

He moves slowly at first. Deep. Unhurried. Like he wants this to last. Your legs wrap around him without thinking. “Lewis,” you whisper.

“I’ve got you,” he says, faster now. “I’ve always got you.”

You pull him closer. Arms tight. Breath tangled. The room spins just slightly from the weight of it, not just the sex, but the emotion. The honesty. The quiet storm of him finally being yours.

You come with a gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders. He follows a heartbeat later, muttering something into your neck that you can’t hear but feel in your bones. He doesn’t move for a long time. Just breathes.

You run your fingers down his back, slow and soft. “We just proved George right,” you murmur eventually.

Lewis groans. “Don’t ruin it.”

You laugh, warm and real. “Charles owes George fifty euros.”

“I don’t care,” he says, brushing your hair from your face. “Let them talk. Let them all fucking talk.”

You smile. Because for the first time in years, you’re exactly where you want to be.

[wordsarelife]

—so it goes

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

summary: you’ve always thought mattheo riddle was infuriating, until suddenly everything between you changes. between various almost kisses, whispered confessions, and years of tension finally snapping, you realize he’s always wanted you. but falling for him? that was never part of your plan, but now, you’re his to keep and his to lose.

warnings: language, just a little suggestive, height difference mentioned, tension, pining, slow-burn, a little idiots in love ad very mid writing lol

note: this came to me very spontaneously and because i thought to myself that i had yet to write a fic inspired by 'so it goes' so here it is. this fic has basically no storyline so idk what i have been yapping to make it to 5.4k words lmaooo.

"i'm gonna bash his fucking head in" you stormed into the slytherin common room.

pansy, draped across one of the dark leather couches, lazily moved her head to look at you, not a hint of surprise on her face.

no, she knew all too well, who you were talking about.

"what's he done now?" she asked, not out of curiosity, but boredom. like you threatening mattheo riddle’s life was just another tuesday. which it was, really.

mattheo and you had never gotten along, despite being part of the same friend group and basically growing up beside each other.

maybe that was the problem after all.

you threw your bag to the floor so hard it almost bounced back into your hands. “he had the audacity to open his stupid mouth. that’s what he did.”

theo snorted from the armchair by the fire, not looking up from his book. "shocking development. riddle speaks, and you consider murder."

you whirled on him, eyes wild. "he said i was predictable. can you believe that? me. predictable."

"well.." pansy muttered, trailing off.

"you do threaten his life a few times a week" theo added, helpfully.

you glared at both of them. "some friends you are" you muttered, crossing your arms and falling back onto the leather couch. you only missed pansy's leg by half an inch, as she pulled them to the side at the last minute. "whose side are you on?"

"neither" pansy stated without thought.

another glare from you.

"look, bella" theo drawled. you were used to that tone. he was trying to charm you, so you would forget about your anger toward the riddle boy. this time theo's charm would come to a halt. you swore it.

"this has been going on for literal years" he continued. "we've all witnessed it. it was fun for a while, i admit that. but... per l'amor di dio.. just get it over with, won't you?"

you narrowed your eyes at the boy. "get what over with?" you took a second to think, until your expression changed drastically, making theo forget what he was trying to say.

pansy moved her glance over to you, watching you in quiet suspicion.

"i would have never thought, you'd be the one to suggest it" you grinned, a proud smile on your face. "but this is brilliant, theo"

"i... what?" theo asked, but you left no time for answers.

"how do you reckon i should do it?" you asked as you went on. "i suppose magic is way too obvious. so maybe a knife.. or poison? that's the thing most women kill with, isn't it?"

"i didn't suggst that we should kill the insufferable bastard!" theo protested.

"oh" your smile died. "then what did you suggest?"

the moment was luckily interrupted by the arrival of enzo and blaise, who both had no interest in discussing anything related to mattheo (he was responsible for dozens of bruises on both their bodies from the previous quidditch practice), so the conversation quickly died out and the topic changed to the next charms essay all of you had to submit by the end of next week.

you didn't see mattheo for the rest of the day.

none of your friends had seen him for the most part of it, but that did not raise concern, as mattheo was known to disappear for hours on end.

none of you had the fraction of an idea about where he went.

and mattheo, the stupid idiot, enjoyed being a mystery to his friends way too much to lift the curtain and reveal his whereabouts.

it was half an hour past curfew, when you went to sneak into the kitchen. you had been rolling from side to side in bed for the past hour.

it wasn't that you weren't tired. quite the opposite actually. your mind was just too awake. but that was something a simple glass of warm milk could cure in an instant.

the drink was quickly fetched and it took less than five minutes for you to tiptoe back out into the hall, a mug of the warm liquid pressing against your hand and making your stomach flutter in anticipation for the warm and soothing taste.

but not now. you would save it until you were back in your warm bed, not while wandering the dimly lit corridors of hogwarts in what could only be described as a stretch rather than actual pyjamas.

a thin, oversized slytherin jumper hung off one shoulder. it was stolen, years ago, from theo during a drunken game of exploding snap and never returned. underneath, just a pair of dark green sleep shorts, the hem fraying slightly, riding up with every step. no socks, no bra, and a quiet shiver every time the cold stone kissed your bare feet.

merlin knew why you hadn't taken the time to slip into your shoes, or at least pull on some warm socks.

your mind wasn't the best at this time of day. and certainly not when it was as sleep-deprived as you felt.

the halls were dead silent, except for the soft echo of your bare feet on stone, and the occasional creak of the ancient castle shifting in its sleep. you clutched the mug tighter, nerves twitching just slightly.

"evening"

the voice was so sudden, you almost dropped the mug in your hand. milk splashed over the rim, warm against your knuckles as you swerved around, heart leaping up into your throat.

and there he was.

mattheo fucking riddle, casually leaned against the corridor arch like he hadn’t been missing all day. like he hadn’t carved himself into the back of your brain and left you simmering.

still dressed. he hadn't been back in his dorm all day, tie loose around his neck, white shirt stained at the cuff with something that looked like ink or blood, or maybe both. his blazer hung from one finger, slung over his shoulder like he owned the corridor, like he owned the night. like he’d been waiting.

you hated how calm he looked.

“you scared the shit out of me,” you snapped, readjusting your grip on the mug, milk still dripping from the rim.

"yeah, you look really frightened" he rolled his eyes, before his gaze wandered down your body.

you felt uncomfortable under his watch and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the cold stone biting into your bare soles, but not nearly as sharply as his gaze.

"nice outfit" he noted with a smirk. "meeting someone special?"

"oh fuck off" you snarled, turning away from him and picking up your walk back to the dorm.

mattheo wasn't one to give up easily. he caught up to you quickly.

"you know, if you acted less like a whiny bitch, you could actually be kinda hot"

you halted in your step, turning to look at him.

mattheo's smirk deepened, satisfied that his words had caught your attention.

"and if you were less of a miserable asshole, maybe i could actually tolerate you" you thought for a second, before you added. "no, actually, that seems like too much for your brain to comprehend, so i fear both of us won't get what we so dearly wish for."

"god do you sometimes hear all the words that you're saying?"

you rolled your eyes and continued walking through the corridor. mattheo still followed. there was a distance between you. a distance you were glad he was keeping.

suddenly, mattheo's arm shot out, making you run straight into him.

"ma—" you had already opened your mouth, a loud scolding of his name pressing through, as another big gulp of the milk had slahed over the rim of your mug at your sudden forced stop.

mattheo pressed a hand to your mouth, shutting you up effectively. he pushed you against the wall behind your back, both of you disappearing behind a giant closet.

"what the fuck?" you whispered, just as mattheo had slowly moved his hand away from your mouth.

you were only inches apart. the mug in your hand being the only thing seperating the two of you.

"teacher" mattheo answered, his eyes darting down the hall behind him.

you didn't say anything for a few seconds. his head turned back to you.

he was so close. way too close for your liking. or... maybe he should come closer, move forward until his chest was touching yours, his hands in your—

woah.

you shook your head, quickly getting rid of those weird and unnerving thoughts that had clouded your mind.

you should’ve walked away. you should’ve sipped your stupid milk and gone back to bed.

instead, your gaze wandered back to his face. his curls were falling over his forehead like usually. an untamed mess of dark hair that awakened a deep anger in your gut. how could someone who couldn't even take care of his own hair properly ever dare to be as arrogant as mattheo riddle was?

his brown eyes looked down on you. they almost looked black in the dim light of the corridor. you shivered.

his face was clear, white, soft skin over perfectly sculpted features, a hint of soft freckles on his nose. and his mouth. his mouth was... bleeding?

"you're bleeding" you noted, unable to stop yourself. your eyes jumped to his lips and back to meet his gaze.

mattheo was just as caught off guard as yourself at the words. "yes" he muttered, not sure what else to say.

"why are you always bleeding?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

mattheo frowned at your words, a deeper emotion settling onto his face.

his eyes now jumped between yours and your mouth too. you were sure that there wasn't any blood on your lips, so you weren't sure what his thought process was.

suddenly, mattheo stepped impossibly closer.

his hand fell forward, clasping your wrist. the one one connected to the hand that wasn't holding the mug of warm milk, of course.

"what are you—?"

he didn't answer. mattheo just leaned forward, coming closer and closer. the blood on his mouth and the thing itself inching nearer and nearer.

oh god.

was he trying to? ew.

ew, ew, ew.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night, in theo's old sweatshirt and shorts that you wore to sleep.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle in the middle of the night, in theo's old sweatshirt and shorts that you wore to sleep and a mug of steaming warm milk still in your right hand.

you couldn't kiss mattheo riddle. period.

you simply wouldn't.

so, in that moment, you did the only thing you could think of. something so unbelievably stupid you wouldn’t even remember it clearly later.

you let go of your beloved warm milk.

the mug shattered on the floor with a loud crack. milk splashed against both your bodies as mattheo jumped back from you.

“wha—” mattheo started, eyes darting between the milk soaking his robes and the broken shards on the floor, but before he could say another word, a sharp voice cut through the silence.

“detention, both of you.”

professor snape stood at the corridor’s end, arms crossed and glare sharper than any curse.

"sir—" you pressed the word out in surprise, looking awfully ashamed about the condition your house teacher had found the both of you in.

"twenty points from both of you and clean that up!" he directed further, until he swirled around, dark robes fluttering behind him as he walked away in the opposite direction.

when snape found students out of their beds, there was no big deal made out of the case, but no one dared to stay any longer after he had found them once. snape didn't have to walk students back to their dorms, as much was clear.

mattheo wordlessly took out his wand, mouthing a quick clean up hex under his breath.

both of your clothes were back to their previous state and the mug of warm milk was intact again too.

mattheo and you didn't look at each other as you silently walked back to the common room side by side. you didn't talk when you both split up in opposite directions to get to your dorms.

that night, a forgotten mug of cold milk sat on your bedside table, while you were in the bathroom, furiously scrubbing the skin of your left wrist. right where his touch had burned itself into your skin.

the next day was a never ending tirade of boring classes, whispers with your friends and the unnerving task of ignoring mattheo, while he tried everything to get under your skin.

"hope the milk was worth the detention from snape" he whispered during history of magic. he had to lean over draco to do so, who angrily swatted at mattheo's arm, trying to push the boy out of his space.

mattheo did not budge.

you stared forward pointedly, acting like you hadn't even heard him.

draco rolled his eyes, pushing against mattheo's arm once more. "do you see that she doesn't want to talk to you?"

mattheo's grin did not falter, his eyes flicking to you before settling back on draco.

"let her pretend all she wants," he said low enough for you to hear. "but merlin knows she’s just pissed because i was right."

you finally turned your head, voice cool and steady. "right about what?"

he shrugged, still smirking. "that you’re all talk and no backbone."

"what are you even talking about?" you snarled angrily beneath your breath, trying to keep quiet as to not make professor binns notice your conversation during his class.

"oh, come on, sweetheart" mattheo's smug smile only widened at your act of cluelessness. his gaze wandered over draco, before it landed back on you, a wink moving with his words. "don't act like i didn't see the fear in your eyes."

"shut up" you muttered, pulling your body back from him, an obvious physical reaction to his words.

mattheo nodded with a satisfied smile.

this was exactly what he had wanted. he leaned back in his own chair, freeing draco from his unwanted presence, before he blew you a quick kiss behind the blonde's head, who had turned to ask you what that weird conversation had been about.

that same evening, mattheo and you were standing in the dimly lit trophy room. both of you equipped with a rag and a bottle of polishing potion.

your wands had been confiscated by filch, before your detention had started and he had left you alone in the small room, that only seemed to shrink with mattheo's presence behind your back.

you wondered if his mind was as busy thinking about you as yours was tangled up in thoughts of him.

the work was rough, unnaturelly slow without the use of magic, and the room was silent while both of you scrubbed at trophies on opposite sides of each other.

then, when mattheo was finished with the trophy he had been working on, he didn't pick up the one standing right next to it, like he was supposed to, but moved across the room to stand beside you.

"could you stay on your side of this very small room?" you muttered, scratching off a particularly dark spot of dirt on the small trophy in your hand. "or is the concept of that too much for you to comprehend?"

"i'm doing just fine" mattheo smiled sarcastically. "thanks for your concern though"

"asshole" you muttered beneath your breath as you went to put the small trophy back in it's original place.

"brat" mattheo retorted almost immediately.

you send him an exasperated glance, before you stepped onto the ladder, that was propped up against the wall, to reach the higher shelves.

mattheo watched that action with a hint of concern, until his facial expression returned back to neutral, acting like he couldn't be bothered.

the silence in the room stretched on, as you reached for a medal hanging against the wall and began cleaning it while still standing on the the ladder.

this was awkward.

it was a mix of not knowing what to say (which was weird, because although you had never gotten along, you and mattheo had always something to say to each other) and a sharp undercurrent of something else. tension, maybe? or irritation?

then, mattheo broke the silence. in the worst way possible.

"ever wondered why we never became friends?"

you huffed, trying to ignore his words, but ultimately burning for his answer. "no, not really"

"well, i did" he muttered, reaching for a silver trophy. one of the less frequent ones in the room. "i mean, i'm glorious company, so it must be your fault"

"please" you shoke your head, moving on to the second medal. "like you're not an insufferable git"

mattheo laughed dryly at your remark. "come on, be honest," he continued. "you had your mind set on not liking me the minute your eyes first glanced my way"

"that is so far from true and you know it" the third medal was now being cleaned. "i was liking you, up until the moment you spilled pumpkin juice all over me."

"that was an honest mistake"

"maybe" you shrugged. "which i would've forgiven, if you hadn't immediately said what you said."

"what did i say?" mattheo wondered, seemingly not able to remember himself.

you glared at him, before you moved your gaze back to the task at hand and finally found the words to answer. "you said that i should better not start crying, because girls like me would have to rely on our smile being pretty enough to—"

"come far in life" mattheo finished. "i did say that, yeah" he muttered softly.

you swirled around, looking down at him in surprise. he actually sounded.. regretful?

you didn't have much time to think about that though. your fast motion on the ladder had caused the thing to start shaking, slipping away from the wall with increasing speed, as you lost your footing.

this was not going to end well.

mattheo reacted quickly. he dashed forward, stopping the ladder with his foot, before opening his arms.

you landed much less graceful than you had wanted, but at least not on the floor, but in mattheo's widespread and kind of muscular arms. he was looking down at you with a soft expression.

"i didn't mean it" he said, his words tying back to your conversation a few seconds ago.

you blinked up at him, chest rising and falling against his from the fall. his arms were still around you,one curling around your waist, while the other was steadying your legs, and he made no effort to let go. his scent, cologne and something darker, something inherently him, wrapped around you like smoke.

still, after a second, he let out a slow breath and carefully lowered you to the ground, his hands steady, lingering longer than necessary. one of them settled at your waist, the other brushing along your arm as if making sure you could stand.

but even once your feet touched the floor, neither of you moved away. you were still impossibly close. too close.

you swallowed. “you meant it when you said it.”

his gaze dropped to your lips for just a second. “maybe i was just trying to get a rise out of you.”

“you did.” your voice came out a little breathier than you’d intended, but you didn’t back down. “congratulations. you always do.”

“hmm.” he stepped closer, barely noticeable, until your bodies were nearly touching again. his hold tightened just slightly around your waist, as if testing the boundary. "do you really hate me so much?"

the question stunned you. you stared up into his brown eyes. they were warm, like hot chocolate after a day spend in the snow outside. they weren't as close to black as you had thought only the night before.

maybe mattheo wasn't as close to the dark as you always thought.

"i don't know," you muttered, your gaze dropping to his lips only involuntarily. there was still a scrap on the side of his mouth, where it had been bleeding the day before.

you wondered who had had the pleasure of meeting mattheo's fist.

"sometimes" you said finally.

"and the other times?" mattheo muttered. he pulled you closer by the waist. maybe not even on purpose. you could feel his breath fan over your cheek.

"the other times.." you whispered, unable to finish the sentence.

mattheo moved his hand on your waist. his thumb slipped under the fabric of your blouse, it had moved out of your skirt during your fall. he brushed his finger over your skin tentatively.

you almost shivered. his touch felt so soft. so deserved, like something you'd been missing your entire life without ever realizing it. without ever knowing how good it was.

a warm feeling settled in your stomach as you drew in a breath.

mattheo didn't look smug about the obvious physical reaction you had to his simple touch. he looked so honest.

“the other times,” he said again, barely a whisper now. his gaze didn’t leave your face, didn’t leave your lips. “what are they, then?”

"i..." you wanted to reply something, anything, but his close proximity was making your mind spiral. never in your life had you been this... attracted, to mattheo riddle of all people.

"y/n," mattheo muttered softly.

"i don't hate you," you said finally, without any further explanation.

he looked relieved. the smile on his face was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there and it didn't look smug or provocative.

"no?" he muttered softly, his question making the hair on your arm stand up, as his thumb shifted beneath your shirt.

"no" you said. surely. finally.

you didn’t realize it, but your hand had lifted, fingertips curling against the edge of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it grounded you.

he drew you closer. his lips were so close. you closed your eyes. you could almost imagine his taste. the softness of his mouth touching yours. the feeling it would surely awaken in you.

you wanted him. you needed him.

your noses brushed. your lips were a breath apart—

“what in merlin’s name is going on here?”

you gasped, stumbling back from mattheo and almost taking down a few throphies with you.

filch was standing in the doorway of the cramped room and narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.

before you had the chance to say something, mattheo stepped in front of you, hiding you away from the older man. "we were cleaning," he said simply, a sharp edge in the tone of his words.

filch hesitated.

it was an open secret that he was… uneasy around mattheo. like many people in school. like many people in the wizarding world.

the silence stretched for a beat too long.

"continue then," filch muttered eventually, backing out of the room with a final suspicious glance. “and keep your hands to yourselves.”

mrs. norris padded after him with a flick of her tail, and then they were gone. the door creaked as it shut.

for the rest of detention, neither you nor mattheo spoke. it was as if whatever spark had flickered between you was a fragile flame. one that always burned out the moment either of you got close to changing anything.

you could feel his gaze on you when filch came back and let both of you leave finally.

then, on the way back to the common room, before you had even the chance to worry about things becoming awkward once more, mattheo disappeared into the shadows of the castle, leaving to god knows where again.

that night, you turned from side to side in bed, unable to find sleep.

you stood up, slipping into a pair of slytherin socks, before you left the room, closing the door behind you softly.

the corridor was cold and you wrapped your arms around your frame. theo's sweater was incredibly comfortable, but did not do a great job at keeping you warm.

you walked around the corner and what you saw, made your breath hitch. there was a body on the ground, lazily leaning with his back against the stone wall, his legs stretched out on the floor before him.

mattheo fucking riddle.

of course.

his tie was hanging loosely around his neck, his blazer was a crumpled mess on the floor beside him. he was moving a cigarette over his fingers. a trick you had seen him do a few times before at parties.

mostly to impress girls, mostly because he was bored.

his face looked twisted in the dark light of the corridor, but you could make out the dark stains of the blood easily.

this had to be a joke.

"mattheo" you muttered.

his head jerked up suddenly, but he didn't look as surprised as you. almost as if he had been waiting.

"can't sleep again?" he asked, his voice echoing off the wall across from him.

"got slapped stupid again?" you shot back.

mattheo stood up from the floor slowly. he reached for the blazer beside him. there was a lazy smile on his face, the kind of smug expression that told you exactly how satisfied he was with your words.

"what?" you asked.

"oh, darling" mattheo grinned. "you should really see the other one"

mattheo stepped closer. so close, you imagined to smell the blood on his face.

"i'm only seeing one idiot as it is" you snapped, crossing your arms. "and you do look pretty bad already"

"such compliments," mattheo drawled, pushing the cigarette to rest between his lips and searching the pockets of his trousers for a lighter.

before he had the chance to light the cigarette, you caught it between your fingers, pulling it away from his lips. mattheo followed after your movement, before he realized what you were doing and sighed.

"hey"

"come on" you said, not even sparing another glance at him, as you walked into the direction of the kitchen.

mattheo followed after you wordlessly, accepting his fate without any sort of protest.

"sit down" you directed, pushing him back onto a chair in the kitchen.

mattheo's smile widened. "commanding much?" he laughed at your unimpressed expression. "if you wanted—"

"stop" you interrupted, shaking your head. "i'm just doing this, because i'm a good person, this has nothing to do with you."

"sure it hasn't" matthe leaned back in the chair, while you turned to fetch a rag at the sink, holding it under the water to properly clean the blood off his face.

"you should still go to madam pomfrey tomorrow though" you muttered as you returned and took a seat across from him.

"so you care about my wellbeing?" mattheo asked, furrowing a brow.

"not really" you whispered, as you leaned forward, softly wiping over his left eyebrow, where a few drops of blood had splattered. surely not his own.

mattheo watched you work with narrowed eyes, following every movement of your hand and trying his best to catch your gaze.

"you aren't even looking at me, love."

"of course i am," you protested. "how would i be able to clean this fucking blood off your stupid face if i didn't?"

"stupid face?" mattheo repeated in a mocking tone. "you're not really looking though"

you bit your lip, as you moved on to the right side of his face, right beside his eye. it was a small wound and mattheo barely reacted to the cold touch of the rag on it.

"sweetheart" mattheo called, trying to gain your attention.

you tried not to react.

"look at me, darling"

"i am looking at you, mattheo" you snapped, leaning away from him angrily.

"okay" mattheo nodded, upset that he had angered you, as he raised his hands in mock surrender.

you sighed, before you continued, the rag sweeping at the small wound on the bottom of his mouth that had reopened.

mattheo leaned closer, to make your access to him easier. you narrowed your eyes, but didn't say anything.

he unfolded his hands, that had rested in his lap up until this moment and his right hand settled onto your thigh delibaretly.

he waited.

"mattheo" you said in an effort of protest his action.

his eyes didn’t leave yours. “just tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you didn’t.

he leaned forward, away from the rag. his nose brushed against yours, before he finally met your lips with his.

your hand was hanging in the air, the rag still in hand, before you finally moved, letting go of the fabric. you closed your eyes, your hands falling into mattheo's neck like a puzzle pieces falling into place.

there was something quietly desperate in the way his mouth moved with yours, like he’d been waiting far too long to know what you’d taste like.

and you... your thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. you forgot what you’d meant to say. forgot where you were. forgot your own damn name.

you felt the pressure of his hand still on your thigh, the way your body felt pressed up against his. merlin, he tasted better than you could've ever imagined.

his other arm slid around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, your chair scraping over the floor as it followed you forward.

mattheo broke the kiss softly, his lips brushing yours one last time before he leaned back just enough to see your face. you were half in his lap, lips parted, breathing unsteady, looking up at him like you were waiting for gravity to pull you back down.

you felt ridiculous.

but his face... he didn't look like he was trying to mock you. no, he looked as wrecked as you felt. something that could only be achieved by a kiss that would screw you up for anyone else.

"you better shouldn't look at me like that," mattheo muttered, with a soft smile, while he tried to stabilize his breathing. "or i won't be able to stop the next time."

you weren't sure you even wanted him to stop.

you blinked up at him, still utterly dazed and at a loss for words.

his hold on your thigh tightened slightly. "didn't think you'd—" he interrupted himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "fuck"

you swallowed. you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“say something,” he whispered, voice rough now. “please.”

you swallowed again, before you pressed the words out. "you're still an asshole."

mattheo laughed, a hint of relief swinging in his voice. "you're still a brat."

"yeah," you muttered, moving closer until you were whispering the words right at his mouth. "a brat, who wants you to do that again."

mattheo's mouth clashed with yours in a second. this kiss wasn't as slow. it was raw, urgent, demanding.

your hands slid into his hair, as he pulled you closer at the shoulders and you slipped onto his lap, his hands clasping around your waist like he was scared you would suddenly disappear.

you pulled his head back by the hair softly, pulling away for just a second, a breathy moan escaping his mouth, before you reconnected your lips, following after him.

there was nothing innocent about it now. just the feeling of being right were you were supposed to, his hands pressed to your body, his tongue in your mouth.

you were so utterly his, it was almost scaring you.

you pulled away after a few more seconds. his hand wandered to your cheek, his thumb moving over the soft blush on your face.

you stood up slowly and he rose to his feet immediately after, like you had put a curse on him. his gaze stayed locked on you, while you put back the rag and he reached for his blazer that he had draped over the back of his chair.

you stepped next to him silently.

he came closer, draping his blazer over your shoulders, before he took your hand in his, pulling you to the entrance of the kitchen behind him.

you walked through the halls slowly. almost like you were on a midnight stroll rather than out of bed after curfew.

"all eyes on us," mattheo pointed out, when you came across a few, very nosy portraits.

you smiled at his words, your eyes falling onto your intertwined hands. like pieces falling into place, you thought once more.

"i'm yours to keep" you whispered, your voice echoing through the corridor, mattheo tucked on your hand. "and i'm yours to lose"

"you really think i'm ever letting you go after tonight?" he muttered, pulling you closer and wrapping an arm around your form. he pressed a kiss to your neck. "fuck, no."

[dirtytransmasc]

Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable. he is never allowed to need or take space. to need more, god forbid ask for it.

I have noticed, that in the minds of this fandom as a whole. Spider is never allowed to make anyone uncomfortable.

I see arguments that his lifetime of neglect is just something he had to deal with, though people put it in less direct terms, because it would have been too hard, or too awkward, or too complicated, or too uncomfortable, or too much.

Jake was too busy, he was chief, he had his own kids! what about his own past! Norm was too busy, he had his own kids too! Neytiri shouldn't be forced to accept him! he wasn't their responsibility! it shouldn't be on them to raise Quaritch's son!

while there are some valid points here, why does it boil down to Spider's treatment being acceptable in some people's minds?

cause Spider was thrown to a random human family that very clearly did not want him. did not accept him as he was or give him the love and affection and time a child needs or allow him to truly be himself without constantly being pushed out the door.

and I'm not saying a single one of them even had to be a parent. cause they didn't. the McCoskers provided a good enough roof over his head. I get that it would be difficult to home him with anyone who wasn't human or was working a lot. but Spider had not one adult truly in his corner.

kids need more than a friend. and Nash nor Mary seem like they actually made themselves a safe space for the kid.

so who do you think he was crying to when he was upset, like any teenager gets? who do you think he asked for help, even when it was embarrassing? when he was a teenager and his body was changing and he was uncomfortable? or if he was hurt? or if he did something wrong and needed help to fix it? who would give him a hug when he needed one? who would let this kid grieve in front of them, and talk it out, because missing some of the worst monsters in history is so much for a kid?

who was there to deal with all the things a teenager needs a safe space and a safe person for?

or how about just someone defending his honor? that's an easy one. you don't even need to be that emotionally involved. but still, no one. Jake only argued for him when what people were saying was making him uncomfortable. and he's the first to try and rip Spider from the only home and life he's ever known to be a citizen or prisoner of the RDA (both fates hell; and Spider would probably rather the latter, cause he wouldn't have to pretend to be a cog in the machine of the RDA while it killed the world he loved) whenever it was slightly convenient for him.

I mean. Spider is an independent kid who has lived mostly on his own since he was old enough to bolt out of his foster parent's apartment and put into the forest. would one extra body at High Camp really be so invasive that it was worth putting this kid through the hell of losing all he's ever known? this kid who has fought day and night to prove he belongs? that he's not his father?

but it was more comfortable for Jake to send him away. more comfortable for Jake to not defend him unless he was defending himself or, at the very least, keeping someone from putting their hands on Spider. and we see no other adult pleading his case. he's just alone to defend himself while everyone else gets a free pass to exist. even other humans accepted by the Omatikaya (the we see in the comics. who have no avatar. but are just. part of the people).

people fight so hard that Spider "wasn't their responsibility" or "he was the humans responsibility" and"the people at Hellsgate should have done something"

ok. well. if you see some kid in your life every single day who is probably pretty clearly showing signs of neglect. would it not be the half decent thing to do to step up or say something? for people like Jake and Max and Norm, leaders and pillars of the resistance, the clan, and Hellsgate, wouldn't you argue it actually was their responsibility. I mean, we don't know a ton about the politics and leadership going on in the Western resistance. but they definitely be runners up for who's responsible for the orphan boy who most people don't want or accept because of the father he had no say on. who's responsible when his needs, even if not physical, aren't being met. that's not "asking too much". that's not "complicated". that's not wished away by "too busy". that is basic decency one shout have for a child.

in Spider's case, with a safe but neglectful home, he wouldn't need much. something just above stray treatment? I mean he obviously deserves more. any child deserves a happy life in a safe home with a family that loves him. but I'm working with what I've got.

he truly just needed one adult to vouch for him. when things got tough, when there were conflicts, when they had to leave for high camp. someone to speak for him, so this kid wasn't constantly fighting to just be seen. to be accepted like every other human who wanted to be accepted into it around the village was accepted. and not just for his sake! I think if one adult stepped up to give him a safe space that wasn't the Sully kids, made another place to feel accepted and wanted, his relationship with Neytiri would be much better, because he wasn't constantly forced under her nose. she wasn't having the scab pulled every day. and if someone like Jake, perhaps, could help her face her trauma instead of just trying to skirt past in issue in 5 seconds, I think they'd both do some proper healing.

trying to force him to the RDA should have *never* happened. having 0 adults on his corner should have never happened. a child needs people to help him, to meet his needs, to give him love and attention and affection. even just a hug. and I know that no one can force themselves to love a kid. but the bare minimum should be expected.

I don't care what anyone says, I will criticize the main adult cause, minus Neytiri who has an actual reason why she does not like him, for not taking the most minor responsibility over him. they were obligated. the way people say they weren't makes me feel sick as someone who was in and around the system as a kid, the way you talk about this orphan in a foster situation, is fucking weird. and the blood on his veins isn't justification for him being treated like a stray. for having the most an adult with do for him is be his friend and then leave him hanging when he desperately needs an adult to step in.

especially because every adult on Pandora chose to be there. every adult on Pandora has blood on their hands and it was a choice and yet they live lives that forgiveness has given them. they are accepted. they have homes and families and a clan or a resistance community or both to fall back on. they live, relative to the situation, the high life. while Spider living that a stray cat, given affection like it's a blessing he should be grateful for some times, and them being kicked to the curb tower times, is justified by a choice he never made by a man and a woman he never even really met, and actions they made before he could even toddle.

they get to be uncomfortable. they should be. a child's needs should come before what's comfortable or easy or convenient.

[bambi-kinos]

Hi! What do you think about the relationship/friendship between Paul and Mal Evans? I read that John was quite jealous of Paul and Mal.

From what I've gleaned from the recent duology concerning Mal Evans, Mal was someone who was terrified of being left out of anything. He was a smart guy and a very deft guy, a general Mr Fix-it type. When he got involved with The Beatles though he ended up getting into drugs and sleeping with groupies, cheated on his wife constantly, and then committed suicide by cop after he threatened his American girlfriend and her child with a handgun that he fired into a washing machine....yeah. What I'm getting at with this description is, Mal Evans started out as an every day schlubby guy who wasn't very evil but also wasn't very good and could have eked out a very normal existence as a weak minded husband whose children succeeded him, if only he hadn't gotten involved with The Beatles in the first place. This is important to keep in mind regarding his relationship with Paul and The Beatles. Personally I think he was more loyal to The Beatles as a group because serving them made him feel special. His relationship with Paul has all the signs of Paul being a willing sidepiece to Mal's main obsession which was the actual band.

Let's put this in context and get a grip on Mal's purpose to The Beatles.

Starting from Hamburg in 1960 (their first formal excursion as a band) the schlepping of gear and setting up of microphones and such was handled by the bandmembers and then staff at the performance venue. As I understand it Paul and George fought a lot over who drove the band bus lol. But then Brian came on board in late 1961, more Hamburg trips were arranged, and then Brian started promoting the boys. That means that Brian was calling venues and looking for places for them to perform at.

These things started out small as they often do (Paul has some cute anecdotes about these that I don't have on hand right now but I'll reblog them when/if I find them) and then the venues slowly increased in scale, to the point that The Beatles could not handle their gear on their own and still be fresh for performances. The miles were too long and the trips too big. Hiring help to wrangle their stuff became a big deal when Ringo came on board, his drum kit was stripped down for the sake of convenience but drums are just tough to transport. (Pete Best didn't do a lot of touring with the band.)

Thus Mal Evans and Neil Aspinall were hired on. (I think Neil was hired first because Paul and George knew him from school and he had knocked up *checks notes* Pete Best's mom, Mona Best. So he was practically family already.) Thus Mal and Neil managed everything for the boys starting sometime in 1962 when these excursions became their primary business. Mal's biography notes that Mal was warned about the boys being prickly about other people handling their gear and their laundry and liked doing it themselves...which would change of course. So in addition to being roadies, Mal and Neil became personal servants to the boys, doing a little bit of everything.

These tours inevitably increased in scale and the Beatles developed an entourage (hair dressers, launderers, money people to collect the cash from fanmerch on Brian's behalf, also known as the "brown paper bag money" that's referenced a few times in Doggett and other sources) but they never did hire more roadies or caretakers. Mal and Neil handled all of it for them, which was a very intimate position as you can imagine. They acted as buffers for The Beatles against the rest of the world, managed their schedules and resources, protected them from physical harm, anything you can imagine Mal and Neil had their hands in it. (Especially sex stuff as Mal and Neil would choose the fangirls who got to go up and have sex with the boys.) That, as well as the fact that Mal and Neil were Liverpool natives, meant that the boys didn't want to expand their personal staff. Everyone was very close knit and Mal and Neil took a lot of secrets to their graves. They were loyal to the Beatles until the very end.

Now that we've set the scene, my take on Mal and Paul is this: Mal was probably a little bit in love with Paul and ended up being very devoted to him over the other Beatles. Mal adored all of them but Paul seems to have been his favorite. Paul knew that and he seemed charmed by it in addition to everything else Mal did for him and for the band. Mal had proven himself trustworthy and that is currency in the entertainment industry.

Paul's approach to life is to princess his way through situations (there's a reason why he let George and John handle the fighting while Paul hung out in the back with Ringo whenever there was a dust up in the Cavern.) He's easily the lightest and weakest of The Beatles and from all accounts wasn't a very tough fighter. (Though I do wonder about that sometimes especially as Paul got older.) Which is to say, I think Paul appreciated Mal for what he was. A big beef cake of a man who could and did pick Paul up and give him rides:

And that he came to the rescue of a Beatle who was being interfered with by a desperate fangirl:

And when The Beatles were in Japan in 1966, Paul took Mal with him when he left the hotel and walked around:

So I think Paul saw a protector in Mal, someone who was a lot bigger than him and could also keep him safe. Add on to the fact that Mal also carried Paul's stuff, waited on him, and then there was even a period where Mal lived at Cavendish with Paul? Well, we can see where this is going and why John was alarmed and jealous, especially since Paul gravitated towards Mal for protection as John floated towards Yoko. In many ways Mal was a physical replacement for John as Paul's simp and his sort of knight. Remember that John and Paul have a knight/princess dynamic (which I suspect motivated the attack on Bob Wooler) and when John abandoned that then Paul started looking for someone to plug the hole. Mal was one of the many candidates and eventually Paul settled on Linda.

That being said, I don't think that Mal really expected anything from Paul. He seems to have held Paul in a lot of reverence and his diary entries include a lot of pointed criticism against John and Yoko for their attacks on Paul and the other Beatles. Mal was a keeper of secrets and would have understood the nuance behind John's digs and comments. But what that really means is that Mal seems to have devoted himself to Paul as a loyal servant and not much more. I don't think he had it in him to expect more though Paul could have asked him for anything.

Ultimately I don't think anything really happened between them though I think Mal would be a better choice than some of the other candidates in Paul's life. Mal could keep a secret, for starters. I think Mal is another example of a man that Paul kept on a string, always dangling the possibility of fucking him but then never actually following through with it. Mal was heterosexual otherwise and IMO Paul's femininity and princess behavior was the primary draw for him. He's underrated as one of the guys that Paul used as a John replacement before he fully settled in with Linda.

However there are some points of interest as pointed out by @amoralto all those years ago:

The St. Regis Hotel interview, September 5th, 1971 - John says that he felt "choked" by the fact that Paul came up with the idea of Magical Mystery Tour with Mal instead of John. I personally would peg this as the moment that John's antenna went up and he started wondering what might be going on with Paul and Mal, and if he should worry.

Mal had some interesting things to say about Paul and Mal's contributions to Paul's music. I don't really give a shit about credit because at this point the idea of "credit" is a game of silly buggers so that's not my focus here. What is interesting is that Mal was, at this point during the White Album, enmeshed deeply enough in Paul's life that he had input and could work lyrics and ideas with Paul in the wee hours of the morning. Mal also contributed lyrics to Fixing A Hole while Paul was working on Sgt. Pepper.

So when it comes to Paul and Mal as a unit...yeah, I can't blame John for being suspicious given what he knows about Paul and how he treats men that he keeps on that enticing string. Paul is an S-class manipulator and John knew what that meant. For John, Paul's weirdness regarding Mal may have been just one more tree branch on his bonfire of frustration and weariness.

Unfortunately the story of Mal Evans is just one that is deeply sad, pathetic, and enraging. He's a walking PSA for how fame can ruin not just your life but also the lives of the people around you. Mal was involved in the cover up of the fangirl who was gangraped by the Beatles entourage in Australia, Mal once accidentally sent a sex tape of him fucking his girlfriend to his kids in the 1970s, and then yeah, he died in the aforementioned standoff with the police after he threatened said girlfriend and her kid with a gun. Mal was one of those guys who prioritized his proximity to famous people and substances over his family. He let his morals be stretched to the point you could see through them. He was so loyal to the biggest bastards in show business. Mal never knew what to do with Lily and his kids because he liked being married with a family but he also liked cheating and drinking and having sex with groupies so that they could go on to have sex with The Beatles. Just a classic example of a guy who wanted to have his cake and eat it.

In a lot of ways Paul and the other Beatles ruined Mal's life. He was an enthusiastic participant of course.

Only George had the guts to apologize to Lily for his role in Mal's downfall:

If Mal had never gone into the Cavern one fateful day, he might still be alive or may have lived to see his grandkids. Small choices can have big consequences. He was almost certainly in love with Paul but it wasn't terribly serious and it had an underlying selfish motive no matter what he felt for Paul or the other Beatles at large.

[emerald-dragonflame]

The TF2 Mercs as Nijedi (Part 1: Offense)

This was more of an excuse to draw them as fantasy creatures from my original works, so I'll try to explain the design choices and ideas as best as I can, since this piece of fiction I've been working on for over half a decade...

Anyhooo~

Scout, the Goblin-Centaur Hybrid

I decided to make Scout into a Fae, specifically the offspring of a Centaur (his mother) and Goblin (his father), more commonly known as Ipotanes. If you want more detailed info about the Fae and how that all works, look here.

Centaur magic is both based on extraordinary speed, and the unbreakable connection with their "spirit animal", with Scout's being the fastest animal on the planet, the karno (seen behind him). Goblin magic, on the other hand, is that of teleportation and camouflage, things that I don't think Jeremy would do that often to get out of fights, but would definitely use it to annoy the enemy team, and bonk as many heads as he could.

Teleporting Scout would probably be the most annoying...

Soldier, the Orc

While he may not look it, the man's still Human, or at least, the closest thing to "human" you can get to on Nijezdo. Orcs are usually known as the protectors, but a lot would also consider them canon fodder, it would only make sense to make our dear Jane Doe here into an Orc.

Orcish magic is psychological in nature, making you feel pain when nothing should be hurting you, and while I don't think that Soldier would use a lot of his magic, he would absolutely use it to make his rockets hurt twice as hard.

Also, those runes on his rocket launcher? Yeah, Humans need wands to use their magic safely, otherwise it could make them very sick, or even kill them. Thankfully, almost anything can be a wand if you have the right runes on it. So, yes, his rocket launcher is his wand.

And the earrings? Those are his wedding rings, Zhana has a matching pair.

Pyro, the... Centaur???

If you've been following me for long enough, you'll probably know exactly what Pyro actually is, but for the newbies, I'm gonna put them on a little Easter egg hunt. Both the links above go to the Lost Locket Antiques blog that was made to worldbuild this universe, so if you're really curious, just go look there.

Since he's supposed to be kind of mysterious and odd, I decided to make his design a bit of a red herring. He's supposedly a Centaur, yet he has no Spirit Animal, he's never seen using any kind of magic, even when it would make sense to...

Ah, must be Pyro being Pyro, nothing to worry about.

These designs were really fun to make, and I hope they still feel like our Team Fortress boys. Despite the pretty radical changes I did to their bodies (minus Soldier, I just gave him green skin and tusks), I do still think they look like their in game counterparts. I hope you're excited for the next round of Mercs >:D

Offense <- You are Here

Defense <- Coming Soon

Support <- Coming Soon

[creator4favestuff]

I've been thinking about Animated more than I thought I would, and given I've been thinking about Nemesis Prime...

I know Shattered Glass was supposed to be a thing for S4, and I'm so sad it didn't happen. But I can think! I can headcanon and do silly little things with the reader involved!

Please note that this is a bit long (oops) and the characters in this post are Sari, Bee, Megatron, Starscream, Sentinel, Elita One in that order.

💜Apparently, in one of the drafts, Sari could have had a mother figure locked away to keep her under control. Imagine if that was the reader.

A possible family member or someone who worked under Isaac, saw what he was becoming and tried so desperately to keep Sari on a good path, only for him to keep you trapped with your own collar. She would barely get to see you, and when she did, it was always supervised. The most that happened would be Sari telling you about her days, a new interest, always about her. You couldn't say anything, or the collar would shock you. Harshly.

She tried so hard to think of a solution to set you free, run away, and never look back! Screw the city! Sari just wants things to go back to the way they were. She misses your hugs that always made her feel safe, the gentle words that made everything seem less painful, the warmth you exuded as akin to the cold lab tables.

Though it never gets to happen as the Decepticons manage to find and take you away, something that fuels her anger even more. She wouldn't care if they're good or bad or whatever label they had! They took you away from her! And that wouldn't slide.

Sooner or later, her collar would come off, whether broken by her own hands, regardless of the pain, or momentarily uncharged enough to let her rip it off with minimum damage, Sari looks for you. The moment she finds you, all thoughts of destruction and violence leave her.

You look healthier. Happier. Better than before. All thanks to these Decepticons, who you said have helped you recover. Who were even going to find a way...to help HER be free? Simply because you asked for their help?

It's such a foreign concept to her, but right now, all that matters is being by your side again. Even if you're in a meeting with Megatron, she sits next to you. Even if it's you talking with Starscream about materials, she stays. Nothing will take you away from her again.

Since HE'S not around to stop her, do expect to hear her call you mom and mother.

🤍Bee, still wanting to prove himself, does things that tend to be reckless. The sad thing? Even if he does a good job, it either doesn't impress anyone or he's still punished because he didn't follow orders in "the right way". He becomes completely quiet, only laughing to himself and hiding away unless called for.

When Sari, who's still friends with him in this universe (Please I CANNOT separate them, that'd be too cruel- 😔) tells him all about you, he's so curious. All he has to go off is a description of what you look like and your "odd kindness" as Sari puts it.

He wonders all the time what you're like. Why you have such a hold on Sari when her priority should be staying alive. That's what he's always had to do: what all Autobots have had to do. Love and care don't go with anything they've learned.

Bee wasn't around when you were taken, so he learns about it through one of Sari's outbursts. This one though?

The most destructive he'd ever seen. Even Isaac has a hard time getting her to stop, given the collar seems nonexistent to her. Even after the incident, things don't change back. He sees the way she stresses out, becomes more violent, snappy, mean. Turning into the other members on his team. He doesn't like it. She's supposed to be his..."friend", so why?

Bee isn't surprised when Sari leaves him behind. Kinda expected it. A small bit of him hoped, but he should have known better. It isn't until he's forced into a corner by Lugnut and Blitzwing that you and Sari appear.

The two get into a heated argument that leaves them heaving and upset. He refuses to believe that she and the Decepticons would come to save him. Why should he!?

"You left me behind! You're no different than the others! All the same..."

He decides to leave and head to who knows where, sobbing his poor spark out before being met with you. The human that Sari raved so much about. He'll act pouty, even as you explain the whole situation, before being shown a picture of a room.

A room dedicated to him. That Sari put together with your help...

He'll eventually go with you to apologize, the best he can anyways, who apologizes in her own awkward way. He's able to settle in, albeit with caution as second nature.

Imagine the horror he feels when he takes a mission into his hands and manages to make the Autobots retreat, but because he didn't follow the plan, he expects punishment. But instead, the others commend him for his quick thinking, which confuses him immensely. Not only that, but the untampered energon? The training that doesn't make him want to fall apart? No yelling or shock collars?

...Maybe being a Decepticon isn't so bad.

🩵Megatron, bless his spark, is such a gentleman. When you're rescued from your cage of loneliness, he immediately offers medical attention. His knowledge on humans isn't well known, but he's a quick learner.

His tales of the war, the fight he wishes to win for peace, it's admirable, and who wouldn't want to help? Not only that, but he has such a way with words and leadership that makes anyone know,, without a doubt, that he's a trusted ally. Even if you can't give much in terms of information pertaining to the Autobots, he doesn't mind.

"The fact that you are safe is what matters most. We can always strategize with what we have now."

The moment Sari arrives, he accesses the situation and lets you handle it. Megatron trusts that you wouldn't jeopardize the mission or their trust, but he makes sure to let you know that she's your responsibility. Not out of hatred, but because you can handle her better than he can, so he'll leave her care to you.

🩷Starscream, ever the loyal second in command, is the one to save you. He sees the desperation in your eyes and manages to zap the collar before any more damage is done. The seeker takes flight before the Autobots can do anything and offers to be your guardian.

He's usually the one who flies out and gets food and other things a human would need for you, and later on, Sari when she arrives. Thinks the bond you have with her is adorable and gives guidance when needed or wanted.

Such a soft hearted guy. Sari thinks he's weird. Bee thinks he's ESPECIALLY weird. The Decepticons sometimes see him as a bit of a pushover, but they do enjoy his optimism. It helps ease the burden when they have someone they can talk to that gives a new perspective of things.

🧡Sentinel being a courageous guy who tries so hard to see the good in others, wanting to believe that the Autobots are trying to do the right thing. But he changes sides when he realizes what his spark has been trying to deny for so long. They can't change, rather, they won't. And uncovering the truth on what Optimus did to Elita One? It crushes any hope he had. Even when the two meet, Sentinel's just happy that she's found her place amongst those she can call friends. He'll help her however he can, to make up for lost time and to see her thrive.

💓Speaking of Elita One, in this universe, she could be an Autobot turned Decepticon. Optimus could have left her behind to be bait, taking Sentinel. Maybe the soft hearted Autobot was the only one who knew how to pilot the ship they came in since it was his? But when all hope seems lost, she's saved by a group of Decepticon and shown that there's better ways to live than constant paranoia and hatred. She serves in part to pay her debt, but also because for once, she feels like there's something to call home.

That's all I have for now! Can you tell who I went off the scale with? Maybe I'll write more for this, I don't know. For now, this is the most my brain can think of on the fly.

[amalthea-13]

Stolas and his Happy Pills

I need you all to stop what you are doing. Usually this fandom does not give me a reason to be upset, but for hell's sakes can we please stop demonizing Stolas's use of antidepressants.

The term Happy Pills is a slang term to refer to the medication. In an article by Elev8 Center they note;

"Happy pills, also known as mood-enhancing or happiness-inducing substances, are medications that are commonly prescribed to help manage various mental health conditions. These medications aim to improve mood, reduce symptoms of depression or anxiety, and enhance overall well-being. " (Elev8 Centers)

Later on further explaining how they help;

"The term "happy pills" is often used colloquially to refer to medications that are primarily prescribed for mental health conditions. These medications work by targeting specific neurotransmitters in the brain, such as serotonin, dopamine, or norepinephrine, to help regulate mood and emotions." (Elev8Centers)

The pills that Stolas is using is important to his overall mental health and therefore should not be treated like- some "phase" in his life. Antidepressants are incredibly important to individuals with depression or anxiety or a number of other conditions.

Especially an individual who is a DOMESTIC VIOLENCE VICTIM. I feel like you all are casually forgetting that factor and it is genuinely pissing me off.

I need you all to realize that he is more prone to anxiety and depression BECAUSE of his trauma and therefore his use of "Happy Pills" should not be thrown aside or treated like its not important to Stolas's growth.

While it has been amazing to see Stolas express himself and be more sassy or angry, this is not his usual behavior.

Since Mastermind we have seen Stolas have a MELT DOWN on SCREEN in front of us.

He has become much snippier and acted in ways he has never before.

Stolas's mood was never like this before! He isn't acting this way because he is free but due to his depression!

Add into the fact Stolas is more than likely ADHD or Autistic coded!?

As someone with ADHD our moods can chop and change on the dime, but when you have depression it is 10 times worse, how do I know!? I live with it and I'm not medicated for either!!!

Stolas is not himself right now and as much as I love him being more vocal, he was like that prior to being off his meds;

Stolas can be that strong, sassy badass without being off his meds! He can still be that awesome man who respects himself while looking out for his own mental health!

No one should EVER be shamed or seen as "weak" for taking antidepressants. As someone with depression and knowing I never got treated, I wish someone gave a fuck enough to help me get treated.

Stolas needs these things so he can function normally. If he has ADHD or Autism, more so than neurotypical individuals! Because we experience a nifty thing called "executive dysfunction" which can be heavily influenced by our mood, a.k.a. DEPRESSION HAS A SWAY ON THAT SHIT!

As much as I appreciate Blitz, he cannot fix Stolas. Especially because he keeps stressing Stolas out.

I love Blitz, but he is not equipped nor is he himself in a good mental place to "fix" anyone. Especially because depression cannot be "fixed", that's not exactly how it works and I need ya'll to stop talking about depressed people like we're broken wind-up dolls.

We're people, and like Stolas we may need medication to thrive.

Therefore, that should be respected and not treated as something Stolas needs to "throw away" because Blitz's love "cures" him.

Really fucked when you think about it.

[enjoyvoidblack]

Something that I don't think I've ever personally seen talked about:

Jon mentions in season 3 that he'd quit smoking for 5 years, prior to the cigarette he went for after hearing the Fears explained by Leitner. It's not hard to assume that the stress makes him start again, and that it continues, since it gets mentioned a couple times more after that. That breaks my heart a bit on its own already.

But the other thing is that the Web tends to play with addiction.

And in Season 1 it gave him a fucking lighter.

[thenwethrowitonthefire]

[pessimistic post]

As a person who's always struggled to envision a future for themselves, the last 10 years plus the now regular messages about impending war are... Not good.

[townofcadence]

He listens first, only making the smallest "...Oh." When Nanashi reveals his regret. It clicks everything into place. But still, his hand stays where it is, being held like a lifeline, and his face stays mostly neutral. He listens, rather than reacting, giving him time to explain further.

What he hears is incredibly sad, in many ways. What he knows explains a lot more than Nanashi says, even aloud. He was scared; of course he was scared. His life was fighting and bloodshed, and he had nothing and no one he could trust or rely on. He was a void, an emptiness wrought by the world he lived in and the way it was designed to make the people who dwelt there. The only thing he had was probably this desire to always improve and reach further potential a place like that instills. That desire for purpose and his own independence, as someone who only relied on himself, because that was all he ever had. Nanashi was so dreadfully isolated in his own way, even before imprisonment. And in a world where violence was in every breath and action.... it made sense for someone soaked in it to react to something unknown and terrifying with it again, even on instinct.

It was tragic. How different that moment could've been had circumstances been a little kinder. Had Nanashi known more than hate and pain and fighting to survive. Her loss was symbolic of what made worlds that fostered that kind of warlike mentality so lamentable. Nothing good can grow and flourish in poisoned soil.

Artair's hand turns to squeeze his back. An offer of comfort. He can feel how much this is hurting him, see the shame in his turned eyes and head, feel the weight of it all in his own chest where it sits heavy and cold like a riverbed stone.

"I... think I understand. You were trying to end the war you were in." Artair answers. "While--- while it's hard to fathom for most, I can understand it was tactical in a sense. If things ended, maybe the war would have as well. You would stop a lot further violence by cutting the head off the metaphorical snake. It's horrible, but....that's what war is." Horrible, needless violence.

"I'm not saying what you did was the right choice. We both know that. It was needless and terrible, and I can see why a father might go to such lengths in grief, and why you wouldn't blame him, even if it wasn't right. But.... you're angry at yourself for it, aren't you? You clearly regret it. And you weren't fully in control of yourself. I've....been there. And done things I can't forgive either. I know that regret." His eyes fall to his almost untouched cup of tea, now cold. "But. But there's nothing you can do about what happened before. It wasn't an active choice you made. It was one made in a world where you didn't know how else to react to something you-- can't understand. You can't change how things went that night, no matter how much you might wish there was a way to take it back. The only way is forward."

He clears his throat, and offers a small squeeze. "And it's not too late to be different, you know? It doesn't erase what happened. Nothing can. But if you rue that version of you, it's never too late to make efforts to become someone you don't regret, for yourself and for her. I mean, you have already in some ways, surely. Here you are, sitting with me for tea, talking on morals. And when I offered you a hand, you didn't meet me with violence, did you?" His thumb glides along the back of Nanashi's palm. "You took it, instead. You reached for it. It isn't the same, I'm not saying it's the same or has the same weight....but you're capable of change. The you you were before doesn't have to define you forever."

He needed to talk about it. That was his way of facing it. He couldn't be a hypocrite. He couldn't tell people to face their demons when he was unwilling to do so. Talking about this made his soul feel heavy for first time in his life. Regret was new to him. He had never regretted anything up until that point. The 8th didn't look at Artair and yet his hands slowly reached out and softly gripped Artair's as if he was steeling himself as he kept staring out the window.

"I killed his daughter."

His hands were slightly shaking as he said that. He couldn't bring himself to look at Artair as he talked about this. Those words hung in his mouth and dried it out. But, now that he said it. The words were going to flood out of him.

"I didn't mean too and I had killed before that but, the other kills felt....justified. They had purpose to them. This was....murder without reason. I didn't mean to kill her. I went to Hojo Estate to scare her...or at least rough her up some. I did it when a big battle was happening that involved all of the clans in it. No one was at estate to guard it other then some foot soldiers and they were easily taken care of with my skills." He still wasn't look at him but, kept holding his hand.

"I thought if I could kill one of the clan leaders something might change. That perhaps the war would end if one of three clans died out. The plan was simple really....harm his daughter and draw him out when he wanted revenge for going into his home." He talked about it as if it was suppose to be simple.

"But....She....." His hand trumbled slightly in Artair's. "....I thought she would run from me or feel fear but, she met me with calmness and...EMPATHY. She sat me down for tea and for some reason I sat with her. I couldn't stop myself for some reason. We talked....a long talk about morals and belonging. She was....." He took a deep breath in.

"I hate to say this she was winning the argument....and she was....winning me over. I don't know why. She then reached out a hand towards and told me...I could be part of the Hojo clan that she talk to her father. That I.....I didn't need to be alone." Even his voice wasn't strong as it once was as he talked.

"I stared at her hand for so...so long and then....BLACK. Everything went BLACK and when color came back to me. Her bloody body stood before me. I had truly killed her in a gruesome manner. Blood was everywhere. All over my hands...her body was broke with her neck snapped....." He spoke so coldly of this moment.

"I stared at her body for long time and just...started to laugh and I convinced myself that the universe needed me to do that for some reason but, deep down I know now that is not the truth. I don't why I killed her. It served no purpose. I just did it....and just don't understand why."

[bonefall]

And not all DC fans are mad! I was happy when Leafpool beat Starfire, and I was pleased with Bumble winning too. (Epilepsy dad here, who is a comics fan, and has 4 kids who love reading the warrior cat books and have the Minifig warriors become superheroes In the Gotham city I hot as a kid) im digressing here: What keeps the warrior cats fandom strong is how you all form up around the cats that were mistreated by the writers, how you bring them into your homes and hearts and make better features for them. My Amuma always used to say if enough people believed in something, then maybe their will can change the world.

Always good to see you around!

This vitriol has been super disappointing, y'know? I feel like I have to keep stressing that DC fans are valid, their frustrations with the comics are well-founded, and Bumble's opponents should also be acknowledged as victims of misogyny

And then we don't get that grace back! Doesn't matter that Warriors is a best-selling kids' series with REALLY harmful messages in it read by millions across the globe. Bumble's "just a cat" and we're "reading too much into it." As if that's not the same shit that gets said about misogyny in media broadly; "They're not real, comics are just for fun, you're reading too much into it"

Now people are like "Oh it was a mistake for WARRIOR CATS to be in this poll" because they're mad our "just a cat" is winning. Like it's not a tournament and that's the whole point. We've got people trying to say that Bumble can't even have misogyny happen to her because the human writers superficially made her a cat, as if she's not a fantasy character like every other fantasy character she's been up against.

But, ugh. I won't let it stop me, y'know? StarClan gives its hardest battles to its strongest warriors ✨✨I will never shut up about the "justa cats," this fandom rocks exactly because of the fact we're so passionate about these issues and how to address and fix them, Bumblesweep FOREVER!

[cannimumsable]

izuku who doesn't remember or know kacchan is trans will always be so fucking funny to me. he just sees kacchan in pants/skirt (depending on transmasc/transfemcchan) in UA and he's like mm. anyways

[tateytots]

the duality of me ig lol

[evilducks]

god. i miss my old classmates