#i really hope this makes sense because I had a really hard time with this one

[leahwllmsn]

good graces

alexia putellas x reader

word count: 3.4k

You dislike Alexia Putellas with everything in you. Or maybe you’ve been crushing on her all this time. Who knows.

The first thing you noticed upon entering the club was the sea of people that made it hard for you to even get to the booth. The music was blaring in your ears and the smell of smoke wafted towards your nose. A strobe light shone against your eyes, making you squint and stop in your tracks. Kika was walking ahead of you and you quickly grabbed onto her hand, forcing her to stop as well.

“What’s wrong?” Kika spoke towards your ear.

You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m fine. Got disoriented for a second.”

“Okay.” Kika turned around, still keeping her hand linked with yours. You let yourself get dragged, Kika manoeuvring the both of you easily around the crowd.

It felt like forever until you finally reached the booth where the rest of the Barcelona players were occupying. Everyone was exchanging their ‘hi’s and ‘nice to meet you’s and you couldn’t focus on any of that. Not when you could feel her gaze on you.

The season was starting next week and since you and a couple of girls were new to the club, Patri decided to host a night out to introduce the newcomers. You knew a couple of the Spanish girls, having met them during international matches and exchanged contacts throughout your years in professional football.

There was one person, however, that… you didn’t really know how to explain it. Was she your enemy? Frenemy? You didn’t exactly hate her… But you didn’t exactly like her either. You’re pretty sure the feeling was mutual.

But it wasn’t that negative, soul-sucking, I-hope-she-dies type of hatred—at least, to you it wasn’t. It was more of… you couldn’t stand the stupid smirk on her face, it was infuriating, and even more so when she pushed you to the ground during matches or worse—when she completely humiliated you by nutmegging you and scoring a goal.

The smirk she sent your way after that was… maddening. You wanted to punch her, or something. You didn’t though. Instead you scowled at her throughout the rest of the game and you ignored her when everyone was shaking hands.

So you never really know where you stood with Alexia Putellas. The only words exchanged between you two were the heated curses on the pitch. Now that you two were going to be teammates, it was going to change the dynamics between you, definitely. You didn’t know in what way though.

You were never able to pinpoint why you disliked her so much, maybe it was because of the way she walked around the pitch like she owned the game before it even started. Like she was so confident that she would be winning—which was sexy as hell, yes, but it angered you. Because you were going to win, obviously. 

So maybe it was a good thing that you would be on the same team now. Maybe you could finally co-exist.

The situation had been on your mind ever since you signed for Barcelona. The uncertainty of it all was throwing you off. So you made a mental note to avoid her until you could figure it out.

Whatever ‘it’ was.

Your mantra before entering the club was to look away, to not spare her a glance. Not under any circumstances should you look her way. Period. 

It should be simple. It was simple.

All thoughts completely flew out the window the moment you arrived at the booth and you could feel Alexia’s eyes on you.

Ever since the first time you shook hands with her on the field (you were fifteen and she was sixteen), you had always known when her eyes were on you. Call it intuition or sixth sense or whatever.

So you had no choice but to look at her.

(She looked as good as you remembered.)

Your eyes locked for a second before Alexia broke away first, her eyes falling down to your left hand—your hand that was tightly intertwined with Kika’s. You saw the frown she sent your way and you sent her one back. Was it so hard to smile at someone?

You felt a tug at your hand and realised that Kika was motioning for you to take a seat. You glanced up once more at Alexia, but her gaze was now focused on the drink in front of her. 

You slid into the booth next to Kika and accepted the drink that Pina held out to you, muttering a ‘thanks’. Once you did, you felt the pair of hazel eyes from across the table back on you. 

Your eye contact lasted longer this time, you didn’t know why Alexia was looking at you like that. It was a gaze that felt so intense, making you instantly chug your drink. 

“Whoa,” you heard someone say, a giggle following after. “No rush, chica. We have all night.”

“Patri, nice to see you again,” you shouted over the music.

“You too!” She lifted a bottle of vodka, silently asking you if you wanted some, to which you nodded in reply. Patri took your now empty glass and poured some into it. “We’re out of shot glasses, sorry! This one over here,” she pointed a thumb at Alexia. “Accidentally elbowed them to the ground and now we only get plastic cups!”

You couldn’t help it and joined in on the laughter. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Alexia’s head snap towards you. You gulped the drink Patri gave you and continued on with your staring contest with the captain. You raised an eyebrow at her, she simply threw that signature smirk of hers your way.

Infuriating.

“Can they actually do that?” asked Jana.

“Apparently!” Patri answered back.

Mapi placed her arm around Alexia’s shoulder, “You have to excuse this one. She had some pre-drinks at her place so she’s already well on her way to being extra drunk.” After a moment, she added. “Although, she became extremely calm these past few minutes. Are you okay?” Mapi teased.

Alexia playfully shoved her away. “It’s not my fault they didn’t know the risks when they decided to open a club.”

You felt Kika bump her shoulder against yours. “I can see why you’re so hung up on her, to be honest.”

At that, you pulled back. You gave Kika a look that was a mixture of ‘what the hell are you talking about’ and ‘I think I’m not drunk enough for this conversation’.

Kika rolled her eyes and leaned closer, speaking directly in your ears. “She’s ridiculously attractive.”

You placed your hand on Kika’s face, shoving her away. You could feel Kika’s laughter against your palm and you pulled your hand back.

“Y/n—” Kika started, but you interrupted her.

“Nope,” you took another gulp of your drink. “Talk to me again about this topic when I’m drunk. Actually, no. Don’t talk to me about this topic at all because there is nothing to talk about in the first place!”

Kika shook her head fondly and wrapped her arm around your neck, bringing your head towards her so she could whisper in your ear. “I think you should drink faster then, because your girl looks like she’s going to kill me and we need to do something about it.”

You pinched her thigh. “She’s not my girl.”

“Ouch! That was the part you got? Not her wanting to kill me?”

“Stop being ridiculous then. Why would she want to kill you?”

Kika grinned. “Probably because to everyone else it looks like we’re about to kiss.”

Your eyes widened at your proximity and quickly shoved the brunette, causing her to lean backwards into Jana, who looked amused at the two of you.

“Sorry,” Kika whined. “Y/n’s fault!”

Just when you were about to say something back, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. A text message from an unknown number.

Hola

It’s Alexia.

You glanced up at her, giving her a confused look. Alexia just gave a slight nod of her head, flicking her eyes to your phone. You sighed. This was going to be fun.

you: how did you get my number?

unknown number: Perks of being the capitana.

you: why are you even texting me? you’re literally in front of me

unknown number: Oh am I? Thank you for pointing that out.

you: you’re as annoying as I remembered

you: so ? is there a reason why you’re texting me

annoying capi: Because you are too far away. It’s so loud here. I haven’t gotten the chance to talk to you.

annoying capi: I have captain duties

you: to talk to me?

annoying capi: Yes

You almost rolled your eyes at that. What kind of captain duties was this? Pere would likely introduce Alexia as your captain on your first day. There was nothing urgent that any captain-teammate talk had to be done now.

You just hoped that she wasn’t planning on kicking you out of the club, or any other evil things you couldn’t think of. You stared at her, somewhere between a glare and an interested look. Only one way to find out.

you: I’m about to grab a drink at the bar

annoying capi: Is this an invitation?

you: am I going by myself or are you coming with?

“Y/n and I are grabbing more drinks,” Alexia announced. “Does anyone want anything?”

Everyone shook their heads and with that Alexia slid out of the booth. She outstretched her hand towards you and you stared down at it. There was no way that Alexia was asking you to hold her hand, because that would be ridiculous, and frankly, you weren’t sure if you were ready to know what it feels like to hold Alexia’s hand—

“Dios mío,” Alexia reached out and grabbed your wrist. You didn’t have time to react and the next thing you knew, you were being pulled to the bar.

Alexia’s grasp on your wrist was tight, you felt all tingly as more seconds passed by and Alexia’s grip never faltered. 

You inwardly cringe at yourself for feeling like that towards a… a frenemy (you still didn’t know what you two were).

When you reached the bar, Alexia finally let go and you kind of missed the warm feeling Alexia’s hold gave you.

“What’s your drink?” Alexia asked.

“Uhm…”

The place was crowded, which was definitely good for the business, but you decided that it was very not good for you. Because with the way Alexia was leaning sideways against the counter, arms crossed, eyebrows raised at you—Alexia was so close that you couldn’t think of anything, except the way her eyes looked even more heavenly at night (not that you noticed. You were too busy marking her during games, you definitely had no time to admire the way the sunlight made her eyes shine even brighter).

“Do you do that a lot?” Alexia asked once she finished talking to the bartender.

When you still hadn’t answered, Alexia pursed her lips and blew on your face. “Boo.”

Your eyes widened. “W-what was that for?”

“You’re zoning out again,” Alexia rolled her eyes at you.

“No I wasn’t,” you tried your best to sound calm despite your racing heartbeat. 

Alexia smelled like alcohol and a perfume that you knew was from Chanel (you had the same one at home) and you knew you weren’t supposed to let your mind wander, but you couldn’t help but think about how it would feel like to have Alexia pressed up against you. Like, really pressed up against you. 

How her lips would feel on—

“You’re doing it again,” Alexia noted.

You blinked a few times. What the hell were you thinking? You couldn’t think of Alexia like that. The thought made you shiver. You two disliked each other. “I’m doing what?”

“Spacing out,” Alexia looked amused. “Something on your mind?”

“Just the usual,” you replied, looking anywhere but those eyes.

“And what is the usual to you?”

You let out a small laugh. “Are you always this nosy? I don’t see you texting Kika or Pajor and asking for a one-on-one.”

Alexia shrugged. “Maybe I’m just interested in you.”

At that, you looked at Alexia and raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“I don’t know, I just am. I can’t pinpoint it.”

You narrowed your eyes. Was she flirting with you? “Is this you talking to me as my captain or is this something else?” Alexia was about to reply when you cut her off. “Is this where you say something nice about me but then talk shit a second later?” you paused. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Maybe that was the wrong thing to say because the next thing you knew, Alexia was laughing. It was the first time you’ve heard her laugh. You didn’t want to think about the tug in your heart or the smile making its way to your lips. “What does that have to do with anything?” Alexia asked you.

You crossed your arms against your chest. “It sounded like you were flirting with me.”

“I could mean being interested in you in a non-romantic sense,” Alexia refuted. “I am going to be your capitana after all.”

“Mhmm, sure,” you looked around the bar. “I think you’re lying.”

Alexia looked amused. “Why do you think that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, I just do. I can’t pinpoint it.”

“Using my words against me, I see.” 

You cheekily smiled at her and she did the same. Alexia actually smiled at you. It was a miracle. First you made her laugh, then you made her smile. You were on a roll.

Not that it mattered. You couldn’t care less, really.

Suddenly remembering that you didn’t tell her what drink you wanted, you looked at the bartender then back at her, “Did you order for me? Hope it’s nothing poisonous. We’re about to play on the same team, you can stop trying to kill me on the field now.”

Alexia scoffed. “I never acted like I wanted to kill you.”

“I beg to differ but sure,” you couldn’t believe that you were enjoying a conversation with Alexia Putellas. “I never told you my drink order, so if you got me something I don’t like, you’re paying for it.”

Alexia scrunched her nose at you. “I thought I was paying for it. I am a gentlewoman after all.”

You hummed. “Does this work on all women?”

“It’s Sex on the Beach, by the way,” Alexia ignored your question. “What I ordered for you.”

You raised an eyebrow at that. Oh this can definitely be considered flirting. “Why Sex on the Beach?”

Alexia just shrugged in response.

“That’s my favourite,” you told her. “Just for your information.”

“Really?” Alexia grinned at you. (What a sight it was.) “I am so good at this.”

“Sure. You probably chose that drink so you could flirt with me.”

“Is that a problem?”

You looked at her questioningly. “That you got my favourite cocktail right on the first try?”

Alexia laughed again, but this time there wasn’t the usual teasing tone when she spoke. “You’re so dense sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you drew out. “I guess.”

“What I meant was… is that a problem if I was flirting with you?”

You weren't expecting that answer. This was definitely not the captain-teammate talk you were expecting, nor was this the type of conversation you were expecting from your frenemy. “Uh,” you stammered. “With the fact that you have a girlfriend, yeah kind of.”

Alexia stared at you for a second, before she looked away. When she turned to you again, a coy smile was present on her lips. “You’re right. That was terrible. Sorry, please don’t tell my non-existent girlfriend about this.”

Oh? You tried to hide the smile that was making its way to your face. “Don’t worry. I don’t know your non-existent girlfriend enough to snitch on you.”

The bartender interrupted you with your drinks and you gulped half of yours in one go. You needed to be more intoxicated with the way this conversation was going.

“I probably sound like a terrible girlfriend,” Alexia said, placing her card back in her wallet after paying for your drinks.

“Hm? How so?”

“I’m literally flirting with another woman here, even though my girlfriend, our three kids, and two dogs are waiting for me at our mansion,” Alexia rolled out dramatically, you laughed at how ridiculous she was.

“So you were flirting with me.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, looking down. She looked… shy? This was new. You were enjoying this very much. “I never said such a thing.”

“What?” You looked at her in disbelief. “Alexia, you just said ‘I’m literally flirting with another woman’.”

Alexia shrugged, taking a gulp of her drink. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.”

You had to keep on reminding yourself that Alexia was your frenemy. You two disliked each other. Whatever this was… it was a momentary lapse in judgement. A drunk night out. You weren’t into Alexia like that and she was definitely, totally just playing with you. But looking at the blonde in front of you—how Alexia was doing something as simple as swirling her straw in her drink—you never wanted to do something stupid as much as right now.

“You know,” you started. “If you didn’t have a girlfriend, I would totally kiss you.”

You were only toying with her of course. You didn’t actually want to kiss her.

Alexia choked on her drink. “I’m sorry, what?” she looked at you wide-eyed.

You smirked, it was a nice turn of events, having Alexia be the one stuttering instead of you. “You heard me.”

“Well,” you saw Alexia gulp and place her drink on the bar. “I guess you’re in luck then.” Alexia averted her eyes down to your lips. “My non-existent girlfriend just broke up with me,” she pouted dramatically. Damn it. You were trying so hard not to look at her lips. “You, on the other hand, is a terrible date.”

You looked confused. “Me?”

Alexia nodded. “Flirting with me when your date is right there,” she tilted her head in the direction of where your friends were sitting. “Kika?”

You laughed at that. Was Alexia actually jealous? “Am I sensing some jealousy here, Putellas?”

“Why would I be?” Alexia scoffed, the faint blush on her cheeks visible despite the dark lighting of the club. Oh this was so much fun.

“Is that why you’re always so hostile towards me on the pitch, Capi? Do you actually have a crush on me? Asking me out would work just fine, you know.”

“I’m not…” Alexia crossed her arms. “I’m not jealous and I definitely do not have a crush on you. Ridícula.”

You could feel the effects of the alcohol, because you could never be this bold otherwise. You stepped forward, tracing a finger down Alexia’s forearm.

“Uh,” Alexia stammered.

“It’s so funny,” you whispered in her ear. “To have the mighty Alexia Putellas speechless for once.”

You tapped Alexia’s cheek and leaned back.

Alexia just kept on staring at you for a few seconds, her mouth stuttering to say something.

“I’m going to order another drink,” you said, gulping down the last of your cocktail. “Do you want something?”

Alexia finally regained her composure and straightened her back. “Yeah, yeah. Sure.”

You waved the bartender over and told him your order. You turned to Alexia with an expectant look. “Well? What do you want?”

“Ah. Are you on the menu?” Alexia answered, giving you her best innocent look.

It took a second for you to realise what Alexia said, and when you did, your mouth dropped open. 

Before you could reply, Alexia leaned in and whispered in your ear. “I always win these games, cariño,” the hot breath against your ear causing you to shiver. “See you back there.” Alexia winked and turned around, leaving you to stare at her retreating figure with your mouth still agape and your heart thumping wildly against your chest.

You hated her so much.

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi!!!

May I request something a little angsty to sweet?? 😈

An X-men x teen!reader with that one trope where it’s like:

“You’re not my dad/mom!”

“I know that, do you?”

With characters: Scott Summers, Logan Howlett, Storm, Beast, Magneto, and gambit

X-Men x Teen!Reader

You tell them that they are not your dad/mom during an argument

In the heat of the argument, the words slip out—sharp, hurtful. Their faces fall, stunned and wounded, but there’s a quiet pain in your own heart too, because you know the truth. Later, in the stillness, you find yourself beside them, whispering apologies, and they hold you as if to say: family isn’t only blood, it’s chosen.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, Hank McCoy, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Wade Wilson

Ooh, you little evil spawn... I love this prompt, and I hope I have reached your expectations <3

Logan Howlett aka. Wolverine

- Logan’s temper is legendary, but he’s always managed to keep it in check around you, knowing you need stability. However, the moment you shout “You’re not my dad!” during a heated argument, he feels a pang of anger and hurt. He’s spent years looking after you, guiding you in his gruff way, and in that second, it stings. Without missing a beat, he snaps back, “I know that, kid. Do you?”

- There’s a cold silence afterward, and Logan storms off, muttering under his breath. He knows he’s not technically your father, but you’re family to him. As he sits alone, drinking and stewing over the argument, he wonders if maybe he’s failed you somehow. He thinks back to the times he’d pulled you out of trouble or taught you some hard-won survival lessons, realizing just how deeply he cares.

- That night, the silence weighs heavy, and you feel a growing sense of regret. Logan has been the one constant in your life, a steady (if rough) presence who’s always had your back. You think about all the times he’s risked himself for you, the moments he’s tried to be there in his quiet, sometimes awkward way. It dawns on you that, without Logan, your life would be far lonelier—and that he truly has become a father figure.

- The next morning, Logan’s in the kitchen, frying eggs and bacon, trying to act like everything’s normal. When you finally muster up the courage to apologize, he doesn’t make it easy. He just grunts, flipping the eggs with a rough edge to his voice, not looking up. But he listens. After you tell him how much he means to you, he lets out a long sigh, and with a gruff but softer voice, he tells you, “Kid, you drive me crazy, but you’re family. You know that?”

- Later, you notice Logan starts going a little easier on you, keeping the snark to a minimum and checking in a bit more often. The bond between you grows even stronger, and while he’ll never be openly affectionate, you sense the quiet pride he has in you. If anyone tries to mess with you, Logan’s first in line to make sure they regret it.

- From then on, whenever you call him “Logan” instead of “Dad,” he just smirks and raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to say what you really feel. In his own way, he’s let you know that titles don’t matter—he’ll always be there, watching your back like only a true family member would.

Remy LeBeau aka. Gambit

- Remy isn’t exactly the “strict parent” type, so when you start an argument with him, you’re used to his laid-back attitude. But this time, he gets serious, which shocks you enough to yell, “You’re not my dad!” Remy’s face goes still for a moment, then he raises an eyebrow with his usual calm demeanor, saying softly, “I know, cher. Do you?”

- Remy’s response hangs in the air, and he turns on his heel, leaving you to stew in the aftermath. You’re left alone, staring after him and feeling a pang of guilt. Remy has always treated you like family, his warmth and charm making you feel safe and wanted. You remember the countless times he’s been there for you, offering wisdom and laughter, even when you’ve messed up.

- That night, you can’t shake the look on his face—calm, yes, but with a hint of sadness. Remy’s always seemed so self-assured, but in that moment, it felt like he genuinely wondered if he’d overstepped. You begin to realize just how much he’s done to make you feel like you belong, without ever asking anything in return.

- The next day, you find Remy in the Danger Room, practicing. Nervously, you walk up to him and mumble an apology, explaining that you didn’t mean what you said. He turns to you, an understanding smile softening his gaze. “S’alright, kiddo. I know you got fire in you. Just remember—blood don’t make family.”

- After that, Remy’s even more of a constant presence, always ready to talk, laugh, or lend a hand. He starts making a point to remind you of your strengths, pushing you to see the best in yourself. Whenever he sees you slipping into self-doubt, he’ll casually throw in a story of one of his own mistakes, just to remind you that he’s been there too—and that he’ll always be there for you.

- Over time, you come to see Remy not just as a mentor, but as family, someone who chose to be in your life. He might not have the official title of “dad,” but there’s no question about the bond between you two. Remy’s heart is as big as his charm, and he’s shown you that family is something you build, piece by piece.

Kurt Wagner aka. Nightcrawler

- Kurt’s patience seems endless, so when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” in the heat of an argument, the words shock you as much as they shock him. He’s silent for a moment, then replies gently, “I know, but are you sure?” He’s hurt but gives you a sad, understanding look before stepping away, giving you space to cool off.

- Afterward, the guilt eats away at you. Kurt has been nothing but kind and supportive, teaching you about acceptance and resilience, even when things are tough. His faith and positivity have been a guiding light in your life, and the thought of hurting him like this twists at your heart.

- You remember moments when he went out of his way to include you, especially when you felt like an outsider among mutants. Kurt has always been there, understanding what it’s like to be different and offering comfort when you needed it most. It hits you that, despite not being your biological father, he’s filled that role with all the love and patience he has.

- The next day, you find Kurt alone in the library, reading. You approach him, nervous but sincere, and apologize for what you said. He listens quietly, and when you’re done, he gives you a warm smile, saying, “It’s alright, mein freund. I will always be here, no matter what.” His forgiveness is immediate, his kindness knowing no limits.

- After that, Kurt becomes even more of a confidant, someone you know you can turn to for wisdom and understanding. He makes a point of reminding you that love is a choice, and he’s chosen you as family. Whenever you’re down, he’ll tell you stories of his own struggles, showing you that strength comes from within, even when life gets hard.

- The bond between you two only deepens, and Kurt’s gentle presence is something you come to cherish. He may not be your dad by blood, but he’s family through and through. Kurt’s unwavering faith in you becomes a source of comfort, a reminder that you’re never truly alone as long as he’s around.

Scott Summers aka. Cyclops

- Scott is used to being responsible and disciplined, so when you snap, “You’re not my dad!” during a heated disagreement, he doesn’t take it lightly. He stands there, tense and quiet, then responds, “I know. But do you?” before walking away, clearly hurt but too proud to let it show.

- That night, you can’t stop replaying the argument in your head. Scott may be strict, but he’s always had your best interests at heart. He’s spent countless hours training and guiding you, doing everything in his power to prepare you for the dangers of the world. As you think back, you start to feel the weight of what you said, realizing how much you’ve taken him for granted.

- You begin to understand that, in his own quiet way, Scott has been a father figure to you, even if he doesn’t say it outright. Every stern lecture, every training session—it was his way of protecting you, showing he cared. The guilt eats at you, and you know you need to make things right.

- The next morning, you approach him in the War Room, nervous but determined. You tell him how much his guidance means to you, how you didn’t mean what you said. Scott listens carefully, his expression softening as he nods. “We’re a team, and that means we’re family,” he says firmly. “I’m here for you, always.”

- From then on, Scott’s support becomes even more evident. He may not be the most openly affectionate, but he makes it clear that he’s in your corner, no matter what. He starts opening up to you more, sharing his own struggles with responsibility, letting you see the weight he carries as a leader and mentor.

- Over time, you come to appreciate Scott’s steady presence, realizing how lucky you are to have him as a father figure. He may be tough, but his loyalty is unwavering, and he’ll always have your back. In Scott, you find a kind of steadfast strength that reminds you every day that family isn’t defined by blood—it’s built on respect, care, and unwavering support.

Jean Grey aka. Marvel Girl / Phoenix

- Jean’s kindness is boundless, so when you shout, “You’re not my mom!” during an argument, her expression drops, a mix of shock and sadness. She takes a deep breath, her voice calm but strained, and says, “I know, but I care about you just the same. Do you know that?” With that, she steps back, giving you space to cool down, but the sadness in her eyes lingers.

- In the quiet that follows, you feel a pang of regret. Jean has always been there for you, her gentle support unwavering, guiding you with both warmth and patience. You remember the countless times she’s been there to comfort you, a soothing presence who never hesitated to make you feel loved. The memory of her expression, the way her shoulders slumped, makes you feel worse.

- That night, you find yourself replaying the argument over and over. You begin to realize how much Jean’s presence has shaped your life, that she’s been more than just a mentor or friend—she’s been like a mother, even if neither of you ever said it out loud. Each memory fills you with gratitude and a growing need to make things right.

- The next day, you find Jean in the garden, tending to the flowers with her usual care. Tentatively, you approach her, stumbling over an apology. She listens, her eyes soft as she pulls you into a gentle embrace. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “I know these things aren’t easy. I’m here for you, no matter what.” Her forgiveness is instant, her hug comforting, as if she understands all you can’t say.

- After that, Jean becomes even more of a mother figure, offering a patient ear and a shoulder to lean on whenever you need. Her kindness is a quiet strength that you come to lean on more and more. You notice she checks in on you more often, making sure you know she’s there, even when words don’t need to be said.

- Over time, you come to cherish her presence even more, recognizing her as your found family. With Jean, you feel safe, loved, and valued, and her quiet guidance reminds you every day that family doesn’t have to be by blood. It’s in the love you choose to share, and Jean’s love is as steady as the rising sun.

Ororo Munroe aka. Storm

- Ororo’s calm strength is like a force of nature, but when you yell, “You’re not my mom!” it’s as if a storm has passed through her eyes. She doesn’t lash out, doesn’t even raise her voice, but she looks at you with a steady gaze and says, “I know that, little one. Do you?” Her words are gentle but piercing, and she leaves you to ponder them.

- That night, as the weight of your words sinks in, guilt gnaws at you. Ororo has always treated you with kindness and respect, guiding you through life’s challenges with wisdom and care. She’s been your rock, the person who’s grounded you, and you feel ashamed for taking her love and protection for granted.

- You think back to all the moments Ororo has been there for you: teaching you about the world, sharing her culture, and encouraging you to be true to yourself. You realize that she’s been more than a mentor—she’s been family. Her quiet strength and unwavering love have been like the rain, nourishing you and helping you grow.

- The next day, you find Ororo on the rooftop, gazing at the horizon. Gathering your courage, you apologize, explaining how much she means to you. She listens, her gaze as steady and calm as ever, before she gently places a hand on your shoulder. “I forgive you,” she says with a small smile. “Family isn’t always about blood. It’s about the bonds we choose.” Her words bring you a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed.

- After that, Ororo takes on an even more motherly role, gently guiding you and always offering wisdom when you need it most. You start spending more time together, finding solace in her presence and strength in her words. She reminds you of your own resilience, always making you feel capable and valued.

- Ororo’s love becomes a source of strength, and you come to see her as family in the truest sense. Her support is unwavering, her guidance is steady, and with her, you find the sense of belonging and family you never realized you craved. She’s a mother figure, not by title but by choice, and her love fills a space in your heart you hadn’t known was empty.

Charles Xavier aka. Professor X

- Charles rarely shows disappointment, but when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” during an argument, there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. He looks at you thoughtfully, his calm, composed demeanor intact, and simply says, “I know that, but are you sure?” before quietly excusing himself. His voice is soft, but the weight of his words lingers.

- As the reality of your words hits you, a wave of guilt follows. Charles has dedicated himself to making you feel safe, offering guidance, structure, and endless patience. He’s been more than just a mentor—he’s been a father figure, the one who’s always there to listen and guide you without judgment.

- You begin to reflect on all the small gestures he’s made to show he cares, from teaching you with kindness to offering you advice when life felt overwhelming. Charles has seen potential in you from the start, treating you with respect and compassion, and the thought of hurting him leaves a knot in your chest.

- The next day, you approach his study, nervous but determined to apologize. Charles listens, his usual calm presence enveloping you in a sense of safety. He smiles gently, nodding as you express your regrets, and simply says, “I understand, and I forgive you.” His forgiveness feels like a weight lifted, and he reminds you that love and family are choices, not just obligations.

- After that, you feel even closer to Charles, and he continues to be your steadfast supporter. He encourages you to pursue your strengths, guiding you with wisdom and patience, and you start to see him as a father figure you can truly depend on. His calm understanding becomes a source of comfort, a reminder that family can be chosen and built on mutual respect.

- Charles’s influence becomes a grounding force in your life, his guidance always there to lift you up. With him, you find a sense of belonging and love that goes beyond mere words. He may not be your biological father, but he’s family in every way that matters, and his unwavering belief in you becomes a constant source of strength.

Erik Lehnsherr aka. Magneto

- Erik is not known for his patience, so when you yell, “You’re not my dad!” it’s like a slap to the face. His eyes harden, his voice cold as he responds, “I know, but perhaps you don’t.” With that, he turns away, his pride wounded but his expression betraying a flicker of sadness. For Erik, family is sacred, and your words cut deep.

- That night, guilt starts to creep in. Erik has been harsh, yes, but he’s always shown you the value of strength, resilience, and conviction. He’s taught you to be bold, to stand up for yourself, and though his methods are tough, he’s been there for you in ways that no one else has. You begin to realize how much you owe to his guidance.

- Memories flood back of times when Erik’s fierce loyalty protected you, his dedication ensuring you never felt alone. He’s been like a father to you, albeit a strict one, and as the guilt weighs on you, you see that his rough edges have been his way of showing love, even if he doesn’t say it outright.

- The next day, you approach him with an apology, your voice shaky but sincere. Erik listens, his piercing gaze softened by something like understanding. He accepts your apology, and in his own stern way, he reminds you that strength is born of struggle. His words are harsh, but his forgiveness is there, hidden beneath his rough demeanor.

- From that moment on, Erik’s presence becomes even more of a steady force in your life. He challenges you to be your best, pushing you to embrace your potential, and though he rarely shows open affection, his actions speak louder than words. He’ll protect you fiercely, his bond with you deepening as he takes on the role of a mentor and protector.

- Erik’s influence makes you feel strong and capable, and while he’s a difficult figure to love, you know that he’s chosen you as family. His pride and determination inspire you to believe in yourself, and even if he’ll never say it directly, his loyalty is proof that you’re family to him, forged through fire and unbreakable.

Hank McCoy aka. Beast

- Hank is rarely one to raise his voice, but when you blurt out, “You’re not my dad!” in the heat of an argument, he freezes. For a moment, he’s quiet, his face clouded with hurt before he gives you a calm but serious look. “I’m aware of that. But I’ve always tried to be here for you, haven’t I?” His voice is gentle, yet his words sting in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Without another word, he leaves, giving you the space you both clearly need.

- As you cool down from the argument, guilt quickly sets in. Hank has been nothing but patient and caring, always offering you understanding and support when you needed it most. His gentle presence has been a source of comfort, and the memory of the sadness in his eyes makes you realize how deeply you’ve hurt him.

- Reflecting on all the times Hank has been there for you, you remember how he would stay up late to help you with your studies, his voice soft and encouraging as he shared his vast knowledge. His kindness was never forced; he genuinely cared, and you start to see that he’s been like a father figure all along, even if neither of you ever put a name to it.

- The next day, you find Hank in the lab, engrossed in his work as usual. Hesitantly, you apologize, struggling to find the right words. Hank stops what he’s doing, looking at you with that familiar, gentle expression. “I appreciate your apology,” he says, his tone warm and forgiving. He doesn’t need to say much to make you feel better; his soft smile is enough to lift the weight from your shoulders.

- After that, Hank is still there for you, but the bond between you feels stronger. He seems to make an effort to check in on you more often, even gently guiding you through life’s challenges with his usual wisdom and warmth. You realize how much you’ve come to rely on him as a steady presence in your life.

- Hank’s compassion and patience become pillars of support as you grow, and he becomes more than just a mentor—he’s family. His encouragement and gentle guidance make you feel valued, and you start to understand that family isn’t just about blood; it’s about those who choose to stand by you, even when things get tough. With Hank, you’ve found a father figure in the truest sense.

Wanda Maximoff aka. The Scarlet Witch

- When you yell, “You’re not my mom!” in a heated moment, Wanda’s eyes flash with pain. She takes a deep breath, her voice steady but laced with hurt as she responds, “I know I’m not. But I’ve always tried to be there for you, haven’t I?” Her voice is soft, a mix of sadness and disappointment that lingers in the air as she turns away, giving you the space you clearly need.

- Guilt settles over you like a weight as you recall everything Wanda has done for you. She’s been a constant source of love and protection, going out of her way to create a safe space for you in a chaotic world. Her kindness has been unwavering, and the memory of her hurt expression leaves you feeling remorseful.

- You begin to remember all the times Wanda has comforted you, her gentle presence like a soothing balm when the world felt overwhelming. She’s always known what to say, her intuition guiding her as she wrapped you in warmth and reassurance. You realize how much her presence means to you, that she’s been a mother figure even if you never said it.

- The next day, you approach Wanda, the words of an apology on your lips. She listens, her eyes softening as you explain how sorry you are. She pulls you into a gentle hug, murmuring, “It’s okay. I understand.” Her forgiveness is immediate, her embrace warm and reassuring, and you feel the weight of your guilt lift as you lean into her.

- After that, Wanda continues to be there for you, her love as constant and unwavering as ever. She’s more protective, always ensuring you know you’re loved and valued. Her presence feels like home, a reminder that family is more than just titles; it’s the bond you share and the love that endures even through difficult moments.

- Over time, Wanda becomes even more of a mother figure, her guidance and love anchoring you as you grow. With her, you find a sense of belonging, a family built on mutual care and understanding. Wanda’s love becomes a source of strength, and you come to see her as family in the truest sense.

Pietro Maximoff aka. Quicksilver

- Pietro has always been quick to defend you, so when you shout, “You’re not my dad!” during an argument, his face falls, his usual bravado replaced by a flicker of hurt. He hesitates, then responds with a hint of vulnerability, “I know I’m not. But I care about you, and that’s not going to change.” He doesn’t say much more, leaving with a hint of frustration and sadness.

- Your heart aches almost immediately after the words leave your mouth. Pietro has always been a constant in your life, fiercely protective and ready to do anything to keep you safe. His loyalty has been unwavering, and the memory of his hurt expression weighs on you, leaving you feeling guilty.

- As the regret settles in, you begin to think back to all the moments Pietro has been there for you, his fast-paced life slowing down whenever you needed him. His protectiveness might come off as overbearing, but it’s always been rooted in love. You realize how much you mean to him, that he’s been like a father figure, even if neither of you put it into words.

- The next day, you find him in the training room, going through a series of drills. Nervously, you approach him with an apology. Pietro pauses, listening intently, and his usual cocky grin returns as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, kid. Family fights sometimes.” His words are light, but there’s a warmth in his tone that makes you feel forgiven.

- From then on, Pietro is still as protective as ever, though he seems to make an extra effort to remind you that he’s there for you. He includes you in his adventures, always finding ways to bring laughter and excitement into your life. His loyalty is fierce, and you find comfort in the way he’s chosen to stand by you.

- Pietro’s support becomes a source of strength, and over time, you come to see him as family. He’s there for you in ways that matter, his love loud and unfiltered. With him, you’ve found a father figure who’s more than willing to face the world at your side, his loyalty a constant reminder that family is chosen as much as it is given.

Wade Wilson aka. Deadpool

- Wade’s never been the most conventional parental figure, but when you snap, “You’re not my dad!” he goes silent. It’s rare to see him at a loss for words, but the hurt that flickers across his face is hard to miss. After a pause, he says, “Hey, I know that, but... I kinda thought we had something here, y’know?” He tries to play it off, but the sadness in his voice lingers as he gives you space.

- Almost immediately, regret starts to settle in. Wade has been your protector, your friend, and even if he’s unconventional, he’s always made sure you’re safe. He’s taught you to laugh, to find humor even in dark situations, and the thought of hurting him leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

- You think back to all the times Wade has made you feel cared for, his offbeat sense of humor a constant source of comfort. He’s been like a father in his own chaotic way, always finding unique ways to show he cares. The memory of his hurt expression haunts you, and you feel a strong need to make things right.

- Finding Wade isn’t hard; he’s at the usual hangout, cracking jokes to mask whatever he’s feeling. You approach him, offering an apology, and he listens, his face breaking into a goofy grin. “Oh, kid, you can’t get rid of me that easy!” he teases, pulling you into a bear hug that’s both ridiculous and comforting.

- After that, Wade goes back to being his usual chaotic self, but he’s even more protective, throwing around jokes about being your “self-appointed, totally unofficial, slightly psychotic dad.” His antics make you laugh, and you come to appreciate his unique way of showing love, realizing he’s been there for you all along.

- Wade’s love may be unorthodox, but it’s real, and over time, you come to see him as family. He’s the loud, unpredictable presence you didn’t know you needed, his humor and loyalty bringing you a sense of belonging. With Wade, you’ve found a father figure who’ll stand by you, his love chaotic and unconditional in every way that matters.

[pseudophan]

nora can i just ask… WHAT was he thinking? how was that lie ever going to work when they were doing everything so publicly in 2009? sure you can delete stuff but he must have known it was still out there anyway right? isn’t it pointless to be like i didn’t watch his videos when he was commenting on the interactive adventures like his life depended on it ?? he was trying to convince people he just happened to be in manchester one day with a friend and he just saw phil ???? when we all saw you counting down the days to meeting each other online like WHAT

https://x.com/pinofdnp/status/1855973085771387187?s=46

tweet link (it's one of the infamous 'we met through a mutual friend' claims)

to be fair to them both, if the phandom wasn't as unhinged as it was (is) they could've gotten away with that lie. kind of. dan and phil are hardly pr experts but this isn't really too crazy a move, like yeah the people who know the truth will always know the truth but if you tell a lie enough times then in theory new fans, and people who just never looked into it, are gonna go with your version of events and not question it. the main issue for dan and phil specifically was that their fanbase was essentially built on and around speculation about their relationship and cataloguing any and all proof of it. new fans and casuals often believed the lie at first just because like, why wouldn't they, but the second they stepped foot into the phandom they obviously discovered the not-so-hidden truth, because you didn't have to be a shipper or be looking for Phan Proof in order to come across it, all you had to do is search dan and phil on literally any website with a prominent phannie presence

to their credit they seemed to realise it wasn't gonna work pretty quickly, they abandoned the 'mutual friend' story almost immediately it feels like. then they went with the 'yeah we met online but we met up to collaborate' angle but i kind of feel like they didn't go too hard on that one, probably because they had finally started to learn that Oh My God Say Less Please Say Less Always Say Less Stop Talking Jesus Christ. like by far the most damning part of the clip in the tweet is dan insisting on being like "a lot of people seem to think-" about the actual truth like girl why would you plant that idea in the heads of those who hadn't heard it before. just say you met through a mutual friend and move on like fbsdhjfbdjksf. also at that point they kinda didn't give a fuck anymore, by the time they gave that infamous editing tips interview in 2015 they had long since abandoned trying to convince anyone they didn't meet because dan was an amazingphil fan and desperately wanted to befriend him because of it. the only part they were trying to hide at that point i would say was the whole y'know, fucking and sucking of it all

this whole reply is way too rambly and idk if it makes sense but i guess my point is IF dan and phil had a more casual core viewerbase (and also didn't give up on the lie immediately. and dan was less blatantly defensive about it) they probably could have made it work in the long run, even with the amount of evidence against it. i would go as far as to say that if not every then at least nearly every single influencer/celebrity/public figure of any kind have readily available information about them out there that most people, even fans of theirs, don't know about literally just because they wouldn't think to search for it. like how often does a Major Scandal break about some celeb and some people in the comments are like yea this has been known since 2004 everyone just stopped talking about it, lmao. not that dnp being gay for each other is a scandal but you know what i mean

basically they started telling that lie just as their popularity skyrocketed and i guess the hope was that the massive influx of new people would allow them to rewrite history, but alas...

[weneepie]

neighbours w/ eddie brock & venom rules | m.list

note. yes i saw the last Venom movie and no i'm not okay, but let's act like everything's fine okay? <3 feel free to request!

You had been living in the apartment for a while now, and as you weren’t really the type to sympathise with people, you had no idea who your own neighbours were. Until one of them became way too loud for you to ignore. 

It wasn’t like you were doing a really difficult job, even if it was still debatable. Being a writer was making you stay up all night long to keep writing your book with the hope of finally being able to finish it and, one day, find an editor. But the guy living next to you? He was making things impossible for you. 

You had decided to let it pass, hoping that it would simply stop by itself ; but it didn’t. Actually, you could swear it had become worse by the time. So one night, you decided that it was already more than enough, and you left your place to come knock at his door. 

You heard sounds of stuff breaking, a guy talking by himself, until he finally opened the door. He was all alone, and he seemed to be anything but okay. The guy was sweating in his grey hoodie, and he looked completely exhausted. You frowned slightly when he offered you an awkward smile. 

“Hi, I’m sorry about the noise.” He started, and you could only sighed at his words. How could you be angry at a poor guy who seemed to be just as in a bad state as you right now? You slowly shook your hand. “It’s fine, just try to be careful. I’m not sleeping much, but it’s hard to focus with all the noise you’re making.” 

You met his gaze when you heard him murmuring something. What was his problem? You were trying to be nice, there was no way he was really speaking under his breath. “Excuse me?” You asked with an eyebrow raised, and the guy quickly looked back at you. “No, nothing! Sorry again.” And with that, the conversation was over. 

After the ‘incident’, it was always like fate wanted you to meet your neighbour more often than it was the case before. In the elevator, when you were going out of your apartment to put the trash out ; anything. By the time, you learnt that your neighbour’s name was Eddie, and that he was a journalist. Both of you weren’t doing the same job, but you had the same troubles so it felt easy to talk with him, even though Eddie was a bit… strange. 

It was almost like he was never fully comfortable, something being awkward with him all the time. You might have sounded crazy, but you could swear it was like he was never alone in his own mind. Eddie was the type to talk to himself, in a whisper or louder than expected sometimes. You learnt to deal with it, but you couldn’t get out of your head this silly idea that Eddie was hiding something from you. 

One night, after some friends almost forced you to go out with them at the bar, you were walking alone in the street to go back to your apartment. You weren’t even tipsy, as drinking wasn’t much your thing, so you were sure that the noises you heard behind you were more than real. You tried to walk faster, but it was obviously not enough. Soon, your wrist was held by a complete stranger trying to get you to come with him. 

You didn’t have much time to fight him back, because he flew away suddenly. You opened your eyes wide, following his figure crashing in the wall, not understanding what had just happened before your eyes. It didn’t make much more sense when you looked back at where he was before and saw a large dark figure standing in front of you. 

Large white eyes, and even larger teeth going out of a stupidly wide mouth ; you were sure you were about to die here and now. The monster tilted his head to the side, examining your figure before it kind of smiled, making it even creepier than before. “The little human shouldn’t walk alone so late.” His voice was deep, deeper than anything you ever heard in your life before. 

“We’ll walk you back,” it said, and you weren’t sure if you really had the choice to refuse the offer. At least, he didn’t want to eat you alive, it was a good start. “Eddie says you’re nice, and we agree with him.” 

Wait… Eddie? You looked back at the creature with a frown, and you could swear you heard someone yell at the monster under all of those muscles. “Eddie says we can’t tell you he’s here, but he’s hidden,” said the black monster. The more he spoke, and the less you understood what was going on. Until it revealed you the truth hidden for so long. 

The dark figure disappeared, only to leave you in front of your neighbour, Eddie Brock, a black head with sort of tentacles going out of his shoulder. You blinked a few times, completely at loss of words. Eddie had this awkward smile on his lips, trying to find the right words. The silence felt like an eternity, so many thoughts flooding in your mind. 

“That’s Venom. You weren’t supposed to meet him, or to know he was… well, me? Kinda.” You frowned, your eyes now locked on Eddie’s face who wasn’t helping you at all to understand everything. “Venom? You have an alien inside of you?” You almost snapped at him, the confusion too strong to think straight. “

“A symbiote, but yeah, technically an alien,” he said, and a sigh escaped your lips. You had so many questions ; and now that you knew, you weren’t going to give Eddie the choice to explain everything or not. You needed to know what was really happening, and how it was even possible. 

This is how you ended up staying almost the whole night at Eddie’s place, with him and the symbiote explaining to you the situation. You quickly understood that it wasn’t a simple possession ; Eddie was a host and they both had this kind of situationship a bit weird that was going on. Venom was way less terrifying now that you saw him bickering with your neighbour. You could almost think he was fun, but it was too early for this. 

But after this, you started to spend even more time with your neighbour. Him and his symbiote, of course. Sometimes, when they were fighting too much, Venom would leave his host to come hide with you for some time. Not too long, because hurting you was the last thing he wanted, but enough to run away from Eddie. The man was never too worried, because he knew exactly where his stupid symbiote was. 

It was a weird dynamic between the three of you, but it was something which was working pretty well. You were spending hours and hours at Eddie’s place to write while he was working on his articles, and Venom would alway complain about how boring it was to have you both working at the same time while he had nothing to do. The symbiote was an attention seeker, you learnt that quickly. 

And when things began to evolve between you and Eddie, you knew Venom would always be implicated too. You didn’t expect to be in a relationship so soon, but even less in a polyamorous thing with a man and an alien. But nothing could go wrong, right? There was absolutely no reason to be worried, or at least it was what you were trying to say to yourself. 

But you were right. It was, actually, even better than what you had imagined. Eddie was the sweetest man you ever met, always taking care of everything for you and making sure you were doing good. It was probably the most safe and sane relationship you ever had, and it was strange to say that. Because Venom was the same, in his way. 

He was a bit clumsy, most of the time, but he was always trying his best. You never felt uncomfortable, even if he could be pretty bold or franc sometimes. It was part of his charm, you had to say. When he started to share his chocolate with you, you knew he was doing the biggest step to someone in his whole life. 

After all, it wasn’t so bad to be living in this shitty apartment.

thank you for reading!

[bitethedevil]

So what is up with Korilla? Is she a voluntary servant of Raphael's or involuntary [due to him having her sister]? If you catch Korilla spying on you & manage to speak to her, she sounds brainwashed. What is it R wants from the two sisters?

Hope and Korrilla

I'm so glad you asked! Because I now have a little theory on it. I've started reading Brimstone Angels by Erin M. Evans (who is also a former editor for Wizards of the Coast) because it was recommended to me by @hellish-kiss (thank you <3). I'm only on the first book. I like it so far and there is a bunch of devil and cambion stuff in there.

In her books, cambions and devils have a tendency to collect 'sets' of warlocks. It's focused a lot on bloodlines, so a devil would collect warlocks of interesting bloodlines or siblings, and it's this huge thing in the books.

It made me wonder if that could be the thing with Hope and Korrilla. They could be the descendants of someone interesting, or it could just be that Raphael wants to have both of them because they are siblings.

Raphael is obviously more obsessed with Hope, but I think he might have hoped (ha-ha) from the start to get both of them. In a way it makes perfect sense. It's easier to control people when one of their family members might be in trouble too if you rebel against them.

Also...

Hope is a life domain cleric. The obvious deity would be Moradin, who is a lawful good god of dwaves, but we aren't really told. Keep that in mind for now.

Korrilla says that she had an "old dwarven master" who "beat her and fed her scraps" and then follows that up with "better to feast in the Hells than go begging to the Heavens".

Interestingly, it's said that Moradin's clerics are drawn from family lines, which mean that both Korrilla and Hope might have been Moradin clerics before. He is also described as such:

"He was gruff, stern and virtually incapable of compromise, tirelessly and unflinchingly defending his people, their values, and his principles of good and law. While a good heart was necessary for his acceptance, only quality results earned his approval."

What if Moradin is who Korrilla refers to as her old master? He does sound like someone who really demands a lot from his clerics, and Korrilla might've never been enough for him, which would make one bitter and start looking elsewhere. It would also further make her unable to understand why her sister won't give in, because she sees it as hopeless because Moradin doesn't do shit for them (and can't do shit when they are both in the Hells), but Raphael does.

I think Korrilla really does like working for Raphael, and from Raphael's point of view, they are both the perfect targets. Because clerics of Moradin is a bloodline thing, Korrilla and Hope might have been groomed from the start of their lives to follow a someone who is hard to please and gives little in return, and people like that make excellent employees. Not to mention the irony of Hope's name and the fact that he gets to corrupt two clerics. Win-win-win.

Korrilla might sound brainwashed, but if you have gone your entire life and "begged for scraps in the Heavens", the alternative that Raphael has given them is a hundred times better, because he does actually give her something. Even Raphael says somewhere in one of his books that he has barely ever been forced to punish Korrilla because she is just a model warlock and good at listening.

(Thank you for the ask <3 And good timing. I actually wanted to make a post about this eventually.)

[allwormdiet]

Sentinel 9.6

Well.

At least we're not as fucked as Brockton Bay.

"Ugh, how dare crime be prevented so I can't beat the shit out of the people doing the crimes for my own catharsis" - sentiments of the utterly normal

This glimpse into the inner workings of these two has not endeared me to them any further, tbh. I think the time in which they can actually turn these impressions around is starting to dwindle.

So. Here's Sophia's worldview laid plain, and it's about what I expected. Might makes right, violence and desperation and greed are the true nature of humanity, everyone can be divided between sheep and wolves and she refuses to be a sheep.

Mostly I think I'm just curious as to what, exactly, shaped her to be this way. Like obviously whatever caused her to trigger is a factor, but I don't know if any parahuman has had a complete overhaul of their personality brought about by their power coming online; I suspect that she'd followed some version of this mentality before the worst day of her life (so far) proved her right.

I can't imagine Piggot would be thrilled that Shadow Stalker thinks so highly of her, or at least the why of it.

This is cool, though. Give Wildbow credit, he can make just about any sensation of using a power sound rad as hell.

*sighs* Fucking Nazis

At least Sophia is sensible about what to do with them

Another neat fight scene, this one is a bit quicker than the Travelers tussle so I kinda like it more. That and it involves beating the shit out of Nazis.

Ruh roh Raggy

hiimdaisy_adachi_murder.mp3

Oh yeah, why eliminate the villain who you know is a particular threat to you, specifically, when you can try to torment her first?

This isn't even me saying that Sophia should try to murder Skitter, bc obviously I prefer the latter to the former, but taking the whole thing of seeing her secret identity into consideration, the response to crossing paths should be "take her down fast and hard," not "put her back against the wall and make her panic"

It's gonna fucking break her brain when she realizes Taylor is Skitter, huh?

There's something really funny about how basically every outsider POV we've gotten on Skitter involves hating her ass. Truly cursed to be unpopular.

I like the logical weaknesses of Sophia's power so far. Things getting into her shadow form, like bugs, fuck with her ability to remanifest because she has to "shove" them out of where she's going to solidify. The electricity I'm less clear on, maybe just some quirk of what she's "made" of in her altered state, but it's a good way to explain why she can't just leap through buildings willy nilly. The thing with the gas/vapor absorption that gets mentioned in a second also makes sense and is pretty neat.

Hey Sophia do you maybe regret playing with your food a little bit

Also still cool to see Skitter's powers from the outside POV

God that's so cool

...Y'know, if these two could get over their bullshit for like, a minute, they could probably have some very cathartic hate-makeouts. More blood than normal for kissing but less blood than normal for their usual interactions.

Lol

Lmao

Nuts that what threw her off in this moment was looking for a secondary murder weapon to cover up her power's tell.

Also: get fucked Sophia.

And you fell for it hook line and sinker, because you're a petty tunnel-visioned sadist.

Got the whole crew doing the group pose, love to see it

Also: hi Aisha, glad you get to join the team, sorry you had a trigger event, hope the future scenes with you are less uncomfortable than your first one

Skitter is so fucking good at playing up the villain role, she really should be proud of the work she puts into it.

Not entirely sure why they're kidnapping Shadow Stalker, but I'm sure it's going to be another photo album moment for the Undersiders and their rise to prominence.

Concluding Thoughts

Y'know, a lot of trouble could've been avoided if Sophia just ignored that impulse to play with her prey. I'm not gonna be like "oh why can't she just rein in the violence" because every parahuman we've met so far is either a participant or facilitator of violence, but the cruelty is what's gotten her in trouble here. Not only did she only get baited into this trap because she refused to make an earlier attempt at the killing blow, not only did she take the bait of hunting down a lone villain while a PRT convoy was under attack by fucking Nazis, but the hostility might have been avoided if she hadn't gotten her kicks from tormenting and assaulting Taylor. If Sophia was just Emma's friend who hung back and watched as she tormented Taylor, things might've differently all the way back in the medical tent, but alas, she was a willing and gleeful participant.

Little concerned about what the fuck they're going to do to her, but there's nothing to do but wait and see.

Also, cautiously glad that Imp has arrived, she seems fun from what I've picked up via osmosis, again fingers crossed that her continued presence in this story doesn't involve nearly as much wincing as Tangle 6.3 because holy shit.

[jjonglemons]

all my works can be found here

Don't Speak

part one

song for chapter link - here is part two of my dream inspired story!

Summary: you’ve been friends with mingi for a while now. finally, you’ve confessed your feelings and it seems like he feels the same… but not without complications.

WC: 2.3k

Tags: smut, fratboy!mingi, fem!reader, angst, some fluff, car sex, praise, oral, come eating

It was driving you crazy not hearing from Mingi. By the third day of being ghosted, you should have given up. But you didn’t. Maybe it was a trauma response from your past, having always ended up in codependent situations, or maybe there was just something deeper and logical as to why he was avoiding you that you didn’t know of yet and could sense. Maybe it was both. Even Hongjoong took notice, trying extra hard to distract you from your distress, which helped momentarily, but not enough. 

In a moment of frustration, you pulled out your phone and recorded a voice message for Mingi. “Fuck you,” you seethed into the microphone, “you’re such a dick, Mingi. I hope you know that,” you swore. “Ugh! Quit avoiding me already!” 

You meant to delete it, but instead you accidentally hit send. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, burrying your head into the couch pillow. “This is wonderful,” your voice dripped with sarcasm. You decided to read a book to distract yourself from your horrible error, hoping that Mingi would somehow not receive the message.

“Y/N,” Hongjoong sighed, plopping down on the couch beside you a few minutes later. “I know you’ve been coming here every night in hopes of running into Mingi…”

“And what about it?” You snapped, glancing up from your book. Hongjoong winced slightly at your sharp tone, and you immediately felt remorseful. “Sorry,” you apologised, “I just… I don’t know, Joongie. I know he does this to a lot of people he fucks, and I’m fucking pissed, obviously. But it just feels like there’s a reason beyond him just being an ass as to why he does it.”

“He is an ass.”

“Joong,” you whined, “then why the hell are you friends with him!?”

“Fair enough,” he said, “he’s actually a great guy, he’s just going through a lot.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“It’s not my place to tell you,” Hongjoong responded, standing up from the couch.

“W-wait!” You tried to call after him, but he kept walking towards his bedroom. “Dammit,” you hissed. Now you really had to find him so you could talk.

It’s not like you and Mingi were the best of friends, but the number of your interactions with each other certainly amounted to a level of friendship, and one high enough to take interest in him on a deeper level.

Deciding you felt too claustrophobic inside of the house, you settled on going for a walk outside. You knew of a nice spot nearby that overlooked the town with a mountainous backdrop. It was where you’d often go to think when times were rough. 

“Later, Joongie,” you shouted before exiting the house and slamming the door shut behind you.

Once at the clearing, you sat against a tree stump. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply for a few moments to create a sense of calm. It was short lived, because you heard distant chatter that began to increase in volume with each passing moment.

“I told you, I’m fucking done!” The lower voice hissed. It sounded oddly familiar…

“Shut up, we’re not done until I say we are,” the second voice, more higher pitched, threatened.

“Why the fuck did you follow me all the way here, Violet?” The first voice seethed, “don’t you know how boundaries fucking work?”

Then it hit you. It was Mingi talking, to whomever this Violet person was. You peered up from your spot on the stump, careful not to make your presence known. You were far enough away and blocked well by your position against the tree that they would have to look extra hard to notice you. When you saw the two figures, you took note of the woman that was beside Mingi. You’d seen her around campus before, but never around Mingi. Is she his girlfriend? You questioned, watching the scene before you. She was trying to latch onto him, but he kept refusing.

“Please,” Mingi sighed, feeling defeated, “just go home.”

“Mingi,” Violet whined, “c’mon, don’t be like that! We can work this out.”

“I said no!” Mingi responded, with as much force as he could muster.

There was a long pause before Violet spoke again. “Okay.” It seemed like she finally got the memo. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“No the fuck you won’t.”

Violet laughed loudly, “Why haven’t you reported me already if you hate me so much?”

“You know damn well you’d find a way to get to me regardless, so why the fuck would I bother?”

An almost sinister smile spread across Violet’s lips before she turned from Mingi and began to walk away. “Later, Ming.” She sang.

Once Violet drove away, Mingi let out a long, deep exhale. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, kicking the rocks angrily at his feet. He took a seat on the nearby bench, burying his face into his hands out of frustration.

Slowly, you emerged from your spot, quietly stepping towards him. “Mingi?” You whispered softly, being careful not to scare him.

He jumped slightly, looking up at you who was now standing in front of him. “Y/N?” He asked, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just relaxing over there,” you pointed at the tree stump a few feet away, “then I heard you and that girl talking, I think you said her name was Violet?”

His face paled, a frown forming at his lips. “Yeah. Violet.” 

“Are you okay?” you questioned, taking a seat beside him, “the conversation seemed… intense.”

He sighed. “I will be. She just won’t leave me alone and I don’t know what to do. She always finds a way to insert herself back into my life.”

“May I ask who she is?” 

“She’s my ex.”

“Oh.” You both fell quiet, the only sound coming from the rustling leaves of the trees surrounding you. After a few moments, you spoke again. “Is she why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Yeah,” Mingi nodded, sprawling himself out across the bench with a loud exhale, “but it’s not for the reason you’re probably thinking.”

Admittedly, you were thinking he had been cheating on her this whole time. But after seeing how they interacted, it definitely seemed like that wasn’t the reason.

“What’s the reason, then?”

“Since we broke up last year, every time I’ve tried to be with someone else, she pries and manipulates so they’ll leave,” he spat. “She’s always trying to control me, refusing to believe that we’re no longer together.”

You frowned, taking in his words with concern. “That sounds awful,” you said empathetically.

“It is,” Mingi groaned. “No one has ever given me the chance to explain the situation. They just take her words at face value and never come back.”

Ah. So Mingi wasn’t the ghoster in those past situations. Though, you were starting to wonder why he decided to do that with you this time around.

“So this is what Hongjoong meant,” you blurted.

Mingi furrowed his brows. “Hongjoong?” 

“He insisted you were a great guy, just going through a lot.”

“How much did he tell you?”

“That’s it. He said it wasn’t his place to share.”

Mingi let out a sigh of relief. “Good to know he’s trustworthy, unlike some people,” he rolled his eyes, making a clear jab at his ex. “I appreciate him keeping his mouth shut.”

“Then,” you started, “how come you ghosted me these past few days?” Mingi looked at you. “You’re telling me these past lovers of yours left you, so that doesn’t explain why you left me.”

Mingi looked slightly panicked, but only for a moment. He exhaled, pulling at his jeans bunched up on his knees. “I-I was afraid,” he admitted, “I really, really like you, and I was scared you’d just leave me like everyone else once I told you the truth. Or that she’d get to you first. I freaked out,” his eyes met yours, glistening apologetically. “So, I thought I’d just leave first. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.”

“I see,” you said, smiling gently. You reached over and rested your palm over his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles comfortingly. “I understand now.”

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “It was extremely fucked up for me to do that to you.”

“It was,” you agreed, “but I understand why you did it. I’d probably done the same if I were you.”

“I really want to be with you, Y/N, I do,” he paused, “but I don’t know if it’s going to work as long as Violet’s around. She’ll do anything to get what she wants.”

You shook your head. “I’m willing to stick by you, Mingi. It would take a lot more than her games to keep me from you.”

Mingi smiled, relief rushing over his features. “Do you really mean that?”

You nodded. “I do.”

“Then, let’s have a do-over?”

“Sure,” you grinned, “Can we start it by kissing here on this bench? The sunset is so pretty, I feel like I’m in a romcom,” you joked.

Mingi quickly pulled you onto his lap, pressing his lips gently to your chin, then cheeks, and finally landing on your lips. You giggled into the kiss, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck to pull him deeper into it.

You pushed your hips down harder against him, feeling a rush from his tongue suddenly swiping across your lips. You let out a soft moan, moving your hands from his neck to run your fingers through his hair. 

“You know people could see us, right?” Mingi said between kisses.

“Car?” You suggested.

He picked you up and carried you over to his SUV, popping the trunk so the two of you could crawl in. He shut the door behind him. Thankfully, no one else was at clearing, so it made it a lot easier for the two of you to have sex, but at least you had some protection from his car if someone did decide to show up.

You hovered over him, caressing his hair as you nipped at his neck. He hissed and gripped your hips, pulling you on to him as you grinded against his clothed, hard cock.

“Let me please you, baby,” you cooed, sucking at his neck, “you deserve it.”

“I want you to feel good, too,” he frowned.

“Oh, I will,” you smirked, “and besides, you gave me the best fuck of my life a few days ago. Now it’s my turn to show you what I can do.” With that, you helped him pull down his pants and boxers, allowing his cock to spring free. 

“Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded. “Pleasing you brings me lots of pleasure, too.” You leaned down and kissed his tip. “Sit back and relax for me.”

Mingi softly groaned as you took all of him into your mouth, bobbing up and down his shaft at alternating paces. When you felt him begin to sputter beneath you, you slowed down immensely to keep him edged.

“Fuuuuuck,” he whined, “don’t tease me, please.” You giggled, the vibrations on his cock causing him to throw his head back against the side of the car. “You’re so good at this, baby, holy fuck.” As Mingi grew closer to the edge, you reached a steady pace as you continued to lick and suck on his cock. “I’m gonna-” 

Before he could even finish the sentence, he let go, come dripping down your throat and the excess onto your chin. You released him with a pop, swallowing his load and licking the rest off of your chin. 

“Please, ride my cock,” he begged, reaching to grab your hips so he could pull you towards him. You obliged, wiggling yourself out of your leggings before hovering your sopping core over his tip. You brushed it against your wet clit a few times, an ungodly groan erupting from him. “Please, I need to be inside of you, baby.”

You slowly fit yourself over him, humming in ecstasy as you begin to hop up and down on his cock. 

“Just like that,” he mewled, holding your hips to help guide on you, “fucking just like that.”

“Yeah?” you teased. “Is this how you like it?” you moaned, picking up the pace.

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

Your moans began to match each other’s, your cunt growing slicker with each thrust. Mingi couldn’t help himself when he felt you begin to squirt on his cock.

“Fuck, I-”

“Inside, Mingi, please,” you screamed, pulling at his hair hard as you continued to grind on him. “Shit, I’m coming!”

You released your orgasm, your juices covering every inch on Mingi’s cock. He wasn’t far behind. His legs began shaking as he pounded his final thrust into you hard. “Holy fuck,” he yelled, still pushing himself up inside you as he road out his high.

You collapsed into his lap, pressing a few light kisses to his neck as you laid there for a few minutes. Mingi was still inside of you, but neither of you seemed to mind. It felt nice to be close like this, to be intertwined to that extent.

Suddenly, you were reminded of that voicemail you had sent to him earlier that day. “Hey, Mingi?” You said, catching his attention. You pulled back so you could look at him.

“What’s up?” He asked. 

“Just… ignore that voice message I sent you earlier.”

He laughed. “I kind of already listened to it.”

You groaned, “I’m sorry, I was just so mad. I didn’t mean to actually send it.”

“I deserved it, it’s alright.”

You shrugged, then leaned down to kiss him. “Maybe you did.” you joked.

“Maybe I should get you mad again, huh?” Mingi teased, “if it means you’ll fuck me like you just did.”

“Hey!” You chuckled, slapping his shoulder playfully.

He wrapped his arm around your hips, flipping you over so you were now pinned beneath him. He dipped down towards your still dripping cunt. “Shall I start now?”

[klunkcat]

Life is short, and I've shortened mine

rise of the tmnt gift fic for the T3 server november exchange, for the very lovely @remedyturtles

Sensei is a character that can actually be so life changing and brain consuming. Very grateful to have the opportunity to play in your sandbox, exploring their headspaces is actually incredible and also devastating.

Note: This is an offshoot from Rem’s “little kid with a big death wish” fic and will not make sense on its own I fear.

title from good bones by Maggie Smith

read on ao3

___

He didn’t ask for this, is the crucial thing. He’d been— not relieved to be dead, because he hadn’t managed to make it yet to where his brothers were, because his kid was still out there fighting for tomorrow. Relieved was too gentle a word, but he’d been something. 

Maybe less tired. 

It was nice to think about, selfishly. He’s been carrying lead weights and anchors at the edges of himself since the moment the world fell, but there’d never been any other volunteers for the job. Somewhere quietly inside himself he’d thought the ending would mean a moment of reprieve. He should have known, though. They’d all been the universe's favorite chew toys for long enough, dying was too nice a bow to wrap around it. 

He really hadn’t asked for this, no matter what the subconscious thoughts he’d hit to death with sticks in the back of his mind said about escaping. Stumbling across the kid— another him, a version of him he’d never gotten to be, that he thinks maybe distantly he shouldn’t have needed to be— he’d hoped he could silently wrap himself in that thick blanket of nothing and fade out at least. Not fuck things up for him worse, but, well. 

Maybe the throughline to being Hamato Leonardo was fate-led curiosity; he’d never learned how to leave well enough alone in either direction. Of course Leo had scouted him out, of course he’d been compelled to try to help the kid float when he should have stayed put, of course. Of course. 

And so, as the classics say, here they were. 

“Can you give me a number, Leo?” Raph’s voice creeps in, all-over earnest and thoughtful in the way he intrinsically is—was. It’s a shard of glass to hear it at all, it’s everything he’s ever wanted. The kid fuzzes out a little and slips sideways a step; oops , Leo thinks. There’s a hard line around not transmitting too loud, he’s still trying to figure it out. 

Could do without whatever that was ever again , the kid thinks, sharp and rattled under the surface.

Leo winces. Sorry, I’m all thumbs over here. Trying to keep quiet. 

Psh, younger Leo rolls his eyes. You’re all one thumb .

The kid turns back to his brother, thrumming still between a one and zero now. He’s scrambling to ground still, to focus. He gives Raph a quick OK sign that there’s no way Raph doesn’t see through. It’s kind of funny to watch his force-fire white-knuckling deflection in technicolor from the outside like this, he’s not sure why he ever thought this worked. 

“That’s okay, that’s fine. Can you give me a number, bud?” The pleading edge hurts to hear. 

They hold up a shaky one, maybe overconfidently. Mikey and Don are in the room somewhere, he can hear them shuffling even with Leo’s eyes closed. The sudden memory of a thousand days where the only rest his littlest brother got was when he was locked in meditation, the way he walked like his bones and joints hurt right up until the end, nearly knocks them both back to a firm zero. 

The kid glares at him, Leo holds his hand up apologetically and imagines zipping his non-existent lips shut. 

They’d been doing better for the last few days. He’d started talking out loud, had been at a solid two a handful of times. He knows the kid’s frustrated and exhausted, he can feel it, especially seeing them slip all the way back. Leo feels a hot well of shame creep up his ethereal throat. 

He knows it’s a push and pull game they’re playing. Wounded leading the wounded, and all. 

It’s still a lot, to think of seeing his family that isn’t his family. Of them knowing he existed and talking to him. Points towards the ‘he should fuck off forever’ category, as soon as they figured out how to get rid of him.

(The kid talked about it like they’d miss him if he left, like there’d be some great love lost— they didn’t know him, though. He’d lived through twenty years of a war they’d never have to see. Leo was not the teen they were missing, the one they were trying to call home, because he’d given that up a long time ago.

Of course he had to leave, this kid had a life of his own to live now. Leo didn’t have anything.)

“ — he was for a moment, just give him time,” Raph’s saying. He forces the kid to take a purposeful long breath in, squeeze his fingers, twitch his toes. Keep him from tipping all the way over into the dark where he’d accidently shoved them. 

“See, he’s back with us,” Raph continues, brightly. The kid groggily radiated all sorts of furious signals like a firecracker popping in several unplanned directions, all different fonts screaming exhaustion and hurt the only way he knew how. Leo’s heart aches for him. Beating himself down for daring to survive at all. 

“Is he?” Don’s voice cuts in haughtily. Leo makes them blink their eyes open, caught out despite the kid’s anger. 

They’re looking for you, bud. Rise and shine.

I don’t care, the kid hisses. Fuck off. 

Okay. Well. Less than ideal. 

“Which one are we dealing with,” Don’s voice hovers closer, half lodged in icy suspicion. He wouldn’t be this closed off for his Leo, obviously. Leo— Sensei smothers a sigh. 

“He’s trying not to  answer the phone right now. So, just me. Sorry.” 

“Is he okay?” Raph asks, concern evident in the dark shadow of his brow. Sensei can’t look at it directly, it’s not for him to feel all the reminiscent grief of a brother that isn’t even his. How he feels about any of this never helps anything. 

“He’s….” He prods the kid and gets an indistinguishable slew of curses and general hypothetical middle fingers back. “He’s taking a break, he’s okay.” 

Don arches a brow back. “I don’t care that we’re forced to take your word for this, just to be clear.” 

“Fair enough. He says, and I quote, bite me, so I think that’s where we’re at.” 

“Ah,” Raph hums. “Well, if you can tell him I’ll be back in ten minutes with tea, I’d love to check in on him then.” 

Sensei nods, relays the message with a garbled hiss as a response. Expected. 

Don stares at him, impassive. Arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Feral cat radiating protective instincts three counties wide, like always.

It’s… an ache under the skin, to be left alone with Don. He hasn’t forgotten the way Dee’s face would shift in a scowl, he never could, but seeing it played out on a younger face scratches something in him regardless. 

“I want to speak with my brother, if it’s all the same,” Don says, blunt. 

“I’ve been trying to ring him, I promise. Bad morning.” 

Don arches a brow with a twitch to his jaw Sensei knows means he’s attempting to fight off a full on annoyed pout and failing. It hits him sideways to see, funny in the chest. A thousand sense memories, a different Donnie and a different place, coalescing all into one. His Don had gotten really good at not emoting at all near the end, he’d almost forgotten.

Hey, the kid grouses. Who’s flying this plane?

Right, thumbs again, Not-his-Don hovers closer when he blinks back to the front. A frown touches the middle of his maskless forehead. 

He makes himself walk through a few quick grounding steps and breathe in as deep as he can before speaking. “Back, sorry. Uh, Sensei, that is. Leo’s listening though.” 

Don’s still frowning, but he leans back a touch. “He’s making it harder for you to stay here too, isn’t he?” 

He doesn’t think the phrasing of that is fair, but. “Was all me that time, if I’m honest. We’re at a one now though, I’m good.” 

“Is he ?” Don tilts his head. 

Sensei considers. The kid’s not sinking back there just… Curled up, pill-bugging. Radiating furious hurt energy like a solar system all on his own. He’s present enough to tell Sensei to fuck off and focus on Don at least. 

“Think so, yeah. He’s just…” He mimes a snapping maw with his good hand.

Don sighs and rolls his eyes, there’s an edge of anxiety there Sensei can still read as bright as anything. Isn’t that a thought. Twenty years without and this younger Donnie is still under his skin like a part of himself. 

He needs you bud, Sensei tries again, nudging his younger self. 

I’m tired of this , the kid growls back, not-voice cracking all the way through in a way that makes Sensei ache for him. 

Sensei sighs, patting his shell. I know.

Don shifts his weight in front of them, frown deepening as he moves to tap on his wrist guard. Probably texting the family about the general Bad Leo Day, he imagines. He knows how this would go with his Don— the way it would itch at him being unable to instantly resolve whatever problems his brother had. He never dealt well with any mystic issues affecting Mike for the same reasons either. 

There’d always been a thrumming line between them, some unspoken thing; Sensei carried it with him even now, even with the end gone dark. He knows Don’s having a hard time reconciling all the ways ‘Sensei’ is his Leo and is someone entirely different. Managing the fear that his Leo will go somewhere far away inside himself and he’ll only be left with someone he doesn’t know. That he’ll be left alone. 

The worst part about being a twin is when you aren’t one anymore, after all. 

Bad thought. Shit. The pull in the back of his mind grows louder. He holds up a shakier zero. Don’s sharp eyes narrow, tapping something harder on his guard before shifting closer. “Leo?” 

Can you stop being horribly sad for five minutes while looking at my brother? It’s so not helping. 

He shakes his head. “Still me,” the words come out soupy. The kid jabs him angrily somewhere in the back of his brain, uncurled with annoyed concern, which is maybe an unintentional win. 

“Is it— can you ground him?” 

He’s trying; his brain fires unhelpful flashes of the days after. Of the months of searching desperately, of the moment he woke up in the middle of the night with sudden certainty that wherever the other half of himself went, he couldn’t get back on his own. Shit. 

Shit , the kid echoes, less angry with the barely concealed concern. Sensei can feel the dark pit creeping at his arms even as he blinks furiously to stay present. 

“Not him, it’s— sorry, all me again. Don’t think I can stick around.” He squeezes his fist, forces himself to breathe deeper, but it catches somewhere around the middle. The kid slides forward with a flurry of aggrieved panic that sparks through him and sends him back down several flights. There goes that plan. 

Sensei cracks an eye back open and catches a familiar flash in Donnie’s eyes, and yeah— sorry, kid. Lights out. 

The last conversation he remembers having with Don had been about Casey. He was getting to the age where he was asking to follow them out on missions more and more, curious about everything Uncle Tello was up to. He wanted to help, desperately. Itching with the need to be useful in a way they all understood. 

It was different with Casey, though. He knew why it was different.

“We let Mike do this stuff when he was his age,” Leo had said with a sigh. “It’s hard to find good reasons to say no that aren’t just three rounds of my own loud clamoring panic. He should go, he’s trained plenty.” 

Don clicked his goggles, focusing on a project in front of him with a hum. “Mike wasn’t dealing with an apocalypse. He was, at worst, trying to find a new place to tag at Casey Jr’s age, so.” 

“Exactly,” Leo smooths his hand across his head. “But also…” 

Don looks at him, eyes gone big with the layers of lenses so he gets hyper close up patented ‘Tello Eye Roll in high definition. “But also, you’re a mother hen, and he’s talented, and he’ll just sneak out anyways if we keep making him hang back.” 

“Points for you,” Leo sighs again. “Want to make that a daily double?” 

“You remember how Micheal was about being babied,” Don sighs. “So, I don’t know. Let him go on a supply run, something small. A practice version,” Don shrugs, turns back to his work. “There’s that lower activity quadrant we got a ping on last week. I can take him and go get that part we need to fix up the generator.” 

Leo lets out a long breath. “Yeah, that— huh. That could work. He’s always saying he wants to learn more about how to keep things running around here, he’ll be over the moon. Kid asked me last week if I could show him how to do stitches.” 

Don snorts. “Great, soon there’ll be two of you.” 

Leo steps forward, leaning his elbow on Don’s chair to peer over at his desk. There’s a mess of wires in front of him, a plate he’s meticulously soldering ends together on. “Eh, there’s already two of me.” 

“Excuse you,” Don nudges him back with a shoulder. “As the funnier twin, I resent that remark.”

He laughs, lets out a breath. The thrum of Don’s room sometimes settles him, like it’s echoing the place in him where his ninpo sat before. Constant hums of his family flitting through open rooms. 

“You don’t think I’m being paranoid, do you?” Leo has to ask. The variables tripped around each other in hyperspeed in his mind at all times, racing down to the ends of his fingers. Casey’s only thirteen, they’re down too many runners, there’s never any right choices and only Leo to make them.

Don pauses for a second. He flips up his goggles before Leo can wrench the question back into himself, not that it had ever worked before. 

“I’ll keep him safe,” Don says, slowly. “It’s a good call, he’s earned it.” 

“You’re just saying that because it was half your idea.” Leo glances away, embarrassed on some fundamental level that Don had even needed to give him the reassurance. He sighs, squeezes Don’s shoulder quickly as a thank you. Don hums with a smirk. 

“Well? Are you going to teach him? Don’t think we have any oranges to practice on.” The implication rings loudly enough, Casey stitching up real wounds is a foray they haven’t dared make.

Leo waves his hand. “Might be a good idea for the kid to have some medical information in between all the supercomputer nerd things.” 

“Avoiding the question is a bold move.”

Leo deflates, winces. “Yeah. Thought it might make him worry less.” If he could help without leaving the base at all, maybe they’d both relax. A quieter thought, under that: maybe Leo would, if he knew Casey could take care of himself without him. 

Don squints. “It might. Here’s a better thought, his Sensei letting someone else take on the riskier missions for once, hm?” 

Ah, well. 

Leo feigns a wide grin anyways, shrugging. “What can I say, the Krang love me.” 

The arched eyebrow he receives is scathing. He is scathed. He waves his good hand Don’s direction with a huff. “Don’t look at me like that, this is about the kid. Table the psychoanalysis for Mike to take over.” 

“You want Michael to get in on this?”

Good point. He sighs again, shuffling over to a side table and crossing his arms. This is an old argument, the circles of it are worn through and practically scripted. If dear Tello insists, he purses his lips. Round and round they go. 

“I’m faster.”

“Other people are fast enough.” 

“Enough isn’t safe.”

“Letting the Krang learn all your moves is?” 

“Come on, I’ve been fine.” 

The scathing meter ramps up as Don’s eyes pointedly flick to Leo’s robotic arm. “They blast you with enough of their power? How long is that going to be true.” 

“I know how they work.” 

“For fucks sake Leo, the rest of us grew up in the apocalypse too.” 

The rest of you aren’t responsible for it, though , he thinks with all forty old years of packed self directed venom. There’s no point to this conversation, he finds the way out Don wants. 

“Fine. I’ll stay back for the next few, okay? You and Case can do the supply run. April’s been saying she wants to get back out, I can send her with Angel.” 

Don’s steely gaze doesn’t shift, his jaw tense. Usually, this is where the conversation stalls and dies out. World like theirs is lacking in many things, including fuel to burn with. 

“I’m sick of watching you do this,” he spits out, sharp and barbed. It stops Leo up short. 

He nearly says ‘do what’, but he knows his twin. They haven’t gone into any of this since— well, since Raph. Since the mantle of the Resistance became something heavier and lodged in him with anchor weights. Since everyone started looking at him like his plans were god. Since his fuck up ruined everything.

No time for heart to hearts, really.

“Come on, Dee,” he swallows roughly, carefully. “I’m careful. This isn’t about that.” 

“Isn’t it? Isn’t everything you do about that?” 

Leo works his jaw. “It isn’t.”

“When will you stop acting like you have to make up for it, then?” 

Ouch. Leo redirects. “We’re going to win this. It’ll work out, you know it will. I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

Winning the war hasn’t been a tangible thought in his mind in years either; he’s not sure he knows how to do anything but follow the script anymore, though. He hopes he’s putting up a strong enough act.

Don’s hand clenches around his soldering gun, relaxes. “There’s only one you,” he practically growls out, and Leo’s chest squeezes. “If he goes somewhere he takes me with him. Do you get that?” 

He swallows again. “Course I do. I’m not— this isn’t about me, Don. Strategically, until they start catching up to me we have to make them believe I’m their only concern. Promise, that’s all this is.” 

You swear? He almost hears a younger Donnie ask, crouched up in their hideout over Donnie’s gameboy. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, with as much sincerity as he carries with him. He wouldn’t, there’s nowhere else in the world for him to go when everything that matters is right here. 

“You aren’t allowed to pull anything. I’d know if you were,” Don glares. “We need you.” He says it funny, emphasis on both the need and the you all at once, like one of those endless staircase paintings that look different the longer you try to make sense of it. Leo holds up his hands helplessly. 

His twin’s stare pins Leo through for a long moment. He takes the whole half a second of pause to step closer. “Hey, that whole thing— back at you. Obviously.” 

Don lets out a long breath, expression flat and assessing. For a moment, Leo thinks he might say more, but he turns his chair around to continue soldering. 

“Obviously.” 

They’d let the conversation fall lighter, moving to charitable waters. And Leo had let Don take Case out for an easy supply run. 

The last thing his twin ever said to him was lost somewhere behind the distress beacon and the noise of the Krang leveling an entire building on him. He thinks there was a sorry in there, or a be right back to the scared kid he was giving up the world for. 

The part that’s always stung, a burr against his core, is that they never find any sign of where Donnie went. There’s his ninpo, and his bo staff with his fucking mask tied around a bleeding wound on Casey’s arm, the hum of electricity somewhere down the corridors of his mind, and Casey safely bundled and shaking in a propped up section of rubble. His kid is so terrified, asks for Uncle Tello in a quiet whine like he knows.  

He doesn’t remember the mad scramble to get there, the fact that he’d reached so far down into his struggling well of ninpo he’d felt something entirely shatter apart in his hands. The way Mikey had put his own hands over Leo’s, and brought the two of them together all at once. He only remembers the wake of whatever devastation cracks through him once it’s clear they were too late. 

The recording he’d left that Leo couldn’t bring himself to listen to for weeks. 

Leo would know if he died. He would. The light never goes out, but Don never comes home. It’s a loss he can’t name all the same. 

It’s impossible to regather whatever off the cuff words he’d said last, before Don left. Had he said be safe? Had he said he’d loved him? They’d never needed to say it before, but the lack still haunts him. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye.

‘Be right back’ is a shitty thing to lie about, he thinks wryly.

It’s the first promise he’s ever broken. 

The ache never leaves but there’s no time for grief. He steps outside of himself and into whatever he needs to be, and he chases the corridors in his mind to that safe space Donnie’s ninpo has always rested. The door is closed, but it’s still humming. He doesn’t know what that means. 

“God, stop ,” the kid groans at him. Leo– Sensei blinks back into himself, or— to the place between what constitutes as himself these days. The spot by the tree with just the two of them. “It sucks when it’s you somehow even more than when it’s me.” 

The sludge is still there, distantly. Tugging at him in ebbs and flows. Sensei makes himself breathe out, take a look at the kid. Take stock, soldier. Focus on the problem at hand, deal with your shit somewhere else. 

“Or, here’s a thought: you could deal with your shit at all. Call me crazy, but this ‘shoving all my old man pain in a box and burying it deep down’ thing seems like it’s fucking us both over.” The kid whines, leaning his head back. The irony does not escape either of them, he knows. The Uno reverse is unspoken.

Magnanimously, Sensei lets it slide. 

The kid’s problem is more complicated and knotted somewhere inside himself than he likes to acknowledge, at least Sensei’s is all obvious lines of too-long-losing-wars and grief. It’s all outside. The problem has always been that it’s outside.

Sensei settles beside him, hand on his knees and head tilted up to the still sky. They don’t speak for a long moment, instinctively mimicking the long drawn out grounding breaths in sync. He wonders if it’ll ever stop feeling so strange. Seeing himself from the outside like this, entirely encased in different baggage. It’s hard to think about anything other than ‘he’s so small’, loudly. On repeat. It’s not a helpful thought. 

“Sorry,” Sensei breathes as the sludge lessens minutely along his back. “Should be used to that by now.” 

The kid shrugs. “Is there a way to be used to it?” 

He knows he’s asking for them both. The truest answer feels the most bleak, so he opts for something gentler. 

“I think there has to be a way to think around it at least? Make the brain box bigger. Less likely for the shit in it to hit things.” 

There’s a long sigh beside him. “Sounds exhausting.” 

A long pause. “Would it… help? To talk about it?” 

Man, this little blue. Sensei can’t help the smile that tilts across his heart; he’s so tentative and determined all in one. Still stretching a hand out even though he knows whatever Sensei’s going to say might bowl him right over again. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. I tried once, with my Mike. It’s an old scar anyways.” 

The conversation hadn’t gone anywhere helpful, even with Mikey’s ability to see right inside his brain. They’d both been too tired to argue. 

“I don’t think I could do it,” the kid says, sullenly. Tiredly. He rolls his head to the side to make eye contact with Sensei. “Live without any of them.” 

Yeah , he thinks. He doesn’t say that there hadn’t been much living at all. “You know it's the same for them about you, right?” 

The kid scowls, turns away. “Saying things you don’t mean about yourself seems kinda useless, old man.” 

I mean it about you, though , he thinks. Something twitches in the kid's face. “I had twenty years as the last resort,” Sensei offers. “Changes your perspectives on things.” Or your priorities, really. Whether or not they needed him didn’t change that he was responsible for keeping them alive. 

Or that he’d failed. 

It’s obvious math with the kid anyways. He can see the way the kids brother’s hover, checking in and creeping forward and patiently holding his hand, working constantly to make him feel safe. Twenty years and mires of grief isn’t enough to drown out all the big and small ways he can see how his family loves. 

“What was he like,” the kid turns with a sharper look in his eyes. “Your Don.”

He sighs, lets it roll through him. “Tired.”

He closes his eyes. 

“He was really tired.” 

He’d barely slept, all the way up until the end. Too many defense algorithms to scrub through footage of, supposedly— he wonders now if he should have checked in more. If he should have asked. 

“Yeah,” the kid says, quietly like he doesn’t expect Sensei to hear. “You feel tired a lot, too.” 

Oh . He supposes that’s fair. 

Sensei swallows and imagines the fractured pieces of his heart settling back into their ruins. “It’s funny, he made all the systems in our base use his voice. Had to hear him anytime someone tried to use the microwave. Technically his last words to me were ‘front door compromised’.”

“Yeah. Funny. You ever thought about therapy?”

He doesn’t want to talk about this, it never helps. The rioting part of his core that is four parts missing and agony and one part instinctive need to move forward writhes anytime he lets himself remember any of it at all. As if he does anything other than remember it. 

“Kid—” He exhales. 

The kid turns to face him, frowning with that divot above his brow and his dead set determined set to his beak that screams stubbornness in neon colors. “Listen. I know how— I do the same thing, with my Ang, right? You know, where he doesn’t need all of my… me-ness on top of everything. So tell me the real version, get it out of that slow cooker of a brain so you can stop freaking out every time Don breathes our direction.”

He’s having a weird brain schism, he realizes. The divides between where this kid went and where he himself had walked are so different, sometimes past him feels like a different turtle entirely. A younger one, boiling entirely over with how little he sees himself at all. 

I see you , he thinks, tragically. Pointlessly.  

Sensei breathes out. “There’s not much—” his voice breaks, he clenches his hand around the inexorable pull of that dark space at his edges. The kid sees all of it anyways, doesn’t he? Dancing around it only makes it more his problem, less Sensei’s alone. His throat burns with some memory of tears, it feels silly but the words crawl out of him anyways. “I just. I never got to say goodbye. We never found out if he—” 

But he had to have. It’s so much worse to imagine he had been alive and trapped, that Leo had left him there in that awful world. He had to have been dead because his twin would have broken apart the planet itself to get back to them if he could have. 

His shoulders round forward and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. “I just, I should have gotten to say goodbye.” 

The kid is silent. A long moment passes. 

Sensei feels a small hand carefully land on his knee. “Sorry.” 

He puts his larger one over the kids, squeezes it. “Nothing for you to be sorry for, kid.” Nothing in this whole wide world. “Whatever my Don was doing, I have to believe he’s with everyone else now.” It makes it manageable, at least. Widens the box in his brain so he can think around it. 

The kid hums thoughtfully. “Can we… I mean, dad talks to our ancestors and things, in the mystic plane, right? He could maybe—” 

Panic wrings through him, ice cold and visceral. Sensei feels the shudder crack through both of them and their tree side hang out waver into darkness. “--right, okay.” The kid gasps. “Bad plan, got it. Noted.” 

“Sorry,” Sensei manages. “I just…” He doesn’t want to know what they think of him. What any of them would say about the world he broke. He knows them, he knows, but he’d been tired for so long before that, and he doesn’t want to know that Don went slowly or painfully. That he’d been waiting for Leo to find him.

Maybe he deserves to know how much he let him down. 

The kid's hand twists, squeezing his back as hard as he can. “Forget it, shit. Grounding, let’s um. Let’s do that and not whatever this is. I hate this, fuck. ” 

They walk through a few start and stop steps, the kids hand tight in his the whole time as they both dig their heels in to stay. It hurts, and Sensei wants to give in. The hand in his keeps him pushing through, cracks through him enough to speak. 

“He, uh,” he clears his non-corporeal throat. “He kept a section of his database specifically for chess games for me. To run on my wrist guard when I couldn’t sleep.” Which was most of the time. Sensei shakes his head. “Kept a file for Mario Party cheat codes, too.” 

The kid stares at the side of his face. Breathing steadier. He can feel it like a brand. “I knew he cheated. Asshole! I knew it.” 

Sensei shrugs, a laugh surprising him as choked off and wobbly as it is. “He rigged up a giant screen once. Told me he was going to come for my crown once and for all, right in front of the entire base. Raph ended up winning.” 

The stare gets more intense. “No.” 

“Swear on my life,” he says. Pauses. “Or, well. My ghost possession afterlife? Don was furious.” 

“Raph never wins at Mario,” he can hear the cogs in the kids' heads freezing in place. Hell has rained ice, pigs have started flying. Raphael, chronically confused at Mario Party mini game rules to a truly fascinating degree, won a video game.

“It’s true,” Sensei laughs. 

“Was it the pity stars?”

“It was the pity stars.” 

“Ah.”

He remembers how hard Mike had laughed at that, just absolute shrieking peels of delight as the rest of his family stared in complete silence. April had needed to drag a completely feral Donnie back to his quarters because Leo ended up crying laughing with him. 

There weren't a lot of those good days after they lost dad. It’s important he holds onto them. It’s important he doesn’t let himself forget even when it’s hard to think about. 

“That’s a relief,” the kid says, leaning back again. “Was starting to think everything about the future was completely and morbidly depressing. Least you had Mario Party.” 

At least they had Mario Party. 

The kid wakes up on his own, Sensei tucked carefully somewhere in the background. There’s a flurry of commotion somewhere out in the hall that sounds a lot like Mikey and Raph, but it’s still and quiet in the med bay. 

Shit, the kid thinks, looking at the clock. It’s definitely been more than a few hours since they fell under. Sensei can see the medical clip on the kid's finger is back in place before he wiggles it off. 

“Number?” Don’s voice cuts in, stern. Flat. Standing with his arms crossed in the corner of the room by his desk. 

They hold up a two after a long moment. “I’m fine,” the kid says. Don’s expression doesn’t change.

“Who am I talking to?” 

The kid groans. “Don’t be like that, Tello. He didn’t mean to. Half of it was me, anyways.” 

Don looks squarely unimpressed, but something eases in the line of his shoulders. Relieved not to be talking with the body snatcher, probably, he gets it. 

“He said he dragged you under, it’s been twelve hours. Am I not supposed to think your parasite is making it worse?” 

He’s not wrong either.

The kid radiates frustration at both of them. “He’s not— Dee. He’s been through a lot. Leave off him, alright? I was pissed off, he got his flip switched. I wasn’t making it easier. I’m doing good, I don’t want to be mad, okay?”

Don’s expression flickers, faltering as it always does around their particular brand of pleading honesty. “Fine, I’m not done talking about this but. Tabled, for now. What do you need.” 

The kid thinks for a minute. Water would be good, Sensei nudges him. 

“Would you talk to him?” The kid says instead, startling both Don and Leo. 

Don recovers first, eyes narrowing. “Why.” 

The kid’s brain is a mess of picture show slides, a strange warped retelling of Sensei’s own memories. It makes him wince, guilt rising thick in his chest. He’s gotta get better at locking that down. 

“Look he— he misses his own Don. It’s not the same thing, but he had a rough night. Just shut up and talk to him.” 

“Oxymoron,” Don and Sensei say in sync. The kid glares. 

Kid, Sensei tries. 

No. Not up for debate. You won’t let me tell Casey? Fine, this is my compromise. I’m tired of playing referee. 

Sensei hates the pang of panic that still lights up in his mind at the thought. The kid lets out a frustrated growl. 

Stop trying to leave! I’m sick of it. What if I— what if I don’t want them to pry you out of here. What then? You gonna sit here in this pissing contest stand off with my Don until we die? 

There’s. A lot to unpack there, and not enough of the kid standing firm enough to do it— the conversations knocked them both back swiftly to a one that’s tenuous at best. Sensei didn’t make it so long as a general without knowing how to pick his battles, anyways. 

If this is what you need from me, okay, he relents. 

The kid’s glare is still hot, assessing. He turns back to himself, to the med room. 

Don’s fussing with his tablet, brows twitching and his hand firmly in Leo’s good one. “‘M here, sorry.” The kid squeezes his twin's hand for them. “Just having a conversation, hard to be both places at once.” 

Don’s jaw shifts. “I will refrain from the comments I desperately want to make.” 

“Noted, file that under an IOU.”

Don rolls his eyes. “Scoff. As if I don’t have a mountain of those already.”  

The affection in the kid is warm and strong as anything. He clears his throat. “What if I… what if I asked him to stay. Sensei. Would you be mad?” 

Sensei shoves his own festering pile of guilt and doubt aside as hard as he can. Don’s expression flattens. “Why would you want to do that.” 

It’s your life, Sensei whispers. 

The kid shakes his head. “Casey needs him.” 

There’s another need underneath it, neither him or the kid acknowledge it directly. 

Don sighs, eyes squinting in the vague pained way of his. “I’m supposed to be okay with someone that is not you, taking you away from us when—” He cuts himself off, breathes out sharply. 

The kid stays silent. 

“Fine. Tabled. Get him out here.” 

Sensei slides forwards, patting the kid on the arm distantly and ignoring his grumble about it. He’s bracing himself— he knows how Dee is, in any version of them. Getting his head chewed off would be the easiest way out. 

“For the record,” Sensei starts, with a faint curve to his mouth. “I agree with you.” 

The kid glares. 

Don arches a brow, crossing his arms. “I don’t…. Like you, being here. I’m not convinced you aren’t impacting him in ways that are halting his progress.” 

Sensei manages a shrug. “You’re probably right. I try really hard to stay out of his way where I can, but. You saw yesterday.” 

Don’s jaw works, terse in every line of his body. Sensei remembers how his Don was before Raph. The way he’d gone along with all of Leo’s plans just inherently trusting that his goal was always to get everyone back out above anything else. The way he’d shifted. Their last conversation had been a lot of sharp lines like this; something adjacent to doubt. It still burns, funnily enough, even from a sixteen year old version of his twin who doesn’t know subtlety at all. 

“If I told you I had figured out how to rip you out of him without injuring Leo at all, would you fight me?” 

Sensei nearly laughs, I’d thank you, he tries not to think. “No,” he says with a stronger lilting smile. “I’d just ask that you do it before Case realizes I’m here. He doesn’t need that.” 

Something in Don’s face shifts. “When Leo says you’ve been through a lot, what does that mean.” 

“Ah,” Sensei huffs. “Maybe not a conversation for right now—” He can feel the daggers of the kid’s ire, nonetheless. Sighs. “Krang won where I’m from, Case probably mentioned.”

“And that means?”

He winces. “A lot of things that are hard to remember, mostly.” 

Don’s gaze is assessing. He types something onto his wrist guard. “Any triggers I should know about?” 

You. Raph. Dad. He breathes out. Shakes his head. 

“Fine. Bring him back, please.” 

The kid’s eye roll is something fierce internally, externally it’s too much effort to muster. “Dee. That was barely anything.” 

Don shrugs. “I talked to him, didn’t I?” 

It’s fine , Sensei reassures him. He means that it wouldn’t help, not with the hole that’s been carved in him for years. 

There’s nothing at all in the world for what he’s missing. He should just be better at it. The missing. 

Something stubborn lights up in the kid, a spark he doesn’t think he’s seen in the younger turtle since they crash landed together. Fuck this. 

“Can I ask you something and have you promise you won’t get mad?” 

Don’s brow twitches. “I’m not promising shit.” 

A pause. “Say it anyways.” 

“If you went somewhere,” the kid starts, and his voice shakes like a nervous glance over his shoulder. Sensei tenses immediately. “If you went somewhere, and you didn’t know how to come back. What would you do?” 

Don’t , Sensei thinks, helplessly.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Don says. Not a moment of hesitation. “I wouldn’t let it happen.” 

“What if you didn’t have a choice?” The kid asks. 

He has to imagine his Don didn’t have a choice either, clings to it with everything in him. He didn’t know the kid had seen that, the wilful refusal to believe in any world where the other half of himself would walk away on purpose.

He doesn’t know the expression on Don’s face. He’s seen it before, at the planning table. After missions. He’s never known what it meant. “I’d come back,” Don says, like it’s obvious. 

This younger version of his brother, some spun off worried and sideways Donnie, leans forward and pokes the kid as carefully as he can in the center of his chest. 

“If I still exist, in any universe, I’d be coming back.” 

Sensei swallows. He remembers this; that simple constant of trust, of knowing half himself sat between his ribs and the other behind a desk with a computer screen. He remembers believing it, too.

There’s a hallway in his mind that he goes to, where his ninpo once lived and breathed. A living room where he kept all the lights on. There’d been a time where all the rooms and all the doors had been flung wide open. They’ve been shut for years now. 

“If you didn’t?” The kid asks, voice small. 

Sensei walks through the empty room, hand trailing against the wall of his mind. He hasn’t visited this door, hasn’t been able to think about it around the hurt in him. He presses his forehead to the wood of it, now. 

“If I’m gone, it would never be forever. You’d just have to wait longer.” 

In his dreams, or at least where he goes when the kid is sleeping, the door is warm. 

He sits himself against it, and pretends it's the same as the door being open. To feel his brother existing here at all. 

Sometimes he thinks he can almost hear someone knocking back. 

[whiteboi-inferiority]

Hey Mister 🙈✨

You’ve got a very intriguing blog… I’ve enjoyed much of what you’ve posted 🤭

Wonder if you feel the same about me?

I think I bring a little more to the table than the average fangirl, but I’m eager to see if you agree 😌 I sense that you’re an intelligent man so I really respect what you have to say 😘🙈

Long story short, in 2021 I committed to being an exclusive bottom and had an amicable split with my girlfriend (we’re still good friends 🥰). After a few years of self exploration and hard thinking, I decided to access my state’s gender affirming healthcare and began a hormone plan with my doctor 🥳

Gender has always been a struggle for me. I’ve known my whole life that I’m not a man, but I’ve never really felt like I’m a trans woman either. Over time I’ve grown to accept myself for who I really am & how I feel - not the labels that society puts on me 💖🌸

Thats why I’m proud to be a beta boi 🎀✨ A femmie, a fairy bottom, a boudoir belle 💋 Something in-between… unique and special. I am valued and loved because I’m soft and weak, not in spite of those things ❤️

I’ve accepted that I will never fit the mold of a big strong man - I renounce any privilege I was accidentally given due to my mistake of having been born with this sad imitation of a penis 🥺 I refuse to continue my micro aggressions against the women of society 😭 to burden them with the task of affirming my pathetic performance of masculinity. I reject the toxicity of my birth gender, and swear to always champion the causes of feminism & social justice 🎀🏆✨

Hope to hear back from you soon 🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/metamourmatador/766601075700662272/dont-let-them-get-you-down

(P.S. I’ve been trying for some time now to muster up the courage to say hello, and I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that my gal pal @karlie-xox was insistent I stop by… 🤭)

Attagirl, being brave. @karlie-xox does have a way of motivating you bitches to get in touch huh?

I've seen your content before, of course. I can appreciate the technical skill, creativity and sentiment even if I'm not the target audience. You do good work, and even as you focus more on encouraging effeminacy and making being a sissy girly girl appealing, whether you realise it or not this helps further propagate the BNWO. So thank you for your service, however unintentional.

Reframing your characteristics in a more positive way is hugely beneficial to your mental health, happiness and sense of purpose. Why continue being miserable as a second rate man when you can be so much happier being a first-rate hyper-femme sissy girly? Its not a life of no expectations, but a life of different expectations to which you might be better suited. Well done doing the work to realise that and more importantly acting upon that realisation; you certainly seem to be in a good place with friends, admirers, status, and a sense of purpose as a result. I'm sure your story will be relatable and inspiring to others, so happy to give it a boost.

[blackcatxmagic]

Ludwig wasn’t like Brook had imagined at all. He was extremely handsome, but he had this goofy side that Brook found really endearing, and it was like his smile was infectious. As Ludwig talked about his costume, the glee on his face had Brook smiling just as wide - and it helped that Ludwig had said he’d make a cute lumberjack. But then Brook saw the way Ludwig’s attitude changed, how he talked about some of the struggles of growing up where he did, and Brook felt for the guy. “That must have been really hard,” he said. “Even if you didn’t quite know what you were missing at the time, just the restrictions and all of that. It’s like living in black in white when the rest of the world is in color.” Then Brook thought that might have been going too far, so he apologized, “I’m sorry. That was kind of harsh. I mean, that’s your home. I shouldn’t be talking about it that way.” He hoped he had offended Ludwig. “I think that makes sense though,” Brook added. “It’s like you’re experiencing a second childhood.”

Glad to be on a happy memory again, Brook laughed at Ludwig’s remark. “We’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen so we can keep you alive,” he said with a laugh. “But you know, I bet the hangover was worth the celebration.” When Ludwig explained how he could tell that he was Romanian, Brook replied, “You know, that makes sense. Sometimes I do slip into a bit of an accent because of listening to my mom. She never quite lost it.” It was more how he said certain words than whole sentences, but Brook kind of liked that about himself, like he had traces of his homeland within him. The moment he heard Ludwig’s fake accent, Brook started to laugh. “Are you sure you’re not from New York?” Brook teased, still laughing about it. “You just have a way of bring laughter into a situation, don’t you, Ludwig?” Brook asked, but it was more of a statement of fact than a question. Shaking his head, Brook answered, “No. I would like to go, but I’ve always been so busy. I never had the time back in Salem.” What Brook didn’t say was that he had purposely made it that way, that he clung to a rigid schedule because the structure helped keep him in line. “I probably have the time now though actually, but…it’s kind of a scary prospect. What if I’ve overhyped it in my mind?”

"You're welcome," he said earnestly "I think you'll find a lot of people here have their own skeleton's, so you won't have to worry about too many curious minds." There were, however, a few nosey people in town much like everywhere, but for the most part people didn't pry into the past. "That's a great idea! You'd make a very cute lumberjack."

"Yes, really!" Ludwig beamed and stood up straight, pretending to bring out the hose of a Proton Pack that wasn't actually there, "Yeah? When I lived in Germany, Dresden was in a Soviet....uh," he trailed off, trying to think of the English equivalent "statehood. So we didn't have anything cool like Ghostbusters or.... any good movies, really. So I enjoy.... stuff like that." He blushed and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly "I know that sounds really childish.. but, I do sometimes feel like a kid experiencing things for the first time." It was bittersweet. He now had access to so much media and the rest of the world in general, so it was a great feeling but he could sometimes feel sad for his former self. The little Ludwig inside of him who never got any of these things, like most 'normal' children. "Yes, it is! Very good." He paused, "You're crazy, Brook. You have to watch it!"

Ludwig smiled, a sad and small one as he listened to Brook talk about listening to the fall. "That's very sweet, I'm glad we had so many supporters, even in America. It was really hard times back then." He was lucky enough to at least see it on the television at one of the local bars. He smiled whenever he thought of that memory. Everyone in the packed building cheering in delight, congratulating their favorite German transplant. He thought about how many shots he had been given to him as a celebratory gesture. He groaned, "I had the worst hangover of my life the next day. If they ever decided to put it back up and knock it down again, I don't think I would survive."

He couldn't help but tick his head back as he let out a chuckle. Ludwig wasn't about to admit why it was that he could tell, so he shrugged his shoulders and leaned forward, saying "Ah! It's easy, I'm European. It's like how people from America would be able to tell immediately that someone is from Texas... Or say, New York." He attempted his best New Yorker accent, which he thought was very good, obvious by the smirk on his lips. But, it was not. "Dragoş? That's nice, it suits you. Mine is just my old man's name, nothing special like that. Precious peace." He repeated, quietly. His was the German equivalent of John, almost as basic as he could get. "Have you ever been able to visit? Romania."

[deoidesign]

.

[mistydragonflyart]

Happy pride everyone!

[kkoct-ik]

the lesser known did symptom of not knowing anything about your life because not only do you not remember anything (and the memories you Do have are heavily fragmented so you have no idea when they occured), but you also consistently destroy all traces of yourself during dissociative episodes. rip every diary ive tried to keep and almost every social media account. i will never know what i got up to or who i was during those years

i have a spreadsheet i use for documenting memories that turn up before i can forget them again. where i also do my best to estimate what year or season or month they came from. but its all just such a mess. even 2021 onwards which are supposed to be my therapy years are very very patchy. i wish i could just know my life

[batsplat]

Pecco and Pedro are probably the people who more than anyone else want to beat Marc. Pecco because he is forced to do it for a matter of survival, his bet next year is to be able to win against Marc with the same bike. Pedro wants to win the first world championship with Marc in MotoGP, even better if he wins it against him, because of course that’s what he wants. I MotoGP your teammate is your first enemy, as surreal as it is, it would be more likely to see Pecco and Pedro helping each other (which would be unlikely anyway because they aren’t the type of people who do that) than one of them helping their teammate , especially if it's Marc. If anything Marc and Pecco have to be intelligent enough to at least not take each other out Portimao style, because in that case there will be someone behind them ready to bite

so I'm going to jump in right away by saying, I know this ask acknowledges it's unlikely but, yeah, pedro and pecco will not be helping each other in any meaningful sense - because they are both serious challengers to each other and they know it. sometimes, riders can be known to help non-team members in fairly small low-key ways (see in this post valentino accusing marc of deliberately towing ducati riders to get them ahead of his actual rivals in brno 2014). for both pecco and pedro, marc is definitely the bigger focus, but they are both perfectly aware of the danger the other poses, and will not be inclined to treat each other as anything other than an active threat

that being said! of course pecco has already nicely demonstrated this season that he does approach his marc fights differently than he does those with other riders (which is broadly the correct and smart thing to do, even if the specifics can be critiqued). portimao even gave us the direct comparison between pecco/pedro and pecco/marc! part of it, yes, will just be an element of self-preservation - marc is now back to being a major roadblock for winning any future championships, and he'll be in pecco's house so will of course require... extra attention. apart from that, it absolutely would be the most meaningful way pecco could win a championship, by beating the famous marc marquez on equal machinery... nobody has done that before, and it would instantly dispel any remaining doubts about pecco's ability and cement his legacy as one of the greats of the sport. he wants to beat marc so badly because marc is one of the two riders he's always been chasing... and marc's absence has left all the young pretenders in this odd place where they've taken the crown but don't quite believe it's theirs yet. (just to say this again, I personally don't share the view that marc's absence diminishes those titles in any way, but it is of course interesting when the riders themselves have these insecurities.) there was that interview from early-ish last year where pecco talked about some of his personal limitations and how he views his own status in the sport:

fascinating, isn't it? of course, I'm sure a second title will have helped to some extent in making him feel a little more entitled to that status in the sport - but this is not the kind of thing valentino or casey or jorge or marc ever would have said. there's a self-consciousness to pecco, an awareness of his uncertain, shaky journey to the top of the sport, how he's fully cognisant of how different he is to those names... which can be a problem at times - delusion is an athlete's life blood, and while the level headed insight pecco expresses here is arguably admirable, it is not necessarily helpful for him as a champion. on the other hand, sometimes lacking a little in the delusion department can be a good thing if it allows you to deliberately improve yourself, pushed on by the knowledge that you still have a long way to go... pecco's biggest self-inflicted wounds have tended to come when he's at his most comfortable - you can theorise about why this happens, but maybe that striver mindset is exactly what he needs to keep him going. it's still quite the admission to describe his 2022 season as more incomplete than either valentino or marc's title runs. (mind you, it's arguably even less complete a season than some of their misses - of course with valentino you have the obvious ones, but did you know that marc scored an average of 13.44 points in 2015 vs pecco's average of 13.25 in 2022? obvious caveat that in 2015 there were considerably fewer competitive bikes and barely any capable of regularly challenging for race wins.) the need to prove himself is always there with pecco... it keeps peaking through with him, and it absolutely peaks through in his approach to marc. yes, yes, acosta is the future, jorge martin has been his title rival more recently... but of course, beating marc would be special. do you think pecco ever dreamed that of it? do you think he really believed that he could before he was already premier class champion? with most champions, you would say it's likely. with pecco, I'm not quite so sure

as for pedro, yeah, obviously, that's just the cycle continuing lol. deeply curious what those two regularly competing at the sharp end of races looks like. pedro has kinda kept his distance, isn't that much of a marc fan himself... when he talks inspirations he tends to bring up schwantz, stoner, pedrosa, and of course rossi

schwantz is far from an unusual pick amongst riders, though as the years pass perhaps gradually more so - it certainly reveals an appreciation for the history of the sport. as do the other choices, in a way... let's not forget that acosta was eight years old when casey retired. of course back in the day casey and dani themselves got plenty of criticism for how 'boring' they were - that's just how these things go! nobody's ever nostalgic for the present etc etc

pedro did also talk last year about how the public wants celebrations and rivalries, critiquing how friendly riders are nowadays and saying people want battles like jorge/dani, valentino/marc, and so on (full clip here)

heartwarming: global number of people who still care about the valentino/sete rivalry is now confirmed at 2 (two)

obviously, you can't just go out and manufacture feuds because you're feeling like it, and pedro's had a pretty quiet rookie season in that sense. but once he feels like he's settled in and can challenge the infamous marc marquez in an actual title fight? on the basis of this rhetoric, you'd at least hope he's not going to be too shy in taking on the challenge. of course he too wants to beat marc more than anyone else... again, it's a question of legacy, how pedro clearly situates himself within the same lineage as both valentino and marc - even if personally he aspires to be more of a successor to the former than the latter. always better to take the crown for yourself, right? this is a kid who's clearly into the history of the sport and is already determined to make himself a big part of that story... weaving himself into that narrative by taking on a legend of the past, taking on the task of disposing with that legend himself. plus, given pedro is so aware of that history - he knows that what people remember are the rivalries. he wants some of that for himself! it'll be interesting to see how proactive he'll be in making that happen, certainly seems like an enterprising young lad

anyhow, yes, plenty of potential for both of those dynamics. and yes, they do very much want to beat marc - but if we're talking about who wants to beat him the most, jorge martin probably deserves a mention right around now. does have to be said that something dumb like the portimao thing is costing pecco and marc this year. it's kind of gone under given the sheer bucketloads of points all the title contenders are throwing away, but pecco would be eight not eighteen points behind in the standings if he had settled for sixth in portimao, and for marc it would be twenty four rather than thirty five points if he'd backed out of the move and had another go on the next lap. relatively unlikely to make a difference at the end of the season... though for mr title decider pecco bagnaia, it sure might be! I did joke about making the pecco/marc portimao thing tradition, but generally speaking two top riders crashing each other out isn't that common a thing, and it's pretty..? rare? that it's the same two riders on multiple occasions? I'm drawing a bit of a blank here, to be honest... then again, title contenders do seem to crash rather more than they used to (admittedly they also have a lot of opportunities now) - so maybe this is going to become a more regular occurrence. but what is more likely to happen is that when you have two competitive riders on the same bike, they do run the risk of taking turns stealing points from each other at the circuits where their bike is at its best. I think pecco and marc can probably minimise this given what a good all-round bike the ducati is across a range of different circuits, and also given that as individual riders they do at least seem to be reasonably distinct in what their strongest and weakest tracks are. all in all, I kind of doubt they'll cost each other like that next year... though admittedly if portimao is anything to go by I may be tempting fate

[shidoukanae]

drawing for a scene in the TME light novel (specifically, Paris helping out Lyla!!).

I drew this scene immediately after I read it because oh my god of all the things I was expecting from Paris's first introduction, him lending a (unneeded) helping hand to Lyla was NOT what i thought his first introduction would be like

[pinkopalina]

as a huge batjokes shipper i want batman and joker to hate each other in the sense they dont really hate each other, they just have really different goals and see their own version of potential in the other and right now hate is the best word for their situationship. they both love the other for what they could be but neither of them wants to be what the other one wants, and that's equally as frustrating as it is necessary for them to keep existing in their current roles. they're deadlocked and that fate surrounding each other is kind of the point -- we both have to be like this, the opposite of what the other wants, for us to keep existing at all, and for giving me that gift i both love and hate you. it's an agreement. i think the hate that's there now is born from an intense underlying love.

i think batman "hates" joker for being so amazing and smart and cunning, for being able to create grand gestures and schemes, to pull people together under his charisma and make them all believe in something, for being as extraordinary as he is but batman hates that he uses it to hurt people. he hates that joker can't channel his energy into doing something good for the world, that he hurts himself and others just because he wants to be batman's greatest enemy. i think batman wants to help joker but also hates him at this point for joker exhausting him, constantly getting hurt both emotionally and physically by him, joker never trying to improve his situation, throwing away other people's lives, showing batman he loves him by lashing out and hurting him. batman hates joker because he loves his rogues, he wants to help them, and he knows they can do better. he wants to live in a gotham that doesn't need batman but he still needs to be needed, because when there's no batman, what is bruce going to be? without joker, he will continue being batman, but it's an empty crusade. some of my favorite interactions between harvey and bruce are the ones where harvey thanks bruce for "always being there for me, never giving up on me, my very best friend." even with someone like harvey, bruce can still hold onto that hope for his rogues, never give up on them, keep going for them, even if it puts them through the cycle one more time.

i think joker hates batman in the most toxic way possible, but it's still love. i just think he's selfish and doesn't want batman to think about anyone else but him, the same way he operates for batman, but if he must think about other people then joker will make it as amazing as possible! i think he hates batman for wasting his time on ordinary people, people who are so boring that batman claims he has to protect and serve and love them but joker thinks it's all surface-level. batman won't kill joker but he'll leave room for people dying in his crusade. it's a choice he allows, and even if joker knows that's a morally fucked up way to put someone in a box, he doesn't care. batman is the type of person to train himself mentally and physically for decades and dress up in a half-silly-half-menacing costume so that everyone can have an idea about him. batman himself is not normal, and joker knows that and loves that! why is he wasting his time trying to save people that use him, abuse him, don't want him to be the best he can be? i think joker's motivations for loving batman and lashing out as if he hates him lie somewhere in between extreme admiration -- like i truly believe in your cause and that you're the right person to do it, but i'm so angry at you for wasting your time on other people and i'm so hurt and jealous that you choose them over me, just so you can be a hypocrite and let them die if i want them to anyways -- and anger at his hypocrisy -- like it's easy for joker to dedicate himself to chaos and just being in batman's life by putting batman in situations that force him to be a better and better hero, but how can batman sit there and choose and pick what morals he'll uphold and who gets to live and who gets to die?

i want to be your greatest enemy because you are the greatest hero ever, and the only way you and i can keep being the best at what we do is if we do it together, because of what we both believe in.