#i was gonna show you at some point anyway

[vivaciouscynner]

So a little tidbit about me, that I've probably only mentioned once or twice before, is that I used to be in the game industry - very low rung on the ladder, but I was definitely IN IT. And I have most definitely SEEN THINGS. I've seen some awful shit behind the scene that I am legit traumatized to a point that I cannot play games anymore. I'm getting better, but this almost two decades ago.

I looked at this post and went, "jesus fuck, eight fucking gigs? that's the goal we want to go back to? what... what is it now? like 20Gigs?" and believe me when I say "fuck you" at the 290gigs of required disk space.

So, I'm sure you can tell, yes OP, i agree with you 100000%

And I can tell you with 100% certainty that no matter how vile the environment I used to work in was back then, optimization was a necessary craft that I don't actually think exists today

Look I get it, a good handful of people have big 8K screens and the textures and shaders are BIG. But honestly, the market is so damn small that designing a game for those SPECIFIC people is a fucked up (ie evil) marketing strategy.

Games should be at least TIERED if they're gonna do that. You should have 1080P, 2K, 4K, and 8K tiers and priced ACCORDINGLY. If I can ONLY support 2K textures, I shouldn't need 4K or 8K support, which alone should cut the space requirements down SIGNIFICANTLY.

I remember one of the bugs i wrote up back in the day was that a texture for a vortex grenade was too high resolution, (it was - throwing it ate the frame rate instantly). And I when I say too high resolution, this game was for the PS3 (THREEEEEEEEE) they were JUST coming out with 2K monitors at the time and the texture was for 4K resolutions. We were able to look at the grenade texture that was placed on it, it had WARNING text and INSTRUCTIONS on how to use the grenade. Let me be very clear, when you were holding this grenade in the character's hand, the fingers not only covered up these labels, even if the hand were open, the labels could NOT be read, the text was too tiny. So you'd have your game-themed gun in hand, and you'd get about 55-60FPS with it. When you swapped it with this vortex grenade that had the ridculous texture size, it plumeted to about 23-30FPS. When you TOSSED it... and DIDN'T crash the system, it was lucky to get 5FPS.

The artist was so proud of his texture that he legit yelled at me for writing the bug. I had to SHOW HIM how bad the frame rates were when the object was used and he kept blaming the engineers and modelers. I had like a 15minute argument with him and asked him to show me where there labels were. Even on a large screen he was fighting to find some reason to NOT lower the PERFECT texture of his.

Anyway, enough of my ramblings. I just wanted to say is that I bet people gave up on optimization and this proves the triple-A game market is getting so much worse.

they should make games 8 gb again

[its-weeping]

— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐗 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒. | suna rintaro

cw. mdni, slight making out, hickey, pet name (pretty girl), suna is being a tease, dry humping, cursing

notes. 𐙚⋆°. been a while hehe. anyways, here's a lil suna draft!

it's been a while since you felt his skin on yours, since he's been able to properly hold you. five days or perhaps six? the days oddly bled together as suna's workload piled up.

practice games, training, your boyfriend couldn't get a day off and in turn you missed him— missed how he would always press a kiss on your lips before leaving for the day. nowadays it was all fleeting touches and small pecks on your temple.

this pent up sexual frustration was quickly becoming a problem, for both of you. your boyfriend knew you were pent up and he couldn't deny he was too. but despite his nearing breaking point, he kept his composure, showed fortitude as suna honestly wanted to see just how long you could last.

it's then when you bid him goodbye as you always did whenever he left for practice, that suna seemed to recognize a sense of want— something telling him that you wanted more of it badly. and when your tongue slipped into his mouth, deepening the kiss, suna had to stop himself.

"careful now," he mumbles, breath hot against your face when he pulls away. you're looking at him with half lidded eyes, face flushed and wanting.

suna tilts his head, keeping an innocent display while he resists a smirk, "what's up with you?"

you let out a huff and lean in but he draws back slightly, enough to leave you pouting.

"i just.. wanted to show you some love." you utter and give a shameless shrug. suna hums as his hands slide down your hips, then your lower back, quickly finding your ass. he gives it a squeeze and you gasp and dig your fingers into his shoulders.

"show me some love, huh?" he grins, cock twitching at the mere thought and he can't help but stare at your now exposed neck when you tilt your head up to meet his eyes.

he knows your doing it on purpose, to rattle him, break him, make him give into his desires. and shit he's already fallen so deep into your trap because then he's pressing open mouth kisses along your jawline, exploring further down to your collarbone. you mewl at the sensation, the warm, wet muscle was sucking and licking at your skin and god it feel so good having been so long.

suna chuckles, it vibrates against your skin—he's found your pulse point and you're whimpering when he begins biting the area. he's got a leg shoved in between your thighs already and you give a shameless moan when it nudges your cunt.

suck. lick. bite. repeat. suna only leans back after a deep reddening mark appears on your neck. his eyes are clouded, his breath is heavy, yet he pulls away and adjusts himself soundly.

"i'm gonna be late to practice, pretty girl."

he couldn't give in first.

"rin," you practically whisper in worship, "please."

you're laying your stomach flat on his, arching up as an invitation and suna can just feel your tits squeezing against his broad chest. and he's contemplating it— that you know because he's kneading the swell of your ass and it's getting your panties all the more soaked with how your cunt is begging for attention.

fuck, was he torturing you?

with how long suna was constricting his movements to just groping you, you would have thought he was doing it on purpose.

desperation was seeping out from all over you, a painful, throbbing desperation that had you ramming your clothed pussy onto suna's thigh, pinching your own together around him to try and relieve yourself. your boyfriend makes a noise at this, a low, unsteady sort of a noise in surprise when he feels you slowly start to grind on him.

suna's eyes are observing you, your hurried movements and how you're beginning to influence him, the bulge in his shorts making it all the more obvious. his eyes shift to the clock behind you, twenty minutes— twenty minutes until he really has to leave.

goddamnit, okay.

much like a fox ready to pounce on its prey, suna is fucking hungry.

"one round. that's it. but– don't think when i get back you aren't getting fucked till dawn."

product of its-weeping ;༊ | do not plagiarize or translate.

post-notes. send requests pls i wanna start writing again 🙁 (there's a list of fandoms i can write for on my pinned!)

[loverslantern]

Mirror- Dean Winchester x f! reader oneshot

Description: Reader doesn’t feel pretty so Dean tries to show her what he sees in the way he knows best: praise.

Warnings: It’s hot and heavy in here, inherently sexual but nothing happens, manhandling?, praise

Word count: 2k

Note: This is not only my first time writing something like this but also my first time writing something not related to The Hunter and The Witch series so please leave feedback!

  I catch my reflection on the screen of my laptop and groan. My face looks weird today. It’s just one of those days where I just couldn’t feel…pretty or nice or any other adjective. It shouldn’t matter now when I’m alone in my motel room and researching for the next hunt. There’s no one to impress in the desolate room other than the four beige walls and a creaky bed. 

  It shouldn’t matter. To be fair it shouldn’t matter in general when beauty is an objective concept, and yet it does. I do not know the psychology behind it, maybe it’s a biological thing as animals would choose the mate that’s more appealing or strong to have offspring that can survive. I shake my head, ridding myself of the thought. This would just spiral into a psychological analysis that would only make me think of it further rather than ignore it. 

  It’s an obsessive thing, isn’t it?

  Either way, I don’t like the way I look today. I couldn’t get my hair to look just right this morning and I tried so many up-do’s that my arms got sore. It still didn’t look right, so I left it down. 

  And my face just looks wrong. Maybe my eyes are too big or too small in proportion to the rest of my face. Or, maybe my jawline is too soft, perhaps I’m not rough enough. Perhaps I’m too rough. Somehow, every possible thing feels true. 

  I groan again, leaning my head back against the headboard of the bed, and squeeze my eyes shut as if it will get rid of it all. I’m meant to be focused on research. It was supposed to help. But stupid screens and their stupid reflections.

  The jingle of keys forces my eyes open, my eyes landing on my door as it clicks open. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean greets, casually inviting himself in. 

  “Hi,” I breathe. I suppose the consequence of giving someone a spare key is that they will use said key. But, I’m not that bad of a thing considering it’s Dean who’s walking in. “I’m gonna head to a bar, you in?”

  “Eh,” I answer. “You go ahead. ‘Not feeling it tonight.”

  He eyes me for a moment, squinting just slightly. “Not even as an excuse to dress up and listen to music?” he pushes. “‘My treat.” Of course, his treat meant a fake card or money he got from hustling. But, god the way he smiles and holds his hands up as he tries to convince me is cuter than it should be. “Sorry, Dean,” I say despite the sight, “Just not feeling it.”

  His shoulders and smile drop, “Come on I’ll buy you as much (favorite drink) as you want.”

  “You can go without me you know?” I point out as he saunters over to the bed and plops himself down. “We both know you’re gonna be leaving with some random girl anyway.” 

  He rolls his eyes as he leans back on his elbows, his black shirt flexing against his muscles. He knows I’m right. “I thought Sam was the nerd,” he comments, ignoring what I said by lifting my laptop off my lap and discarding it in the empty space next to him. “Why don’t you wanna go out? ‘You feeling okay?” he asks and for a moment as his eyes scan my face, I can see the concern pass through them. 

  “Oh, I’m fine,” I insist, trying to be as convincing as possible. Yet, he sees right through me, giving me a pointed look. He’s hard to lie to. I break, shaking my head, “Fine. I just…I don’t feel pretty today so I don’t really wanna go out.”

  His eyebrows raise, his lips parting a bit as if that’s the last thing he expected me to say. “You?”

  My eyebrows furrow, head tilting in confusion, “….Yeah….” Who else?

  He studies my face again and I worry he’ll see what I’m seeing. He’ll see I’m not pretty. His features soften regardless. “Come with me,” he announces, gesturing a hand to follow as he gets up from the bed. I don’t listen, giving him a confused and cautious look. “Come on,” he insists, his voice firm. 

  I hold back my sigh as I stand from the bed. I almost didn’t want to know what he had in store. But, he doesn’t leave me with much choice but to turn back as he takes hold of my hand. His hand is big and warm as it envelopes mine, butterflies erupting in my gut at the simple touch.

  He leads me into the bathroom, his hand leaving mine to travel up my arms and to my shoulders, positioning me in front of the mirror. My hips press against the sink, his hands on my upper arms and his body close behind mine. He nearly looms over me with his tall stature, his head and eyes tilted a little down as he uses the mirror to meet my eyes. “Don’t look at me. Look at yourself,” he directs. But my eyes linger on him, on his pretty green eyes, sharp sculptured jaw, and his straight nose. His fingers tap against the skin of my upper arm, “Come on,” he encourages, his voice a little gravely. 

  I give in. He makes it so easy to give in. I pull my eyes from him and land on myself. A frown pulls on my lips as my eyes jump around my features, even my frown looks wrong. He squeezes my arms, gaining my attention back in the same second my gut lurches. “Uh-uh,” he hums. “Eyes back on you, baby.”

  Jesus. 

  Again, I force my eyes away and I can feel his burning gaze on me. “What do you see?” he asks. I scuff and roll my eyes, “Dean, I’m not—“

  His hands rub up and down my upper arms. “Just—what do you see?”

  I bite on my bottom lip. I look unamused. That’s what I’m seeing. I sigh, trying to humor him. “Myself,” I answer plainly.

  He tuts, “Not what I meant, sweetheart. What do you see that you don’t like?”

  Everything. That seems like an appropriate answer. But I can’t just say that and I don’t. I hardly want to share what I feel when it’s hard to put words to it. “How about this?” he says, his head dipping down to occupy the space by my neck, putting himself closer to my level than far above me. “I like your smile,” he admits, his voice so soft it’s like a rough whisper. “I like when you smile at me…” he squeezes my arms, “like I’m damn important.”

  “You ar—“

  “Uh-uh,” he hums again. “This is about you, baby.” 

  One of his hands drifts upwards, the muscles in his forearm flexing. The sight is nearly intoxicating as I watch it move in the mirror, resting at the base of my neck as he stands to his height again. His thumb brushes back and forth against my collarbone, his eyes downturned to his movements. “Keep watching yourself,” he reminds me. I hadn’t realized I was watching him but could you blame me?

  He presses me back against him, his body solid and warm. I wonder if he can feel the increase in my heart rate. “And your skin…always so smooth. Hardly any scars.” He presses down on the base of my neck, encouraging my head to lean back against his chest. My breath hitches.

  “Shows how careful you are, yeah?” I can almost feel his warm breath as clearly as I can feel my heart beating against my ribs. “You a careful girl?” His gaze is burning as it travels down me. “Yeah…” he drawls, eyes traveling back up. “You are.” His thumb taps once against my collarbone, reminding me to keep my eyes on myself which seems like an impossible feat now. “There you go,” he praises, his voice low. 

My skin feels warm. My everything feels warm as if I am a furnace with the sole purpose of burning and he stokes the fire, poking at it, adding wood to keep it going. 

“Those eyes,” he mumbles, and I can feel the rumble in his chest as the words protrude from his lips. “‘Damn pretty eyes. Then you give me that look…fuck.”

  My eyes flick to his, something burning deep within my gut. He doesn’t scorn me for looking away from myself. “Yeah…” he whispers, eyes meeting mine in the mirror. “That look right there. Eyes all big, your lips parted just a little.” His hand drifts up from my neck, gracing my jaw. His thumb presses on my bottom lip. “So pretty…” he mumbles. “‘Don’t know what you aren’t seeing. Can you look at yourself again baby?” 

  I do as told and my knees feel wobbly with the heat that pools within. It’s the sight of him rather than me. The sight of him practically playing with me. “Want you to know how pretty you are,” he mumbles. “How good you are. God, you’re so good.”

  His thumb is a little wet as it slips from my lip onto my chin and my neck. His lidded eyes watch the slight mess he makes, his breath a little shallower. He hums, his chest rumbling with it. “Do you know what I think?” he asks.

  “What?” I answer the single word sounding like a sigh. My eyes drop to my lips in the mirror, my bottom lip coated in a thin layer of my own saliva like a coat of lip gloss. My breasts press against my tank top, seemingly wanting to spill over with each shallow breath. The soft swells of skin peeking from the neckline. His hands drop to my hips, pushing me forward until they’re pressing into the sink with a force that knocks me forward a little, a gasp escaping my lips. I grip the sides of the sink to catch myself. His fingers press into my hips as he holds me firmly. His body looms over me as his eyes take in my bent-over form. Those stunning green eyes that usually resemble the greenery of a forest when the sun is shining through the canopy of leaves just right, now a darkened green like the parts of the forest the sun can’t reach. 

  His hands massage my hips roughly, pushing them forward before drawing them back. His eyes are downturned to the movement, his mouth parted a little in the same manner mine is. My breath is quicker, and my heart is pounding in my chest like it’s trying to escape the space behind my ribs. “What’d I say about keeping your eyes on yourself?” He says roughly despite his own distraction. I swallow roughly, forcing my eyes back on myself for the umpteenth time.   

  He continues his actions, eyes burning into my hips and my ass like nothing else matters. “I think…” he starts, circling back to answer the question he asked me before, one I forgot about. “I think it should be sinful,” the word is like a purr coming from his lips, “to look this good. To be so fucking pretty.” It should be ironic coming from him but why would he go through all this trouble, all this guiding, pushing, pressing to convince me of something he didn’t believe in? And I can see it. I can see it, through the fog of a bad day, exactly what he’s seeing, or at least part of it. 

  “Are you seeing it?” he asks in a low voice as if he saw the change in my eyes. “Yeah,” I breathe, nodding, “Yes, I see it.”

  “Good,” he answers firmly, and yet I can hear the cocky smile that no doubt threatens his lips. Then, his hand circles around the back of my neck, tangling into my hair. He squeezes just once before he’s guiding me up, straightening me out ‘till I’m standing straight again. I spin in his hold, his large hands immediately going to my hips to keep me pressed into the sink. His eyes meet mine, something written in his irises that I can’t decipher. Then, they drop to my lips and then to my chest, that cocky smile finally making its appearance as his eyes drag back up to my lips. “Where’d you learn that?” I ask.

  His smile widens as he answers, “You don’t wanna know.”

[keeryhours]

fall in love again - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female ex wife! reader

Summary:

Steve comes over to spend Christmas Eve with his ex wife and their three kids.

Warnings:

Dad!Steve, Mom!reader, talk of divorce, kissing

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N:

This is late for Christmas but I hope you enjoy this short little Christmas story anyway!! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for making the best banners and also being my bestie ily

—

“Alex, stop shaking the presents! You have to wait until tomorrow just like everyone else!”

Your 7 year old son groaned but put the gift down, flopping down on the couch with a huff. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re the one trying to ruin the surprise,” you pointed out, going back into the kitchen and taking the cookies out of the oven. You went to lift Madelyn, your 2 year old, from her high chair when a tiny tornado came tearing through the kitchen.

“I didn’t snoop,” Lena, your 5 year old, said, reaching for one of the hot cookies before you lightly swatted her hand away.

“No touching, they have to cool.” Maddie on your hip, you flitted around the kitchen, gathering the supplies to decorate the cookies. “Dad’s gonna be here any minute now.”

Lena did a little dance and Alex cheered from the living room. You rolled your eyes with a faint smile - Dad was always a hit, you were pretty sure they’d never been this excited for you to show up.

You and Steve had been separated for almost a year now. You still got along pretty well and co-parenting was going well so far. This would be your first Christmas apart, so Steve was coming over to spend the night for the kids.

The doorbell rang as you were setting up the different colors of icing. “I’ll get it!” Alex and Lena called at the same time, fighting over each other to get to the door first.

They must have eventually made it to the door because you heard it open before another wave of noise hit as the kids no doubt jumped into their father’s arms, Steve swinging them around like they weighed nothing. “Where’s your mom?” you heard through the noise of giggles.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Alex said.

“Making cookies for Santa,” Lena added.

Three sets of footsteps headed down the hall and then the commotion was exploding back into the kitchen.

“Are they cooled yet?” Lena whined, pulling on your sweater as she eyed the cookies on the tray.

“Almost,” you answered, switching Madelyn to the other hip. But as soon as she spotted Steve, she was reaching for him.

“Dada!” She called, tiny fists grabbing towards her father. Steve smiled, taking her from your aching arms.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, tickling her tummy and making her laugh. “You all ready for Santa to come?”

Madelyn giggled again, although she still didn’t quite understand the whole Christmas thing yet. You checked the cookies, seeing they were cool enough to start decorating.

“You guys ready to decorate?” You asked, and the kids started dancing around before you even got the sentence out.

“I’m doing reindeer,” Lena announced, pulling a chair over to the counter and climbing onto it.

“I’m doing Santa Claus, so I’ll be the favorite and get the best toys,” Alex said, looking at his sister with a smug look on his face.

Lena turned to you and Steve. “That’s not fair!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, bud,” Steve said, ruffling Alex’s hair. “Pretty sure you all made the nice list this year…somehow.”

“Hey!” Alex and Lena said at the same time, fake offended expressions turning into giggles. They each grabbed their icing bags and started decorating the cookies. You and Steve watched, Madelyn peering over their shoulders to watch them work.

Once your little artists were done with their cookies, the five of you shared some, being sure to save plenty for Santa. Then you all piled on the couch in the living room to watch Christmas movies.

Madelyn was put to bed after the first movie. Alex and Lena passed out 2 ½ movies in, and you and Steve carried them to their bedrooms. Once they were safely tucked in bed, you and Steve returned to the living room, flopping on the couch.

Steve put an arm around your shoulders, and for a minute you could pretend that nothing had changed. The absence of the ring on your left hand told a different story.

“I’ve missed you guys,” Steve admitted, his head resting on top of yours. It was intimate, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“We’ve missed you too,” you said honestly. The kids had missed Steve terribly, asking about him at bedtime every night and sometimes even crying for him after bed. It made you feel horrible. You missed him, too, especially when you were laying in bed alone at night.

Steve sighed. “I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

You looked up at him. “What do you mean? I thought you wanted to spend the night for the kids?”

“No, not that. Of course I want to be here. I just meant…” he let out a long sigh again. “Why are we going through with this divorce?”

You were silent. It was a question you’d asked yourself countless times. You didn’t want to divorce Steve. But for the past few years it had been nothing but constant arguing.

“You know why,” you said, your voice small. No conviction behind it.

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Steve said, looking down at his hands intertwined together. “I’ll go to couples counseling with you. I’ll do whatever you want. I just want to work things out with you, okay? I’m not ready to let this relationship go. I’m not ready to let our family go.”

You looked over at your ex husband to see him staring right back at you, emotions swirling behind his brown eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean it,” Steve said with a small laugh, taking both your hands in his. “I want to be with you, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.”

You felt yourself soften at his words. You had been trying to convince Steve to go to counseling with you for ages, but he always said he didn’t see the point. You truly felt like it could help you through some of your communication issues and get rid of those stupid constant fights for good. “I’m…really happy to hear you say that, Steve. I didn’t want to throw our family away either. I miss you. The kids miss you.”

At the mention of his kids, Steve’s expression turned sad. “I’ve been an idiot. I feel like this is all my fault. They go to sleep at night sad and confused and it’s all because of me.”

You wanted to comfort him, but you weren’t sure what to say. You leaned your head against his shoulder instead, enjoying being close to him again. “They’d be thrilled if you came home.”

Steve was quiet for a minute. He had been crashing between Eddie’s and Robin’s places. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“You know, be happy if I came home,” Steve said, his voice small and unsure of himself and completely unlike him.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I would be. I…miss you more than you know.”

Steve smiled softly. He placed his fingers gently on your jawline, turning your head to face him. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, until you felt the soft plush of his lips against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and you felt butterflies in your stomach like you were back in high school again, not two grown (separated) adults with three kids asleep upstairs. You liked the way it made you feel.

You tangled your hands in Steve’s hair while his rested on your hips, pulling each other closer and closer while your lips frantically worked together like you only had so much time together.

“Mommy, have you seen-“

You and Steve jumped apart at the voice, both turning to see Lena standing there rubbing her wide eyes, her comfort blanket in hand.

“Is- is everything okay, baby?” You asked once you had found your voice.

A smile slowly grew across her lips. “Yessss. I’ll…leave you two to it.” She turned around and sprinted back up the steps with a giggle. When she reached the top, you heard her loudly whispering, “Alex, mom and dad were kissing!”

You covered your red face with a hand, stifling your laughter. Steve was less embarrassed, chuckling to himself as you heard the kids creep to the landing to eavesdrop.

“We have an audience now,” you whispered to Steve, amused grin still on your lips.

“I think they’re pretty happy about it,” Steve said quietly back, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. You heard both kids gasp and giggle again.

“Does this mean you’re back together?” Alex called from the stairs.

“Go back to bed!” You and Steve called at the same time.

You were met with a grumble of Fines and the shuffle of small footsteps back to their bedrooms. You and Steve looked at each other - and busted out laughing again.

“I guess we have some explaining to do in the morning,” you said, shaking your head. Steve held your left hand in his.

“I guess we do,” he said. “Maybe you could put your ring back on for the occasion?”

[tori-artemis]

Oh this is a great question to think about! Tbh I had a lot of hopes back when the series was premiering (and before when it was just announced), so to go off of those... well first off, I really really wanted an exploration of Loki's trauma, his past and even his psyche. Like I know a psychological thriller/horror probably wouldn't have been in the cards for a Disney+ show, but tbf I feel like the creators of Wandavision touched on aspects found in those types of genres (if in a PG 13 kind of way) so I don't think I was too off base for hoping to see something like that for Loki. (Not to mention the ridiculous comparisons to films like Se7en and The Silence of the Lambs that Mike Waldron kept making... but I'm not gonna get into that rant again.)

I think I would've put a lot of focus on what the hell actually happened to Loki when he fell into the Void and disappeared for an entire year or so, and how he ended up encountering Thanos and the Black Order, how that all went down, etc. Either through flashbacks, or (possibly altered) memories, or Loki recounting those events interview/interrogation-style (and being an extremely unreliable narrator in doing so, like for instance saying something like "I made a deal with Thanos and worked with him willingly" and then at some point you see into his head through flashbacks/night terrors and realize that clearly wasn't the case, just stuff like that). The possibilities were endless tbh, like there's just so many creative opportunities to explore that one aspect of Loki's backstory. And since that's such a burning question to me (and many other fans tbh) still to this day, I feel like that'd be the first thing I'd want to tackle.

Another important thing I'd want to include would be Loki's gender fluidity and his bi identity. Like I don't think it necessarily has to go with Loki referring to himself as bi, like I don't think he has to say the actual word "bi" in order to give any meaningful kind of rep?? Especially now that Agatha All Along has come out, I feel like I'd want to approach Loki's identity in a similar type of way, just unapologetic, and as authentic as possible to his comic book counter part. Like hell, he can have hang ups with those parts of his identity (which would actually make sense, being from Asgard and since he already has a lot of self-loathing issues in general due to being Jotun).

I wouldn't mind that, especially if it was done in a non-typical way, like maybe it's not being sexually intimate with men/males that's looked down upon on Asgard, but - similar to the Norse apparently - it's on what role they play, or basically who's the "bottom" - that gets shamed, or maybe same sex relationships aren't looked down upon at all on Asgard, but giving birth/getting pregnant while being/presenting as male is, bc it's seen as unnatural, and then let Loki go through an experience where he develops deep rooted insecurities about those aspects of his identity due to Asgard's cultural prejudices. And like this doesn't even have to be explicit (tho after the birth scenes in both Wandavision and especially Agatha All Along I can't help but roll my eyes at ppl having a hang up with Loki going thru something like this, especially if they were totally okay with Wanda and Agatha having birthing scenes, but anyways). It can be something as simple and as subtle as Loki finding out he's pregnant (maybe he can magically feel the fetus growing inside him, or he can hear the heartbeat/etc, or maybe it's as simple as having morning sickness and/or a change of diet). And it just ends up with him drinking tea/potion (due to pressure from Odin/Frigga/society, or maybe he's not ready and seeks it out himself) which gets rid of the baby, but again it's done in a very non graphic way. Of course the whole mpreg thing is just an example, and doesn't have to be in a series about Loki (that's what fanfic is for!) but basically: let Loki be queer, he can have hang ups about being queer, and tbh I'd want the hang ups to be kind of different from the usual discussions/portrayals of queerness in media mainly bc Asgard's an alien/fantasy society so I'd want their cultural norms to be pretty different from ours (human society in general), but overall just let Loki be queer, goddamnit!

Furthermore, I'd want to explore Loki's self loathing in particular, and see his view of himself change as he develops and grows throughout the series. If he encounters other versions of himself then I'd want to see what that would look like... and preferably done differently from how the show approached it (regarding Sylvie). Like I don't want him to just, I don't know, praise his other self up the way he ends up doing in the series (I know he also fought with Sylvie at the beginning but tbh I couldn't really take their rivalry seriously, it felt very sibling-like - which I actually enjoyed at the time, mind you, but a reflection of one's internal self-hatred it certainly is NOT, and like overall the whole dynamic just didn't work for me bc I find those two characters so undeniably different from each other and therefore it doesn't really work as a metaphor for self hatred/self love, but that's neither here nor there).

Like - let it be messy! Let it actually be vitriolic and hateful if that's what the series is trying to convey. Let Loki be angry, let him rage, let him lash out - at versions of himself and at other characters, like c'mon! This is a character that has a lot of inner darkness and has suffered through a lot of trauma and has difficulty trusting others due to said trauma (especially if we're going with Avengers era Loki) so how about we Show That.

Tbh I wouldn't have minded for Loki's main villain (both in the series overall and wrt the lead character) to be a version of himself. (As long as it was portrayed in a thoughtful way, like don't just make him evil please, in fact he doesn't even have to be evil at all - he doesn't have to destroy or conquer other worlds, he could literally just be out there destroying all versions of Loki, which would force our protagonist to fight/confront this person hunting him down). Like I think there would be so many possibilities for all of the ways a protagonist could deal with a "villain" - or rather, an antagonist like that. Some far more darker than others, depending on how you want your story to go. Like it could end similarly to the Agent of Asgard comics (where I believe Loki ends up forgiving and embracing his "evil" self... tho I've not read the comics so please feel free to correct me if I've gotten something wrong). Or if I were writing this series, I would've just had Loki forced into a position where, after being worn down to reaching his emotional breaking point, and in a fit of sheer rage, he'd end up brutally murdering the antagonistic version of himself, in the ultimate form of self destruction, and then I'd have him reeling from the internal consequences of such an extreme form of violence done against himself - but that's just my ridiculously morbid psychological-horror-loving ass for you. I'd just want to completely unravel him ngl, before having him overcome the impossible by rebuilding himself once more (w/ a little help from his newfound friends)...

If the TVA had to be involved in some way, I'd want to approach them as an ominous totalitarian organization, and if Loki were to be tortured by said organization, it most certainly would NOT be portrayed as some throw-away-attempt-at-comedy-type-of-scene (AHEM). I'd go for a darker tone overall, and Loki's torture at the TVA would be portrayed with all of the horror demanded by those types of scenes dealing with that kind of subject matter.

Tbh I have so many ideas for a Loki-centric show, some that involve the TVA and some that don't, but there's just so many threads and I don't want to make this any more convoluted than it already is, so to put it simply: I'd want the focus to be on Loki first and foremost. If it's called Loki, then it should be about the main lead, similar to how Agatha All Along was about Agatha, and Wandavision was about Wanda. (Which means, if the TVA has to be involved, then they would be secondary to the series' main focus - which would be on Loki and his relationship with himself.) Secondly, I'd want to see his trauma not only brought up, but fully explored. Which includes his traumatic upbringing (Odin's A++ Parenting, Frigga's enabling, family dysfunction, Asgard's toxic social/cultural norms) as well as the horror he experienced in the Void and on Sanctuary, maybe even some events in the first Avengers film, but seen through Loki's eyes this time. And I'd just want Loki to be queer, so if he's bi then let him have previous (or current!) relationships (or flirtations) with men (or attraction towards men) as well as women, if he's gender fluid then Show. That. Whether he physically transforms into a woman at times, or through his inner monologue where he refers to himself with different pronouns even if his gender presentation hasn't changed, or even his ambivalence towards being trapped/labeled in a one-gender-ticked-box, but Show. It. That part of his identity deserves to be shown, especially in a series where Loki's the central character.

If you yourself could’ve directed/wrote the Loki series, what would you have done differently? What would you have wanted to see in a series about Loki? What would you have focused on? Would the series take place somewhere other than the TVA? Which characters would you include? What would be the end goal? What aspects of his character would be explored?

[quitesins]

Pro Hero!Bakugou x Criminal!Reader 2

Masterlist | Part One

Tags: Sfw, Drabble?, Pro Hero!Bakugou, Criminal!Reader, Female!reader, Reader has short hair, reader’s hair can be carded through, Mentions of dried blood [in hair], this is kinda gross 😭

Another scenario in the same universe as this drabble, not chronologically linked but better to read the first one, since I forwent adding the contextualising details on this one…

“Can I take these?”

You’re in his office, twirling around some scissors he’s told you multiple times to put down already.

“So you can go out and gut someone in the street? Piss off.” Dynamight takes the scissors from you himself, setting them back on his desk like you won’t just grab it again.

“No.” You of course do reach out for the scissors. You’re hesitant to say why, the words coming out in murmur. “…wanna cut my hair.”

“What?” Dynamight prods.

You repeat yourself, sinking further into your clothes.

Dynamight stills where he’d been typing away, his head turns to give you a look over. He’d seen you so often in the past months, the growth of your hair snuck up on him too. But it is distinctly longer. Enough so that it pushes out your hoodie and curls around your cheeks. He could probably tuck it behind your ears if he wanted.

“It grew.” Dynamight says plainly.

“Yeah no shit.” You snatch the scissors quickly. Dynamight notes how visceral your reaction is. “So can I take them?”

“You just gonna hack at it?” His eyes don’t leave how tightly you hold onto the scissors, like it means something more than just a tool to get the hair out your face.

“Yeah, so?”

Dynamight presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek in thought. He sighs, having already made his decision.

“Sit down.” Up from his seat he ushers you to the one across his desk. You don’t listen, confused and wary. “I ain’t gonna get you, sit.”

You take seat, disliking that he now stands behind you. Your fingers are still harsh around the scissors so when he reaches out, he has to practically pry them before you remember to let go.

“Take your hood off.”

You turn and give him a scowl, but pull the hood down anyways. Your hair feels a mess and you’re scared it’s matted in the places you’ve let it grow too long. You wonder if Dynamight thinks you’re disgusting for it.

“Gonna touch your hair, aight?” Dynamight doesn’t sound anymore pissed than he normally does, the familiar gruffness comforting.

When his hands touch your hair, you sense it instantly. It’s uncomfortable and vulnerable and you feel stupid for even sitting down. Still, you let him inspect it, trying your best to show no weakness.

“You’ve got blood in it.”

“What?” You flip round too fast, before he can let go, so it tugs when you turn. You frown.

“Dumbass.” He snorts, showing you the dried blood that scratched off onto his fingers. “The fuck do you have blood in your hair for.”

Dynamight watches as your eyes shift in thought and worry.

“It’s not yours.” If it was, he’d drag you to the infirmary himself. Dynamight might not like you, but he is still a hero.

“I’m not sure.” You really aren’t. It could be anyone’s at this point. You just want it off. “Cut it.”

Dynamight scoffs and pushes the scissors so it slides further down his desk. You’ll have to get up if you want it. “Just wash it out. M’not ruining your hair over a little blood.”

“Stop touching it!” It’s a childish shriek when he pulls more from your hair. “It’s gross!”

“It’s in your hair.” Dynamight continues to comb it out, letting it fall to his office floor. You’ve seen him covered in blood and grime, soaked in it, but for some reason you feel embarrassed to let him touch the dirt form you. “Fucking nasty.”

You try to pull away but his large hand is on your shoulder. There’s something terrifying about how easily he keeps you in place.

It mildly hurts when Dynamight tugs at your hair, untangling the knots that you can hear come apart. You can tell he’s being gentle though, which makes you worry a little more.

It takes a few minutes for his fingers to be able to card through your hair. Not fully as you hiss when the smaller knots get caught, but his hands no longer pull your entire head when they move.

Dynamight lets out a contented hum, a weird sound that feels quietly smug, and pulls away to reach for some wipes on his desk. He throws you one and when it lands on your face he doesn’t hide his amusement.

“It’s a shower.” With his hands occupied, he uses his chin to nod to the second door in his office. “Get that shit out your hair.” He’s already walking over to the cupboard where he keeps his towels, not giving you chance to disagree. “I’ll cut it for you.”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up, you’re curious when you look up at him. “You know how to cut hair?” You look over his own. Through all his chaotic blonde spikes, it does somehow look uniform.

“Let someone else touch my shit? Fuck no.” Dynamight huffs like it’s something obvious and throws you the towel. He points to the bathroom door a final time. “Now, go.”

———

When you leave through the fire escape, dropping down to the shaded street below, your hair is much shorter, almost buzzed. It’s cold. But this time the biting air of winter feels like a blessing on your skin.

Was this mildly inspired by the fact I got a tiny bit of nail polish in my hair and it was a fucking chore to get out? No, of course not.

[arcanewhoosh]

The Weight (1/3)

3.3k words

Proofread? Y/N

Relevant Tags: Jinx x Reader, Post series finale, Canon compliantish, time skip, reader runs a port, alcohol consumption, original characters for interaction's sake, three shot hopefully

You were really hoping to have a chill day at work. Was your current predicament your own doing? Yes. Were you still going to complain about it anyway? Also yes. But while you were almost one hundred percent sure that you wouldn't have to run around putting out fires,--you prided yourself in fixing up how efficient the port was being run--an unexpected landing from a rogue airship ruins the peace and quiet you were hoping to have. You would've been pissed. On any other gods-given day, you would be incredibly pissed. But unfortunately for you, the pilot of the ship has you wrapped around her finger the second you lay eyes on her.

"BREAK. BREAK. PAPA MIKE THIS IS TRAFFIC CONTROL. DO YOU COPY?"

You groan, rubbing your temple as you reluctantly reach for your radio. You were praying for a slow day, your hangover from the previous night still glaringly in full swing, but alas, today just had to be the day an army of ships were going through the bay. You curse the ray of sunlight that hits you square in the face when you sit up in your chair, letting out a huff before pushing the call button.

"Ten-four. Traffic control this is Papa Mike. What's the situation? Over." The radio beeps as you let go of the call button, before it crackles back to life.

"PAPA MIKE WE HAVE AN UNAUTHORIZED AIRSHIP ON DOCK EIGHT. OVER." You pick up a copy of the manifest, eyeing schedules for the aforementioned dock. A red ink pen was used to overwrite Available on the manifest to Maintenance. Sighing, you stand up and head closer to the window to get a view of the dock. The radio beeps again.

"PAPA MIKE. STATUS?" You reach for the radio on the table, its coiled cable stretching out as you yank it with you towards the window. Yup, there's an airship there alright. Looks like it came from Piltover based on the design.

"Copy that Traffic Control. Affirmative on the unauthorized airship. Dock eight's supposed to be under maintenance. Over."

"COPY THAT, PAPA MIKE. WE'RE GONNA NEED YOU TO GO UP THERE AND CHECK THE SHIP. NEGATIVE RESPONSE ON SHIP'S RADIO. OVER."

"Huh?" You mutter to yourself, before pressing the call button again.

"Traffic Control why do I need to go up there? Over."

"PAPA MIKE WE HAVE NO AVAILABLE HANDS. THERE'S TOO MANY SHIPS COMING IN TO THE PORT TO CHECK ROGUE AIRSHIPS. OVER." Great, just great.

There had been a recent influx of visitors coming from all over. It had started with whispers of a war between Piltover and a Noxian fleet, and people were scrambling to get as far away from the city as possible. Something about Hex Gates being fought over, which was expected at some point, really. How could anyone just watch as Piltover create the scientific equivalent of teleportation, and not want a piece of that pie? You had your money on Piltover eventually falling, since there was no way a merchant city would have a chance again a Noxian army. Imagine your surprise when they did manage to win.

Then there were travelers headed towards Piltover. With the sudden decline in population, especially for workers, the city-state welcomed people with the promise of work and opportunity. You heard from somewhere that they were willing to give stipends depending on the work you'd be able to contribute. You were briefly tempted yourself, until you realized that Noxus might retaliate and cause more trouble.

Though regular ships were expected to show up at your docks, the influx of airships were a surprise. But you figured that Piltover airships were riding the coast instead of staying on land so they could avoid having to travel on Noxus territory entirely. From where you were standing, several stories high, you could see a long line of passenger and private vessels lining up to dock; looking a bit to your side, airships were also moored, rendering the port to near full capacity. Routine maintenance became frequent, just to make sure none of the sea and air docks would suddenly have stability issues.

All of the airships were lined up in a neat pile on their moors, except for that one rogue airship on dock eight. You frown as you shoot a glare its way.

On one hand, you could do your job, go up there and check out which Piltie decided to moor their airship there; this definitely wasn't the first time this has happened. On the other, just leave the ship be and ignore traffic control. You much prefer the second option, really. But that would get you fired, and you're not really looking forward to being fired. So you let out another groan as you lightly bang your forehead on the window. Of all the days I'd have to walk outside in the bright ass sun. You think yourself as you hit the call button.

"Ten-four traffic control. Wilco. Over and out." You toss the manifest onto your desk and hook the radio back up as you hear Traffic Control acknowledge you. You put on your sunglasses and put on your work jacket and cap, then down a cup of coffee before heading out the door.

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

"Take the job at the port, they said. They'll just make you haul stuff, they said."

Your face scrunches up in disdain as you walk along the air docks. The sun was especially bright today, and on any other day, you'd actually enjoy it. But today, with your head throbbing, and your stomach reminding you of your poor choices the previous night, you absolutely loathed that incessant ball of fire.

Dock eight was near the end of the platform, which meant a longer walk. The wind decided it was a good time to pick up and was whipping against your face; you hold on to your hat to stop it from flying off. You made a silent promise to punch whoever was the captain of the rogue ship. As you round the corner--a sign with the number eight painted on it and Under Maintenance right underneath it--you spot a cloaked figure trying to tie down the sides of their ship onto the platform.

"Hey, pal. You're not allowed to dock here." You pick up the pace--not by much due to your queasy stomach--as you approach the ship and grab one of the lines and tying it down. The ship's pilot--whose shoulders seemingly sag in relief once you're able to secure the vessel--is still turned away from you, trying to secure another line. You raise your voice to try and beat the loud whipping of the wind.

"Hey, did you hear me?!" The figure stands up straight and turns to you, her hood being blown off.

You see the most beautiful eyes you've ever seen in your life.

"What?!" She shouts back.

You try to say something, but end up stammering and unable to get any words out. Thankfully, the wind calms down, and you're able to think in relative peace even though your mind was still fogged by your hangover.

"Uhm, you can't dock here. This one's under maintenance." You point towards the sign behind you. She cranes her neck a bit to get a look behind you, her blue hair flowing effortlessly off her shoulder. She clocks the sign, then turns her eye back to you.

"Sorry, who are you?" She asks, an annoyed look crossing her face.

You're not usually snippy, but you're hungover, and this girl

had the audacity to ask who you were when she's the one illegally docking her ship on your port.

"Oh, silly me!" Feigning surprise, you have one hand on your chest, one taking off your hat in an exaggerated and flowy motion. "How incredibly rude of me--" your talk in a higher pitch than you usually do, committing to the bit you're pulling. "It looks like this says--" Your face drops, and you mirror the annoyed look this beautiful, audacious girl is sending you. "--Port Master." The tone of your voice is icier than you would have wanted it to be, and she winces at you. Wow, now you feel like a jerk.

"Look, I'm sorry." She puts her hands up, as show of peace. "I had to do an emergency landing. There's been something wrong with the engine--"

"You could've answered the radio transmission."

"Yeah, no. That's busted."

"How convenient." She takes a very deep breath at your deadpan responses. Even closing her eyes before exhaling--Holy shit she's gorgeous--and maintains her calm demeanor as she tries to explain herself.

"I'm really sorry. But I wouldn't just randomly dock if it wasn't an actual emergency." She points towards the engine at the back, and sure enough, a small plume of white smoke is emitting out of one of the propellers. Your brows furrow as you try to take a closer look at the engine. The smell of something burnt fills your nostrils, and the pain from the headache you're been trying to ignore increases.

"Go moor the ship and turn off the engine." You nod towards the mooring mast as you rub your temple. She shoots a curious look your way.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just moor the ship." You wave her off as you head to the radio box, opening the panel with a click, and flipping the switch to turn it on. The previously hollowed light turns green, and a low hum signals that it's functioning. You grab the microphone and push a button.

"Traffic Control, this is Papa Mike on dock eight. Do you copy? Over." The radio starts to cackle before a response. "TEN-FOUR PAPA MIKE. ANY NEWS ON THE STRAY DOCKING? OVER."

"Qualified emergency landing. We got engine trouble. Ten-seventy-eight, tug ship for hangar transport. Over."

"COPY THAT PAPA MIKE. TEN-TWENTY-THREE ETA FIFTEEN MINUTES. OVER."

"Ten-four. Over and out." You put down the microphone and let out a sigh.

"What'd they say?" You jump from the sudden voice coming from behind you, and you hit your hand on the panel door. You yelp as you try to shake out the pain from your hand.

"Fucking hell, when did you get there." She crosses her arms and shrugs.

"Literally while you were talking to your traffic control." You nod as you double over, the pain in your hand teaming up with your headache for an optimal terrible time. You don't notice her approach and lightly put her hand on your shoulder. "Hey, totally none of my business, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," You say quickly, straightening up and holding onto your still aching hand. "Just, super hungover." You wince as a few clouds part and the sun hits your face. "Fuck, anyway. We'll send a tug ship down to get you into the hangar. We can do an engine check there."

There's a surprised, confused look on her face. "I can't kick you out with a busted engine." You offer before she can ask. She still looks a bit confused and uneasy by the offer, but nevertheless mutters a Thanks before turning around and walking to her ship, you tentatively follow from behind. "You should get your valuables and some clothes. We can let you into the hangar to fix the engine, but you can't sleep there. There's a good selection of places to stay down at the town, in the meantime." You stay behind as she disappears into her ship.

She pops back out a few minutes later, having doffed her coat. Your eyes immediately catch the tattoos peeking out from her sleeve. She raises an eyebrow at you, a smirk playing on her lips, before tossing you a vial.

"What's this?" You ask, popping the cork, and mistakenly taking a whiff of its contents. You cough from the smell.

"Hangover cure." She says as she walks past you, checking over her lines on the cleats of the dock. You debate whether or not you should drink something this total stranger just handed you. Unfortunately, pretty privilege is a thing that exists, and you're only human. So you down the contents of the vial, and you stop yourself from gagging from the oily feel of the liquid.

"Woah, hey! You're supposed to rub it on your forehead!"

"I was supposed to what?" She grabs the vial from your and checks how much is left, before looking at your horrified expression. She looks at you with concern, then back at the vial, then back at you, before snorting.

"I'm sorry, I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're supposed to drink it."  She tips the vial over and spills what's left of it into her mouth. You try not to pay too much attention to her sharp jaw or the way the muscles on her neck move when she swallows. "See. It tastes like ass, but it works."

"What's even in it?" You ask as you hand her the cork. She shrugs.

"You're better off not knowing."

"Great."

You're about to ask her how she ended up in your port, but the tug ship comes into view, and the radio box starts to ring. You excuse yourself to walk back to answer.

"DOCK EIGHT THIS IS TANGO-SIERRA-ONE RECEIVED TEN-TWENTY-THREE REQUEST. CONFIRMATION FOR ASSISTANCE? OVER."

"Tango-Sierra-One this is dock eight. Ten-four on the assist. We need to get this ship to the hangar for an engine check. Over."

"COPY THAT. CLEAR IMMEDIATE AREA FOR LINE DEPLOYMENT. OVER." The tug ship starts to hover above the Piltover ship. It's much larger propellers kicking up a wind and dust.

"Hey! Get over here. They're gonna deploy lines." You beckon the girl over, and push the call button on the radio. "All clear!"

You hear a ten-four come from the ship, as lines come down from its side, lowering down to the side of the smaller ship.

"LINES DEPLOYED. TANGO-SIERRA-ONE TEN-TWENTY-THREE FOR ATTACHMENT. OVER."

"Ten-four. Over." The blue haired girl is on her tip toes trying to look over your shoulders.

"That means they're standing by while we attach the lines, right?" She asks. You mutter an affirmative before the both of you move to attach lines to the sides of the ship. You start untying the lines on the cleats, and instruct her to unmoor.

"I'll have to hitch a ride with you to the hangar." You say as you wrap her ship lines and put them away.

"Aye aye, Port Master." She gives you a mock salute as she heads to the mooring mast, and you head over to the radio box.

"Tango-Sierra-One radio on ship is ten-seven. Lift off at T-minus five minutes. Over and out." You wait for the tug ship's confirmation before switching off the radio and closing the panel, signaling for your companion to board the ship. "We got five minutes before they start lifting the ship." She nods and gestures for you to head inside.

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

"Right," You start, taking off your hat and jacket. "The hangar we don't usually rent out, but in cases of emergencies like this, you can use it but you still have to pay the port fees. It's usually double, but I'll waive it since that hangover cure is actually working."

"Covered dock where I can repair my ship and I pay the same fee as the schmucks outside? Sounds like a steal to me." She says as she takes your things and sets them down a chair. "You give discounts to all the girls with engine trouble?" The desk on the side of the ship creaks as she leans on it. She's got a mischievous glint in her eye, and with your hangover gone, you're more willing to bite.

"Only the one's that give me their name." You say as you walk over. You're momentarily distracted when you see a map on the wall, a chartered course written over it. She looks behind her to see what's suddenly got your attention. You tap the part where Piltover and Zaun are located. "You're a long way from home."

"Who says I'm from Piltover?" She crosses her arms, giving you a challenging look. Those goddamn eyes.

"Your ship screams Piltover."

"Really?"

"It's obvious you made a few modifications, but yeah, it's pretty obvious." You chuckle as you point at the interior of the ship, clearly made for aesthetic more than utility. "Even the inside." She lets out a huff, and starts a rant about changing the interior when she gets the chance.

The ship suddenly lurches, and you're both thrown off balance as the tug ship begins its ascent. You recover first, steadying yourself on the desk then grabbing her by the waist and pulling her over to the desk as well. One of her hands grabs onto your shoulder when you reach for her, and the other onto the desk so she can steady herself. When the ship rocks to the side, she ends up pulling you along with her, and you end up unintentionally pinning her to the desk. Your faces suddenly a few inches apart. Mercifully--or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it--the tug ship is able to do a successful ascent, and the ship stops moving. You lock eyes, and you see panic, then surprise, then amusement come across her face.

"Definitely don't get this from other ports." Her eyes flit to your lips for a moment before they meet your eyes again. You proactively take a step back, trying to salvage some ounce of professionalism. Playful banter was one thing, pinning someone to their desk was something else entirely.

"Sorry," You manage. "I definitely don't do… that with other pilots here, trust me." You dust yourself off and start picking up stuff that had fallen off the desk. She seems to take the hint and fixes up the desk.

"So where are you headed after port?" You try your best to not sound nosy as you gather a few fallen pencils and stack them back into a cup, with neon drawings on it.

"Haven't really thought about it, I usually go wherever I feel like it." She points towards the map again, and the scattered course is enough to confirm her statement. You ask her about the places she's been to, mostly coastal cities, save from Piltover itself. Following the same patterns most Piltover ships use that avoid Noxian ports. Better safe than sorry, you guess.

Eventually, you start to see the hangar come into view, and you tell her to brace herself for the landing. You grab her arm when she loses her balance again, making sure to keep a respectable distance. Once a crew member comes into view of the window and throws an okay signal, the both of you exit the ship. You set off for the engine, and she follows with a tool box in tow.

"I have a guess on what could be wrong." She says as she opens up the back panel of the ship. "I'm pretty sure I have a blown gasket."

"I was thinking a cracked engine block." She gives you a look and you shrug. "Just a guess."

She grins at your response. "Wanna make a bet." She turns to the engine and starts unscrewing the outer parts.

"Sure. Always in the mood to be right." You can hear the snort coming from inside the engine.

"Loser buys the winner drinks. Anywhere they want."

"Deal."

"Get ready to lose money later then, I guess." You move to help her remove parts of the engine, which were thankfully cool enough to handle. Then, once you've both gotten most of the attachments unclasped or unscrewed, you roll an engine hoist over to remove the entire engine from the ship. "Ready to be disappointed?" She asks. You send her a cheeky smile.

"Wait." She stops short of lifting one of the covers.

"What, cold feet?"

You scoff. "No, you never told me your name."

She blinks, clearly not expecting the question. She looks off to the side, seemingly debating whether or not she should tell you. Not that she needs to, really, since you have to make her sign a manifest anyway. But you'd prefer if she told you herself.

"Powder." She starts. "My name is Powder." You crack a smile and introduce yourself.

"Powder." You test the name on your lips. It suits her. An unusual name, sure, but you've heard stranger ones.

"Nice to meet you, Powder. Ready to lose?"

"Not on your best day."

[woozisguitar]

my loooove congrats on your milestone omgg 🤧❤ also i'd lay my soul down on the road for a jun fic from you sjksjk. i still think about the way you put ttpd for jun in your svt as ttpd songs IT SUITS HIM SO WELL. so maybe something inspired by that? a fic, a drabble, or just even how you think he fits the elements of the song in general. honestly, you can do anything you like you have the full freedom to be creative ofc <3

congrats againnn i'm so happy for you 😭💕 also feel free to ditch the fic if you're not up for it, it's totally okay ml <333

esa my loveee 💕💕💕💕💕 thank you so much!! the fact you remember I put ttpd for jun I rlly hope you like it!! sorry it took a while jshdlj love you and thank you again 😭😭 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

requests for 200 celebration post: open (but slow updates!)

warning: kinda angsty and long, sorry 😞 BUT its a happy ending dw

You left your typewriter at my apartment Straight from the Tortured Poets Department I think some things I never say Like, "Who uses typewriters anyway?"

when you first met junhui, you found him to be a little… weird. there was no better way to put it other than this, and he was not weird in a bad way. sort of eccentric rather? or maybe reserved? this was in the third year of university, in a creative writing class. with no other seat remaining, you took one next to him. you tried to smile and make pleasantries, an attempt to make a friend in the literature department as this was your only english class. now that you think about it, perhaps it wasn't just junhui, because the professor decided to call this class of 30-some students “the tortured poets department,” and assigned the semester project, which was writing a short book of poems about the person next to you, who was also your now-assigned partner. that was the first time junhui spoke to you. a simple hello and introduction, an attempt to make acquaintance with the person he was going to spend the next few months writing about. over time, you found that junhui had rather a … peculiar sense of humor. he liked cats and often resorted to using only cat memes in conversations. he liked spicy food, albeit his tolerance was not that high. oh! and he owned a typewriter and his only explanation ever was ‘i'm a writer and this is the most efficient tool,’ with an expression as blank as the paper he was writing on. you teased him ever so often, asking the rhetorical question, ‘who uses typewriters anyways?’ throwing a small teasing smile in his direction which he bashfully returned.

But you're in self-sabotage mode Throwing spikes down on the road But I've seen this episode and still loved the show Who else decodes you?

during a discussion lecture about franz kafka, you discovered junhui might have more underlying layers compared to what he tells people. he would often point at a self-criticizing quote or excerpt and joke that it was about him. but his eyes often told a different story. he also had… days when he’d disappear and his only answer was he had to get the inspiration out of his head and on paper. over time, you got used to this, the sudden disappearance, the sometimes concerning jokes, all of it. and you still stayed by his side as a friend. it wasn't uncommon for the professors and class members to ask you about junhui’s absence and what surprised you more was that you knew exactly where he’d be.. 

And who's gonna hold you like me? And who's gonna know you, if not me? I laughed in your face and said "You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots"

this friendship with junhui eventually blurred into something more. it wasn’t lovers, not yet, but it also wasn’t just friends. you’d discuss philosophies and arts beyond the confines of the project and class. no, he was slowly taking the place of the closest person in your life, your best friend. and you liked to believe you did for him too. junhui would often talk about making it big as a writer, meeting big names at even bigger venues. you’d often laugh at his dramatics and found them endearing. 

but now, years after not hearing from him, you knew he made it big. you read all his books, hell, you even have copies in your library but you’d always deny if asked. ‘we aren’t who we want to be. nor are we in a place where we should be. we’re modern idiots, that’s all,’ is what he said before he left your apartment and that was the last you heard from him. none of your tears, crying, begging could stop him at that moment. looking back, the only trace of his existence, apart from the wounds on your heart, was the stupid typewriter snow globe he got you.

And who's gonna hold you like me? Nobody No-fucking-body Nobody

so you let him go. despite your hurt, you knew you had to let him go. that was the only way he'd realize no one could love him, hold him, know him like you. you went to class the next day and found that junhui had shifted to finishing his semester online. he already had the credits to graduate, all he had to do was sit through the last week of this semester. your professor asked if you’d like to submit your part of the book and present alone, to which you agreed. this set of poems was, after all, evidence that what you felt for him was real. the junhui you knew was real.

You smoked, then ate seven bars of chocolate We declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist I scratch your head, you fall asleep Like a tattooed golden retriever

the absence of his presence haunted you like the echo of a poem you never wrote. you tried to live your life normally, walking past the old shops and stores, allowing yourself to indulge in the memories of junhui once in a while. like the convenience store outside which you dared him to eat seven bars of chocolate in one go, or the alleyway where you and him tried your first cigarette, and immediately regretting it, making you giggle quietly to yourself in the dead of night. you adopted a cat, sylvie, in hopes to distract yourself, but that ended up being a terrible plan because she reminded you of him in every possible way. she would fall asleep the same way junhui would in your lap. petting her was the closest new equivalent of scratching his head as he slept.

But you awaken with dread Pounding nails in your head But I've read this one where you come undone I chose this cyclone with you

things weren't working out for junhui either. ever since he left you, he convinced himself it was for the best. he knew about his tendencies, his weird habits and attributes, and he also knew you'd accept him, flaws and all. and while he had made peace with the idea of sabotaging himself, he would rather die than let anything hurt you, even himself. he convinced himself, in a true poetic fashion, that leaving you meant he would never be able to hurt you ever again and you won’t have to deal with any of his tendencies. ever since then, he would often wake up in sweat, remnants of a nightmare and faint outlines of your figure still prominent when he’d close his eyes. he would see his books, his poems, come to life in these dreams starring you as the main character. on some nights, the memories with you would plague his mind and feel like nails pounding in the forefront of his skull. but junhui’s conviction and love for you outweighed everything else. even if he knew this would kill him, this heartbreak, he would still endure it because it had you written all over it.

And who's gonna hold you like me? (Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?) And who's gonna know you like me? (Who's gonna know you?)

so he wrote. and he wrote. till his brain was filled with letters and every waking moment felt the need to be penned down in his diary. he thought that maybe if he made it big, he would go back to you and tell you proudly that he did it. he would finally be able to confess his feelings and emotions rather than using words as camouflage. he wouldn't be a modern idiot trying to find his place in this world. he would be your idiot. just yours. he knew, in the back of his mind, the chances of you still feeling the same as him were slim to none, but he still convinced himself that he had to do this for you. during his first book release, he spent the entire tour and interview, looking for you in every face. when questioned about his dedication, ‘to the one I’d always leave my typewriter with,’ he would simply laugh and say it was an inside joke and the person he’s dedicating this book to would know. 

but years passed and you never reached out. when junhui tried to visit you at your old university, he found that you moved after graduation and severed contact with everyone. he tried calling, texting, letters to your parent’s home, all of it but you never responded. he visited every single place in this world that could have a tie to you and searched, but alas he could not find you. when he returned, he was about to give up hope to ever find you again and accept his fate. that’s when he saw you, standing against the railing overlooking the park lake. you looked exactly as he remembered you, and for a second he was transported back to your apartment. you hadn't noticed him looking at you yet, and he basked in your presence from afar for a moment. but you looked up and your eyes met his.

I laughed in your face and said "You're not Dylan Thomas, I'm not Patti Smith This ain't the Chelsea Hotel, we're modern idiots" And who's gonna hold you like me? (Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?)

for the first time in years, junhui braved up, put on his smile, and walked towards you. with each step, he could feel his heart pounding so hard he could hear it in his ears. when he reached you his first thought was that he was wrong. he should never have left. he had everything he could've asked for but he didn’t have you and everything else felt like dust without you. and that you were much, much more beautiful than when he left. when he met your eyes, he saw swirls of sadness, anger, but he also liked to believe he saw hints of love.

“hi,” he squeaked out, “i’ve been looking for you.”

“i know. my parents called to tell me about the letters,” you said, guarding your face devoid of any expression, crossing your arms in front of you, “why reach out now junhui?”

“i was wrong. all those years ago, i was wrong. i shouldn’t have left. ever. you were the only person in this entire fucking world who saw me, my bestest friend. and… and i just left you,” he finished, breathless.

No-fucking-body (Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you?) Nobody (Who's gonna hold you? Gonna know you? Gonna troll you?) Nobody

“yeah you did. you left me all alone for years junhui. who exactly do you think you are? you’re not franz kafka and i’m not milena jesenská. i don’t care what messed up idea of love you have in your mind, but i am willing to love you. i will always be willing to love you. i don’t care how much it will ruin me in the process, i know you’ll save me in the end, because we are y/n and junhui. we make our own story. let me rescue you this time, junhui,” you ended with the quote, tears brimming your eyes.

“letters to milena,” he breathed out, “you read kafka? you hated his works. always complained that they were too sad and depressing.”

“you liked them though. i did everything i could to feel closer to you. i even have that stupid typewriter snowglobe you got me,” you giggled, wiping the corner of your eyes.

junhui wiped his own eyes, smiling at you fondly.

“so, mr. writer, do you want to follow the steps of the ones who came before you or are we writing our own story where i finally get to hold you forever? there’s also space for a new typewriter in my apartment, you know.”

junhui laughed, wiping his tears and nodded, “yeah, fuck the poets. let’s be modern idiots and write our own story.” junhui kissed you for the first time that night, against the lake with the moon shining bright above you, in a true poetic fashion.

Sometimes, I wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me But you told Lucy you'd kill yourself if I ever leave And I had said that to Jack about you, so I felt seen Everyone we know understands why it's meant to be, ‘cause we're crazy So tell me, who else is gonna know me? At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger And put it on the one people put wedding rings on And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding Who's gonna hold you? (Who?) Me Who's gonna know you? (Who?)Me

“i know it’s too early to say this now,” junhui started as the two of you lay wrapped up in bed in the comfort of your apartment, his fingers drawing patterns on the ring finger of your left hand, “but i will put a ring on this finger someday. i think i’ll die if you leave again.” you giggled at his promise and kissed his nose. “i think i would die too, so i guess it’s a good thing i don’t ever plan on leaving,” you wrapped your arms around his frame, snuggling closer to him. junhui hummed, his heart content for once in his life.

Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you? Who's gonna hold you? Gonna know you? Gonna troll you?

“everyone probably thinks we’re crazy,” you said after a moment of silence.

“i guess but they don’t know us like us, so there’s that,” he said, his voice drifting off, “as long as i’m holding you, i don’t really care about the people now.”

You left your typewriter at my apartment Straight from the Tortured Poets Department Who else decodes you?

with his typewriter sitting in the corner of your living room, you knew your life with him was now for the better. he was still a tortured poet for the world, but at the end of the day, it was still you who could decode him. no one else.

a/n: the cat being called slyvie is a reference to Sylvia Plath (sorry im a nerd like that 😔)

[l-in-the-light]

I'm just gonna leave it here lol. Come on, Zoro can be pretty dumb, that's the point of it. Always has been. You think Zoro even noticed he chomped down some razorblades? Ofc he didn't! It was just some crunchy food for him. And he's too airheaded to realize only his lunchbox had anything crunchy in it lol. There's a reason why Luffy and Zoro are besties, and that reason is: they're both kinda dumb. Personally, it only makes me like them more.

But if anyone wants to go serious route here, I think we should instead ask this question: what made Zoro this way? Is he so used to eat trash to survive that a bit of poison and inedible things don't affect him all that much anymore? When we look at Zoro's backstory we can realize that he was pretty much always alone. No family, always training. Like sure, he had the dojo, but he didn't think they're his family or at least we never see anyone treat Zoro this way or him addressing them as family. He called Kouzaburo just "some old guy". No one told him they're all probably relatives either (we know thanks to SBS that they, in fact, are somewhat related). Zoro lost his parents and was on his own ever since (his father died fighting against pirates, his mom was a bandit and died of illness). How did he find the dojo, what did he do to survive before they took him in? Let's not forget Zoro was always full of pride and very stubborn. I doubt descendants of samurais would just tell him "we need to take you in, otherwise you will starve". Maybe they told him instead that they will take him in only if he promises to train (because he has potential), so in exchange he tried to be good with swords, so he can somewhat repay them for their kindness and care. Like to show their efforts to train him didn't go to waste.

Anyway, my point is, Zoro at some point in childhood might have also learned how it's like to be starving what a coincidence, it's like with Sanji huh. Luffy also knows that feeling, when Garp left him in the jungle alone and told him he needs to survive by himself. He had to try out things to eat if he didn't want to die of hunger. We can laugh that Luffy is so stupid that he's eating any mushrooms he finds, but that's probably something he learned as a kid to do to survive. So I bet Zoro, who can eat any trash you give him, is also showing us he didn't have an easy time as a child.

Disclaimer of sorts: And before anyone protests that only Sanji is allowed to have a starvation as a theme in his backstory, otherwise it won't be unique anymore, I dunno, what about Nami (who lived in poverty and at times had to survive on tangerines alone), Usopp (what did he eat after his mom passed away? who took care of him?), Chopper (yeah, he kinda ate a devil fruit because he was hungry and somehow assumed that looks edible huh), Robin (lately it's been revealed how she had to eat from trash to survive) and outside Strawhats, what about Law? After he got out of Flevance and before he joined Donquixotes, he had to survive somehow. The only possible way he could have done that is by living on the streets and by eating trash or stealing. There's a lot of starving kids in One Piece, that theme is not exclusive to Sanji, but it also doesn't make it any less special. Sanji himself is what made it actually special; by vowing he will feed all the starving ones, no matter what troubles it will bring him, no matter if someone he feeds has bad intentions or might be a bad person. He's not letting anyone starve and nothing is ever gonna make him regret feeding people, even if they try to harm him instead of showing gratitude. That's what's truly special about Sanji's backstory, the starvation bit is just allowing him to relate to starving people more. You can say all you want about Germa, but Judge didn't starve his son, and ever since he left his family Sanji worked on the cruise ship and didn't really experience hunger either.

The Razor Blade scene: Character assassination, a joke, or something else?

I've been seeing people discuss two small scenes connected to each other post Fishman Island and in Punk Hazard, the first where the two are bickering and they say this:

And a scene in Punk Hazard where Sanji packed lunches for Luffy, Zoro, Robin, and Usopp and Zoro is making "crunching" noises in the panel, and Oda reveals in an SBS that Sanji did actually put razor blades and poison in Zoro's food:

I have seen claims of character assassination in this scene for Sanji, considering his position on food being something everyone has a right to and his refusal in Whole Cake Island to put poison in the cake they plan to give to Big Mom:

I understand that comparing the two scenes, it does look like Sanji is abandoning his ideals just to get back at Zoro in their fight. But we need to look at both what Oda is saying in the SBS and also Zoro and Sanji's relationship to understand this scene, and why I don't believe this breaks Sanji's character or his ideals.

In the SBS, Oda ends the answer with "The serious nature of their fight is what makes it interesting." Going back one panel and seeing what triggered this fight:

It was Zoro being a lil shit and calling Sanji "Nosebleed-kun." That's to say, this fight is no more serious than their usual bickering, and Oda is making fun of that. Ultimately, this scene and the lunchboxes is a running joke, so that is one thing to keep in mind is that the scene, and Sanji by extension, is not serious about this fight. Of course, jokes are not immune to committing mischaracterization, so we have to look at their relationship too to make sense of it fully.

So why did Sanji actually put poison and razor blades in Zoro's food if he believes that poison shouldn't be used in food? I think at the end of the day, we have to remember that Sanji would never hurt anyone through food, especially the ones he cares about. And he does care about Zoro, it is shown time and time again that they watch out for and care for each other, from Long Ring Long Land, to Thriller Bark and Saoboady, and in Wano. My point is that Sanji knows that Zoro is a freak of nature and wouldn't actually be hurt by the razor blades or the poison, and that he would finish the food.

Zoro actually eats the damn food and literally says nothing about it, Oda didn't even think people would catch this it was such a small detail, but it's one I really like. One because, honestly, it is a funny joke to me, but also it shows a level of trust and understanding of each other? Sanji knows that Zoro is such a brute that he can just fucking. Chomp on metal (which. you know he does on the regular anyways LMAO) and have a little bit of poison go through him and he's literally fine. This is no worse to me than Sanji kicking him. And Zoro just accepting what he's been given, literally no complaints, and he finishes the food and doesn't waste it, because he DOES respect what Sanji does for him and the crew on a daily basis.

Ultimately, the difference in this scene and in Whole Cake Island is that Sanji KNOWS that he isn't actually gonna hurt Zoro by pulling this on him, hes looking to call Zoro on his taunt and be an annoying brat back to him. Bege is seriously asking him to kill Big Mom through the food that he makes, something that's on a completely different level then him pulling a prank on Zoro. The razor blade joke no different in this scene as well in Wano:

I don't think this is out of character for Sanji, it is their usual pettiness on full display, but also serves as a nice small detail into how they understand and trust each other.

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[spoilers below cut

All bets are in! And ah yes, a meme episode for the meme show. Feels fitting, very on-brand! (no, don't mind the drama/thriller/horror stuff lol)

(the following is my live reaction:)

LOOK HOW PRETTY THIS IS!

can we PLEASE have more episodes at night just to have the Castle glow like this? I'm on my knees, begging. PLEASE

okay okay, I need a live wallpaper of the Showgrounds with the Castle, rollercoaster, and Ferris Wheel lit up. And little fireworks, dude.

THIS is why I want the Showgrounds just to be like a carnival with all the rides and stuff. It would be so fun.

ANYWAY AY it really is a new year's special, in a sense

So much really did happen this year and also Mr Puzzles mention

[*points at the Crew*] therapy, for all of you. now.

And Meggy, don't jinx it or he's gonna come back (actually please do)

whelp, that was a great episode :)

[*record scratch*] nvm, time for memes

thanks Mario

"I yearned for the mines" god it gave me flashbacks of when that line came up during the sonic 3 previews

that is very sibling energy trust (me ← oldest sibling)

😨 this is terrifying omg i think it took some years out of me

it's actually very sweet to have Mario and Luigi's brotherly moments here 💙

mario you could've just get yourself high dude

also, should've told me, let me get a drink real quick

they do be scheming

well there you go, i got my dose of sonic

WHERE ARE YOUR SUBTITLES? /ref

"what's this guys f****in problem??" 4 is just a silly guy :)

sorry Mario but duty calls for the meme guardian [*floats away*]

PFFT he does make those noises haha

just love how Mario's way of texting is just "look at dis! :D"

oh hey, that's 3 & 4's car from the "SMG4 Kids" episode

if this is a callback to that episode, respect 👍

YES please Mario we gotta have 3 in the new year's event

LOOK AT THEM 🥺

"...master." JUBJUB?! ...well shoot I guess to make the best memes, we need to get high (or the equivalent of a fever dream)

can we just take a moment to appreciate this?

also chris and swag drinking, i get it (gonna join you guys)

are you winning, Mario? hmm, "Find the Luigi or DIE!!!"

ok but like why have it set up to A BOMB?!

even Clench gets a small cameo

YEAH 3 did it!!!

...WHAT DO YOU MEAN THAT DOESN'T COUNT? [*puts on lawyer glasses*] it said "Find the Luigi or DIE!!!", it didn't say "Find the Luigi in this meme or DIE!!!" therefore, 3 isn't technically wrong here

"but it said 'the Luigi'" in the SMG4 universe, it's entirely possible to have clones, especially for Luigi

anyway time to explode :D

Congrats to windrxx for your art being featured in the end credits! 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

I actually don't mind the whole "Mario Reacts passing as a regular episode" thing this time, we gotta end the year on a silly note. And what better way to do it than reviewing memes with Mario and the Crew!! Always appreciate the sillies 💙

So, to anyone from the Team who just happens to see this, in the holiday spirit: THANK YOU for another year of SMG4!!! it's been a fantastic journey as a viewer since 2014 and I can't wait to see what y'all have next. Keep up with the improvement and get yourselves a well-deserved break!!!

...still onto you for the foreshadowing, you ain't slick! when i get you Team when I get you- /silly

And to the fandom, it's been an honor to be a part of it. As a theorist, a writer, a reviewer. And I've enjoyed all the art, fics, animations, everything from you guys, so creative. I'll see you on the other side, onwards to 2025!!!

[violetsastrocytes]

unhinged regulus (my fave)

hey hello i thought i'd quickly talk about regulus in my lotss fic... i feel like people are gonna have problems with him—so here's some musings/ramblings etc!

so i really enjoy the idea of exploring human nature, and to me this means a flawed character. in lotss regulus is not a good person. there's good in him, sure, but on the whole he's morally corrupt and has a detrimental fuck-it-we-ball attitude. he relishes in destruction and indulges in his volatility. like he persuaded sirius to literally bind them together with a potentially fatal and 100% illegal spell at ten fucking years old, because he was like whelp. i'm gonna miss you when you go to highschool. and he's manipulative as shit, because sirius was like oh yeah, horcruxes, solid plan, and then does it.

regulus joins the army, yes to protect sirius, yes so sirius doesn't have to, but he would've joined anyway. he LOVES the power it gives him. he finds murdering fun. genuinely fun. he likes to tease his victims, he likes to draw their death out, he thinks it's hilarious when they cry and beg. and sure, okay, these are unambiuously bad people, veela traffickers etc, reg doesn't feel this way when he's on the battlefield and it's basically soldiers just like him. but still, it does take a certain character to not only carry out, but relish in murder.

i took a lot of inspiration for his and General Riddle's relationship from Silko and Jinx (from Arcane). i thought that dynamic was the best ever, like here are two hurt, damaged, chaotic and morally deranged people. they enable each other, they care for each other (genuinely). i'm obsessed with Arcane so think about it way too much, but Silko's last words to Jinx "you're perfect" make me wanna scream. because to him she is. that's what a daughter is to a father—a true father. flawed and tainted and morally ugly, blood all over her hands—but she is still his daughter, he forgives her, he loves her. despite, because of, regardless.

anyway my whole point with this ramble—i feel like lots of marauders fics ive read ultimately try and either validate, justify or redeem a character's unjust actions or corrupt nature. that's totally valid obviously, but that's not what i've done in lotss. regulus never regrets his behaviour, even when it ends up costing him someone he really, really loves. even then he continues to do it, he continues to enjoy it. he never has any big revelation and goes fuck. i messed up.

and general riddle—we've seen him manipulate, coerce and trap nagini. so we're against him. but then we see him from regulus' pov—who admires and trusts him—and he seems like a nice guy. so then we're like okay, is he a dick or is he nice? but isn't everyone both sides of that coin?

i really tried to show that while, on the whole, he's an upstanding leader, fighting for good causes (and is non-discriminative: there's a vast and inclusive representation of genders and races in the death eater army, something which is notably absent from the ministry-affiliated order and bmaf) even then riddle's hungry for more power. he wants to experiment and test the limits of his magic. my whole moral of the story thing with lotss is that power corrupts. there is NO GOOD SIDE. i'll say it again: no one wins in war.

like that line in hotd, where alicent says wtf are we even fighting for anymore? and rhaenyra is like lol idk. i was reading about the vietnam war recently: america and australia sent all those men in, then realised they were being fucking decimated and were like, oh fuck, and pulled them out again. thousands dead. literally for fucking what. anyway, all that to say: i'm not trying to use a character (regulus) who is generally well-liked by the fandom in order to try and justify or advocate for violence. his behaviour is just me experimenting with another way trauma can play out, like don't forget the circumstances of his birth, or the fact that he had to watch sirius being abused. sirius' magic was tested by orion to the point where he almost died multiple times. it effected sirius one way, it effected regulus another.

anyway! it's a story loves, not meant to be serious xo as i said before, take it all with a pinch of salt. and if you happen to watch arcane, tell me so we can try about it together!

[thevoidstaredback]

It's dark outside, just after dusk when the lamps are still lighting themselves, and the world can't yet decide if it's dark or light.

There's very few people out, some walking dogs that you get to pet, others driving cars that splash in puddles leftover from an earlier rain. None of this bothers you, it never has. The city's always like this; quiet, serine, dull and bright all at once.

You pass by an alleyway, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of your footsteps sound loud in the space between buildings, echoed from the darkness. You pause

"Pst!" I call out, the dim light from a nearby lamppost glaring off my glasses. I step closer to you, only by a half step. You take a full step away, though you don't run.

I watch the street cautiously, not fully leaving the confines of the alley between skyscrapers. I beckon you over. When you don't come closer, I allow myself another step closer. You don't move.

I open my overcoat, the lavender seeming much darker in the setting. I lock eyes with you. "You wanna know the ending to story I've only told you about once before?"

You shake your head, and keep walking. I slink back into the shadows.

You hesitate for a moment before ultimately agreeing. This time, when I motion you closer, you come.

With another look around, I reach into the inner pocket of my coat. Quickly, I pull out a single piece of folded paper and shove it into your hands. Before you can say anything, I disappear back into the shadows. You look after me, but I am no longer there.

You hold the folded paper in both hands and away from your body, staring at it for a long moment. The edges are burned, and it's crinkled like it's been crumbled into a ball.

Opening the note, you find the ink is completely unmarred, though the handwriting is a bit messy. It reads:

Marco watched the wooden box get lowered into the hole in the ground. Gently, he held the same thing that had brought him and the others back the first time in his fist. As he turned to leave the grieving pirates, he thought about the consequences of his actions. Every time someone goes back, at least one thing is different then it was in the first timeline. A thought struck him. What if he could choose the differences? What if the fate of the brothers played to his plan? Like a game of poker, he could deal the cards. If he played his cards right, then he'd place the winning hand in the end. He could save Ace. He could save Luffy. He could save everyone! He just had to deal the cards. Marco flew off in his phoenix form to a secluded part of the island and recited the same words Luffy had not so long ago. ‘This time,’ he resolved himself as he was engulfed in a bright light, ‘I’ll do it right.’ And then he was gone. End Book One

The paper starts to smolder as you read, turning itself to ashes in your hands by the time you finish. Like sand being scooped by a fork, the ash falls from your hands and is carried off by the winds.

You look for street signs or landmarks, trying to commit this alley to memory. Perhaps, you think, I may be around again to give you more stories, more things to occupy your mind with; to pull you from reality. And, who knows? Maybe I will be

[dollypopup]

I get why people would think it but

Colin is NOT a rake. Colin is a young man trying to figure out his identity and what he likes sexually and trying to understand what the men of his society talk about and do. He's not out here messing around with women just to string them along and then leave them. He's trying to fit in and has been made fun of for being a virgin so yeah, he rectifies that by having sex, but just because he slept with a few women, that doesn't make him a rake? You wanna know who an actual rake in the series is?

Fife.

Because what the fuck happened to Miss Goring? I think about her sometimes and my heart aches for her. Her first season out, she's an 18 year old woman, and an older, titled man of her society who she assumes to be a proper gentleman makes her believe their relationship can actually be something, messes around with her the entire season, and then fucks her in a linen closet at a ball only to....what? Come back the next year with absolutely no mention of her whatsoever. Did she get pregnant? Was sent off in disgrace? Have to marry someone else?

Fife is a 30 year old man who has a bad habit of hounding after young, vulnerable women in his society. He fucks them and leaves them. He's a rake. Colin? Colin is not even close to that. Say what you will about the brothel scenes, but that IS the responsible place for a man of his time to go to for sex. Please stop demonizing sex work. Yes, many of these women are in that line of work because of less than savory reasons, but Colin is not taking advantage of them. He is paying for a service and they are providing that service. It is transactional, and he is the LEAST of their concerns in terms of clientele. A kind, handsome man who pays well and is discrete? Yeah, they're fine with him.

Colin has a history of respecting women. He respected Marina all throughout their courtship, and even after. I know some people sneer at him coming to see Marina, but please keep in mind she is a woman on her own who married a stranger far away from ANYONE who knew her. Colin was worried about Daphne when she came to him, asking if anything happened when she was away and clearly ready to fight for her, so of course he's worried about Marina. Partly he visits her for his own closure, but also like....y'all that's a WELLNESS visit. He's concerned that she's unhappy, but ultimately leaves because she's not hurt and that she tells him to. Colin listens to 'no' from the women around him. He asks for permission from them. He waited for Penelope's consent sexually, but he also didn't even get into the carriage until she allowed him. He even asks "Please, let me in".

Colin lives in a time when women do not have many rights, and he listens to the women around him even more than the men. He is the only one of his siblings to ask for his mum's advice and immediately takes it and takes action. He brings Eloise back a feminist text from his travels, even after she's besmirched as a radical, because he supports her pursuits. In season 2, he also knew of her going to the printers and didn't say anything. He has always respected and cared for Penelope. He hasn't insulted a single woman in his vicinity. He doesn't make the women he flirts with feel bad about themselves, or feel less, but compliments them, all whilst keeping respectable distance so as not to make them think he's interested in marrying them. He doesn't dance with any woman but Penelope in that season.

Colin isn't a rake. He's not a fuckboy. He's trying to act like he is, emulating the circle of his society, but that doesn't mean he is. I swear people just WANT to misinterpret him because that's the easiest way, but Colin is a character who doesn't lend well to surface level readings. He's a nuanced, gentle hearted character who has been looked down on for his sensitivity. He's a deeply relatable person because who of us haven't pretended to be accepted? Especially if we've been bullied or excluded. I know I have. Put on a persona for the sake of survival. And he does so for what? A few weeks? That does not a fuckboy make.

Just say you don't want to understand him and move along because those of us who get him GET HIM. And I'm grateful for a character like Colin.

He's the best man in the series by an entire mile and you can't change my mind about that.

[navree]

"that you could be so cruel" ok correct me if i'm wrong but does penelope featherington not run a gossip rag that exist solely to publish unsubstantiated rumors about women she doesn't like for various reasons that have profoundly negative repercussions on those women (didn't the publication of marina's pregnancy lead to marina almost dying in her quest to terminate said pregnancy??????) and has in fact used that same rag to put not just colin's entire family but also specifically colin's sister, her best friend, through a significant amount of grief and strife that came as a direct result of that rag?

but colin's the cruel one? because she happened to eavesdrop on a conversation where he said he doesn't wanna date her? that's cruelty but all the other stuff isn't?

[mearchy]

I really love Jaster Mereel, the most “fine then I’ll do it myself” guy of all time. Like, after he killed his corrupt superior UHC style and got exiled for it he could’ve been on that vigilante shit. And he did come back ready for a fight- but not with a battalion, or another assassination. With a fucking entire new system of living and governing contained in a codex he wrote himself, based on ancient laws he wanted to resurrect. By all accounts he wasn’t even in academia or government before that moment, he was a cop. And the best part is he fucking managed to create a majorly consequential schism in Mandalorian society purely on the strength of having actually really good ideas in that big-ass academic magnum opus he spite-wrote. That’s some Protestant reformation shit!!!! I wonder if someone said to him during his sentencing like “you can’t just make up your own laws because you disagree with the ones we have” and he said oh word?? Insane, I love him.

[spy-x-family]

i don't think tanjiro is the successor of sun breathing 'despite not being related to yoriichi'. i think it's that yoriichi is family to the kamados

in kny, family is whoever loves you. rui tries to make a family but ultimately fails not bc they're not blood related but bc he doesn't really love them. on the other hand, kanae, kocho, and kanao are sisters. zenitsu's master is his grandfather. inosuke's family were the boars (and then of course later, his birth mother kotoha, because tho he barely has any memories of her, he remembers she loved him dearly)

yoriichi was an unwanted child and later an unwanted brother when michikatsu's hatred for him festered and grew. he was rejected from the corps and only had the kamados. when he felt like his existence was worthless, it was the sumiyoshi who told him he deserved to be here as much as everyone else and made the effort to weave yoriichi into the family by passing down his earrings and sword form. he was rejected by his family but accepted by another. if family is whoever loves you, then that's yoriichi's people, and that love was why tanjiro succeeded him