#i will never forgive them for the potential they had and never used with really otherworldy long haird bamf elves

[nelyyo]

watching rings of power s2 felt like reading a canon divergence fic where the author had some interesting takes, and i mean it as neither an insult nor a compliment

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[fungateshortcakes]

Munch Munch

OMG I FORGOT I HAD THIS IN MY DRAFTS FORGIVE ME

Just a lil old man Logan drabble bc UGHHH he can crush my head with those juicy arms AHHH

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Logan never understood why you looked at him the way you did.

He was old. He was tired. His body was breaking down from the inside, poisoned by the very thing that once made him invincible. His hands shook more than they used to and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, you saw. You saw everything.

And yet there you were, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed, giving him that look again. Like he was something worth staring at. Logan wasn’t used to being wanted. Not like this.

He could feel your gaze tracing over his arms as he sat in his white wifebeater at the kitchen table. This was by far not the first time he caught you staring at him like that. He noticed it every time. The way you would watch the flex of his biceps beneath his shirt, the way his forearms tensed whenever he clenched his fists. He wasn’t blind. And if he had any doubts, well, the way you were looking at him right now? Like you wanted to sink your teeth into him? Yeah. That cleared things up really fast.

"You’re staring again" he muttered, though he didn’t cover up, just took another sip of his drink. "Mhm" you hummed completely unapologetic in how you were goggling his arms. You pushed yourself away from the doorframe and stepped in closer, fingers reaching out to lightly drag over his arm, just enough to make his skin prickle.

Logan exhaled sharply through his nose, setting the beer can in his hand down on the table "You got a problem?"

"Yeah, actually" you said, tilting your head. "These arms? They’re just sitting there. Not being held. Not being bitten. Wasted potential, really."

Logan choked on a laugh, a rare sound from him "Bitten? What do you-?" before he could finish his sentence, you leaned in and without hesitation you pressed your teeth lightly against his bicep. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make him feel it. A playful little bite that was gone as fast as it came.

Logan went completely still. The only sound was the sharp breath he sucked in through his teeth. You pulled back again and watched his reaction, your lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Huh, that shut you up really quick."

Logan finally blinked, looking up at you like he wasn’t quite sure what the hell just happened. He opened his mouth but closed it before any words came out, rubbing a hand over his beard and sighing deeply.

"You just bit me" he said, like he was still trying to process it.

You grinned "Yeah. You act like you can just sit here with these babies out and expect me not to."

Logan huffed, shaking his head at your words, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He almost a smiled. Almost. But you counted it as a win nonetheless "You’re goddamn ridiculous" he muttered.

"Maybe" you mused with a pout, poking at his arm again. "Now flex for me, old man. Let me see the goods." you demanded, already munching on your bottom lip in anticipation. You just couldn't help it. You knew he was starting to feel his age, to look it, too. But damn, his arms were still plumb 'n thick. Just how you liked them.

Logan let out a low groan and for a second you thought he would just ignore you, but to your absolute delight, he sat up a little more straight, rolled his shoulders back and flexed- just a little, as if to tease. Just enough to make the veins in his forearms pop, to make the muscles in his biceps shift under his skin.

And goddamn, you swore you felt lightheaded...and how your panties were getting wet. You bit your lip at the sight "Shit" you breathed, your eyes fighting from rolling back because good god "You are so hot."

Logan narrowed his eyes at your praise, grumbling something under his breath, but you caught the way his ears burned just a little bit pink. He could act all gruff and broody, but you knew the truth now.

You were disappointed as he lowered his arm again. You stepped closer, placing your hands on his arms, fingers tracing the muscle slowly, deliberately. A shudder ran up his spine at your touch. He tried to play it down, but he couldn't hide the obvious goosebumps explodig over his scarred skin "Do it again, baby. " you murmured, smoothing over his shoulder and arms.

Logan arched a brow "Again?"

"Again" you stated firmly, it sounded like a command to him. And maybe he would follow it. He rolled his eyes, but you were able to catch the slightest smile on his lips that seemed a little proud, flattered even. It was balm for the soul, your words. You actually wanted to see him, worship something he thought no one cared for anymore. But here you were.

Acting as if he was annoyed by your persistance, he lifted his arm and flexed, this time for real. The muscle in his biceps tensed, thick and solid beneath your hands that wandered over the firm muscle. His forearms flexed, veins running up his skin like a goddamn work of art. The old scars, the roughness, the strength, it was all so perfect. Your forearm next to his biceps looked so small, it made your mouth water.

And you couldn’t help it. You made a sound. A tiny, helpless whimper that you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Logan froze and his arm lowered slightly "Did you just-?"

"Shut up" you giggled, pressing your face against his shoulder to hide the absolute mess he was making of you "Nah, sweetheart" he said, his voice downright smug and a grin spreading across his face while he stood up, towering over you, wrapping his strong arms around your neck, making you groan as pure, firm muscle surrounded your flushed face "What was that sound?" he teased, his voice low and raspy against your ear

You whined annoyed against his broad chest, wanting him to drop it "Logan"

But he wasn't letting up "You whimpered" he stated matter of factly, clearly enjoying himself "Over my arms."

Your hands slid up his sides, squeezing him. You looked up through your eyelashes, a suggestive grin on your lips "Well, you could just shut me up with these big, strong arms of yours" you purred, leaning up to kiss him. And Logan could already picture the way your teeth would sink into his flesh as he held you in a headlock while pounding his cock into you from behind, leaving deep bite marks on his arms that wouldn’t start to fade until the next morning. He grinned back down at you, capturing your lips in a kiss.

"Let's give you a reason to bite, bub"

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Fuck me he is so hot the best he ever looked and I will DIE on that hill. One chance, ONE FUCKING CHANCE!!!! I am not rlly the girly to randomly bite my partner but istg I would munch and nibble and gnaw on his arms FOREVER they are so big and manly and mhmm and yummy and BARK BARK

I have two more old man Logan drafts I completely forgot about- should I post them too?

[johanna-swann]

I'm still so disappointed with 911. Like yes, seaon 7 was messy, but the opening disaster was great and they got a few really interesting storylines rolling despite the very difficult circumstances.

But then they got renewed really early. The conditions were lining up perfectly, everything was falling into place. And yet season 8(a) is so much worse than season 7. Just look at where we left the characters in season 7 and where they are now.

Hen (and by extension Karen) was stuck with the custody battle storyline again, but for the first time there was an antagonist involved who had not only a personal vendetta but also the power to exact her revenge on a big scale while at the same time the very same conflict also had the potential to drive a huge wedge between Hen and Chim while they try to work out their weird patchwork situation.

But all of that got resolved in a single episode that also somehow had to fit random calls, Eddie's C-plot, their weird obsession with Hotshots and whatever Bobby and Gerrard had going on. And then this very personal vendetta between Hen and Ortiz wasn't even ended by them. It wasn't Ortiz giving up / forgiving Hen or Hen defeating Ortiz fair and square, no. Bobby and Gerrard who have never even had a scene with Mara got to safe the day. And then neither Ortiz nor this storyline ever get mentioned again.

Bobby lost his job, had a major health crisis, was borderline suicidal and lost his house last season.

Then we meet him in season 8 and he's just okay, mentally and physically, he gets his job back very conveniently automatically in one swoop together with Ortiz being dealt with. The rebuilding of the house is mentioned in one episode and never again.

Athena was really worried about Bobby by the end of season 7, her son moved back in with her after having spend the last couple of years at his dad's, she also lost her home and she once again went rogue as a cop.

In season 8 she's no longer worried about Bobby, everything is okay, there are no consequences for her actions job-wise, as I said the house thing isn't really talked about and Harry? Nobody knows what happened to him.

Eddie had the whole Shannon-Marisol-Kim thing blow up in his face with huge consequences. I expected him to go back to therapy, to maybe argue with his parents, to talk to Buck or Hen about losing Christopher like this, to maybe spiral a little and finally unpack the Shannon trauma.

Instead he mentions every now and then how his son is in El Paso right now, but doesn't really get into it, he lives his everyday life as per usual, doesn't seem particularly down or stressed tbh, he doesn't go to therapy, he doesn't talk about Shannon, he doesn't talk to his parents outside of one small exposition scene in 8x01, doesn't try to talk to Christopher about what happened. Instead he talks to a priest once which has the amazing effect that he dances in his house in his underwear once. I'm sure that fixed him. Oh, also he may be uprooting his life again without talking to anyone about it. Okay.

Are Chimney and Maddie even still main characters at this point? Sure, they have a lot of screentime and they had their wedding episode last season. They also temporarily took in Mara.

But despite fostering Mara, they had nothing at all to do with the little Ortiz related drama we got. They were just. There. In the background of a few scenes. I guess. We also don't see them adjusting to being married now or talk about what the future might hold for them now. They just accidentally got pregnant AGAIN and didn't really talk about the risks and implications and so on here either. It was brought up very briefly, but there was so much potential for actual discussion there instead of a one-off conversation.

Buck's the only one whose season 7 storyline really got picked up again a little. He discovered he's not straight and got himself a boyfriend last season.

They (briefly) showed us how that relationship continued - and then very abruptly ended in a very strange way. But once again they didn't pick up the queer topic. They treated Tommy like they would any other love interest which would be fine if Buck's sexuality was already established. But as a matter of fact it is not. Buck only recently discovered he's queer and we haven't seen any of the stuff that usually comes with the package. Are the Buckley parents okay with this? Has Buck chosen a label? Did he and Hen ever share a moment of solidarity? Was dating another man all of the sudden a big adjustment?

I fell in love with 911 because they had great characters, but right now the show is doing fuck all with those characters. They're all running in circles and even worse maybe, the characters feel less connected to each other than ever. Like. I'll keep up with the show via tumblr osmosis, but the show didn't deliver on a single thing in 8a. They literally did nothing right.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 1- Jello at Your Front Door

Summary: 15 years ago, a football and a boy four doors down makes your move to Florida a little more bearable. Now, you're not quite sure how to feel when you find out he's shown up back at home unannounced

Word Count: 5.5K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (no use of y/n, Frankie has a nickname for reader)

Warnings: Angst, yearning, mentions of death, sick parent, meeting Frankie for the first time, cute, awkward baby Frankie, a football throw Santi will never forgive you for

A/N: ... Hey.... How y'all doin'.... Remember when I said I was gonna start a different Frankie series months ago? I hope you humbly accept this as my official formal apology for not being able to get my shit together, as I present this offering to you instead 🙂 I started writing this 24 hours ago and I legitimately couldn't stop, so here we are??? I know this is a different style that what I normally write, but here's to trying new things (and hopefully finishing them). I hope you guys enjoy 🥺💛

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Next Chapter

You, Present

“Frankie’s home.” 

You weren’t really sure how to comprehend how the combination of those two words would be one of the worst sucker punches you’d taken to your gut in the better part of the last decade. 

As the sentence replayed over and over in your head, you could think of any other combination of two words that would have scared you less. 

“Hurricane’s coming.” 

“Bomb’s dropping.” 

“World‘s ending.” 

In a universe where things make sense, the response these would elicit from the average person would be reasonable, rational even. When you’ve been given a warning about the way two words have the potential to alter your reality, you can’t help but panic. 

But today, you’ve woken up in a universe where things don’t make sense. 

And what’s worse is, you didn’t even get a warning. 

The statement shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. When you’d seen his truck parked in the driveway four houses down, you knew it had to be him. Anyone else in the world would be caught dead driving the barley mobile piece of metal he’d been traveling in for the better part of 20 years. But Frankie Morales was not anyone else. He’d drive that damn car until the wheels fell out underneath him. 

It wouldn’t be the first time you’d gotten in a stubborn stare down with his 1989 maroon Chevrolet Silverado. You had a sneaking suspicion that today wouldn’t be your last. 

“Why is Fr- Why is he back?” 

You hadn’t intended for your tone to be so bitter, but the taste of Frankie’s name on the tip of your tongue left a taste in your mouth so sour, you wanted to recoil into yourself. 

“Why do you think?” It was clear your mother had no interest in playing into your game of cruel intentions, barely paying you any mind as she glanced out the window, unphased by the looming presence in the Morales’s driveway, “You should go say hello.” 

“No thanks, I’m not a fan of purposely ruining the rest of my day.” You don’t mean for your eyes to roll as far back into your head as they do, but you can’t help it. At this point it seems like an innate, programmed response. Simply the thought of Frankie Morales was enough to dampen your mood; an intentional confrontation was the last thing you needed. 

“You’re going to have to see him at some point, you know. Can’t hide from him the whole time he’s here.” 

Your mom hadn’t even given you the chance to rebuttal, disappearing from your bedroom to leave you to stew in your own resentment, because she knew as well as you that it was pointless to fight back. 

At some point, you’d have to face Frankie. Today, you’d stick to hiding. 

You, Summer of 1999, Age 11

26 total hours trapped in a U-Haul with your family and every item you’d ever owned was not the way you had planned to spend your last week of summer before starting middle school. You’d hoped that the nearly 3 day journey from Michigan to Florida would be long enough to help you cope with your distress. Unfortunately, you weren’t shocked that cramped quarters and unclear driving directions in the midst of uprooting your life wasn't doing much to lighten your mood. 

Your parents had promised you the move would be worth it. That starting a new life halfway across the country would be good for your family. You weren’t quite sure what positives Florida posed to you, but even at the ripe age of 11, it didn’t take a genius to realize that “starting over somewhere new” was code for “trying to keep your dad alive.” 

The doctors back home were thrilled to tell you about the new, potentially life saving treatment for his rapidly progressing colon cancer. You were thrilled too, until that new, life saving treatment meant moving 1,300 miles from home. 

Not once did you protest- keeping your dad a living, breathing part of your life was better than having to say goodbye to your best friends, but it still didn’t mean every mile you drove further and further south down I-75 was another grain of salt in your freshly open wound. 

Your parents had tried to incentivise you with all the joys that Florida would have to bring- warm, sunny weather, beaches, being a 3 hour drive away from Disney world, a bigger house, the list went on and on. And while you knew one day you’d find joy in the rewards you’d reap from your sacrifice, you had a feeling that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon. 

It took too many movers to count to finally get your new house to resemble what was supposed to be a home. There was something so unsettling about seeing your furniture reassembled into unfamiliar corners of a place you’d never been. Even the things that were supposed to feel familiar and comforting now felt distant and foreign, scrambled in the walls of your new residence like a child who had shaken up a box of their favorite toys and dumped them out on the ground, leaving behind a mess for someone else to clean up. 

The only solace you could seem to find in the wave of chaos that had washed over your life was the view outside your bedroom window. A quiet escape, perfectly positioned to watch the warm rays of sunset fade behind the rooftops, the night slowly shifting into shades of black and blue as your eyelids became heavy.

Each night as you drifted to sleep, you dreamt about the ways you could be saved from the lonely island you were trapped on. A sole survivor begging to be found. You tossed and turned in the sea of your twisted bedsheets, crying out that there would be someone, anyone who would risk their life to rescue yours. 

On the first two nights, the only response to your pleas was a deafening silence, an insult to injury that you were destined to spend the rest of your life on a godforsaken landmass no one would ever find. On the third night, your cries carried on the winds of the warm summer air, sneaking through the cracks of an open window four doors down. 

“You should go out there and play with those boys down the road! They look like they’re probably about your age!” 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed the two gangly figures racing up and down the street for the better part of the last hour, hoping they wouldn’t catch your passing glances through your living room window as you pretended to watch whatever episode of “Rocket Power” aired next on Nickelodeon. Perhaps the pair boys hadn’t noticed you watching them, but your dad had surely noticed the way you could have cared less about whatever was on the TV in front of you. 

“They’re playing football, I don’t really think they’d probably want me to play.” You huff under  your breath. 

“You’re good at football. Probably better than they are.” Your dad laughs like it’s meant to be funny, but you know he’s serious. He’ll never admit to you out loud he wished his only child would have been a boy, but you’ve never minded playing the role of the son he never had. 

And he’s not wrong. You definitely are a better throw than either of them. 

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that a girl’s asking to go play football with them.” The sigh that follows this is even more annoyed than the last, now too self aware at 11 years old to revert back to the days of approaching kids you’ve never met on the playground and asking to join in without needing to worry about the social repercussions of your actions. 

“Well, you can either pout and pretend to watch TV, or you could go try to make some friends. That’s up to you, Bud.” He smirks at the scrunch in your brow and flair in your nostrils, the same face he knows he makes when he’s been hit by the cold, hard truth he doesn’t like. 

You know he’s right. 

“Fine,” You grumble, reluctantly pushing yourself off the edge of the couch, “But if they’re dumb, I’m coming back home.” 

“Atta girl. Go easy on ‘em, Killer.” 

As you step outside, it feels like you’ve become some sort of jungle explorer, trying to approach a herd of wild animals in their element without startling them to the point of attack. You’d even brought a peace offering to ease the introductions, hoping that your own football would be an appreciated contribution to their game. 

As you make your way down the street, you’re not sure if you’re particularly good at sneaking up on the boys, they haven’t noticed your presence, or worse, they’re actively trying to ignore you in hopes that you’ll go away. 

“H-Hi.” You stammer, half attempting to wave at the back of their heads, nowhere near close to catching their attention. 

“Hello?” This time it’s a little louder, slowly taking a few steps closer, “Hi?” 

God, maybe it’s a fourth option you hadn’t considered and they’re both deaf. 

“Hey!” 

This one finally catches their attention, causing both boys to turn around cautiously, not sure whether they’re more shocked that someone’s interrupted whatever play they’re about to run, or that the person who’s interrupted them is you. 

All of three of you stand in silence for a moment, mind racing in curiosity as you take in the image of clumsy limbs and messy mats of hair stuck to sweaty foreheads. The one boy is shorter, thick, jet black curls sprouting from the top of his head and arms crossed over his chest with a scowl on his face that’s not quite mean, but most definitely not welcoming. 

The other, taller and lankier, a mop of dark brown hairs twisting at the nape of his neck, eyes soft as he glances back and forth between you and his friend. His demeanor is much different, almost nervous compared to the boy standing next to him, fits balled in the pockets of his shorts while the adam’s apple he still needs to grow into bobs in his throat. 

For as much as no one wants to draw in the silent standoff you’ve entered, you started this mess, so you might as well be the first one to fold. 

“H-hi. Sorry, I um, I didn’t wanna interrupt-” 

“I mean, you did.” The shorter boy mumbles, wincing as the nervous one slaps him in the chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus, what was that for, asswad?!” 

“Let her talk!” He grunts, sneering at his friend before turning back to you, his face much kinder now than the expression he just gave to his friend. “Sorry. You can um, you can keep talking if you want. Sorry about him.” 

You try not to laugh at the exchange, but it’s hard not to smirk at the way the two have managed to put themselves on display in the thirty seconds you’ve spent talking to them. 

“It’s okay. I um- I just moved in down the street. That green house over there.” All of your eyes shift as you point behind you, signaling where your journey had begun a few moments ago, “I was uh- I was wondering if you guys wanted another person to play with? I- I brought my own football.” 

“Normally you only need one football to play football, duh. Do you even know how football works?” 

In an instant, your heart sinks to your gut, eyes dropping to the ground to watch your feet start to drag across the pavement, back to where you came. But before you can lift the sole of your sneaker from the cement, a voice stops you. 

“She obviously does or she wouldn’t ask, numbnuts! C’mon, Santi, don’t be a dick.” 

Although it’s not directed at you, it’s enough to bring your attention back to the kinder boy, no name yet, but quite positive it’s not also Santi (or asswad). The two of you lock eyes for a moment, a strange sort of calm running through you as his slight half smile reveals his brace covered teeth, looking at you in a way that makes you feel just a little less small. 

“Yeah, you can play with us. I’m Frankie, by the way.” 

Frankie. 

There’s something about his name that fits him so perfectly. You can’t quite put your finger on it, but you know from the way it rolls off your tongue that it just feels right. 

“Hi, Frankie. I’m Mackenzie.” 

Frankie’s hands are now out of his pockets, a line of defense dismantled after hearing your name. 

“Hello? Have we forgotten about me? There are three of us here, remember?” 

“This is Santi. Well, Santiago, but we all call him Santi.” The way Frankie rolls his eyes at his friend tells you everything you need to know about their friendship, giggling at the way he dramatically pouts as he introduces him. 

“Mackenzie? Isn’t that, like, a last name?” Santi asks, still not yet warmed up to the idea of you, but intrigued enough to ease how tightly his arms are crossed. 

“And? Isn’t Santiago the capital of Chile?” You sass, your mater-of-factness and quick wit making Frankie unintentionally snort. 

“Alright, touché, Christopher Columbus.” Santi mocks, acting tough to try and hide the pink blooming in his cheeks. 

“I like Mackenzie. I think it’s cool.” 

There’s something about the way he says it that you know he means it, wondering why the way hearing your name fall from his lips churns your stomach in a sensation you’d never felt before this moment. 

“Yeah, well, just so you know, Frankie is short for Francisco.” Santi interrupts, trying to find a way to get a jab back at either you or Frankie, at this point he doesn't really care which. 

“Well, last time I checked, there wasn’t a Francisco, Chile.” 

That one sends Frankie into full blown hysterics, boyish snickers taunting his friend, whose attempt to save his namesake has left him the butt of the joke. 

“Will the two of you clowns just shut up and throw the ball? If you’re gonna let her play, Frank, can we at least make sure she can throw?” Santi whines, using every ounce of prepubescent strength he has left to play into his unbothered facade. 

“You can use your ball if you want.” Frankie suggests, shrugging at his indifference to the ball held in your hand compared to the one held in yours. 

“No! If she’s playin’, she’s usin’ our ball!” Santi’s voice trails further away with each step back he takes, settling himself in the middle of the street a few feet down from where you and Frankie stood, not willing to take any more risks when it comes to you, even if it’s something as stupid as a football. 

“Fine by me.” You shrug, happily obliging to his request, Frankie giving you a silent nod of reassurance as he passes his football off to you. 

It’s only now you notice he’s nervous again, one hand back in his pocket as he wriggles his toes in the ends of his worn sneakers while you size up your toss, knowing he’s worried that Santi will never let him live it down if the ball can’t make it more than three feet in front of you. 

Neither of you would know it then, but the silent exchange you make with Frankie as you line up your throw would be the first of many unspoken promises you’d keep to him. What seemed like a simple task,  to prove worthy of his friendship by throwing a football, would turn out to be the most important promise you'll ever make to Fransisco Morales. 

You weren’t ever going to let him down. 

“You can go further back.” You shout, almost offended by the distance Santi had chosen to stand away from you. 

“If you can make it this far, I’ll be impressed.” 

“You promise you’ll go get it after I throw it past you?” 

“I promise, Joe Montana, throw the damn ball.” 

You shrug at Frankie, like he’s supposed to know what comes next. He’s too scared to question either of you, all he can do is let his eyes dart back and forth between you and Santi, knowing there’s no world where both of you can prove your point. What scares him more is that he trusts you more than his friend. 

You line your fingers up on the laces, gripping the leather like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. With a step forward, your arm hurls the ball, two of the three of you standing dumbfounded in the street as you watch it soar further and further past its intended target, spirling through the sky until it bounces off the cement with an acrobatic roll, three times the distances of where Santi had placed himself. 

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You just smile and shrug- it's the best “I told you so” you could give them. 

“Fine. She can stay.” 

To this day, it’s the closest you’ll ever get to a compliment from Santi. 

“Nice work, Kenz.” 

Your stomach flips. You try to blame it on the adrenaline of it all, that there was no way a compliment so simple had you wiping your sweaty palms over the denim of your shorts, trying your best to erase any evidence that he was the reason your heart was racing out of your chest. 

Now it’s 15 years later, and as much as you hate him, you still can’t get that goofy, brace faced smile out of your mind. 

Frankie, Present 

There’s a reason he shows up at 1 A.M. Everyone’s asleep. If the world is asleep around him, he’s safe from having to deal with anyone, at least until morning. There’s a part of him that wishes he would have parked his truck down the street, tricking you into thinking that he wasn’t even there. 

It’s hard to justify when you’re the reason he’s back home in the first place. 

When he got the call from his mom, he knew he had to come. He didn't want to, but he knew he’d hate himself forever if he didn’t. 

“Hey, Mamá.” 

“Francisco, how quickly can you make it home?”  

“Mom, I told you, I’m not-” 

“It’s Doug. He’s in hospice.” 

“Fuck. How um- how much longer do they think he has?” 

“When I talked to Michelle, she said they were hoping for a few more weeks. But I’m not sure. He doesn’t look good, mi amor. If you want to say your goodbyes, now’s the time.” 

“O-okay. I can probably be home by tomorrow. Gonna be late though. Is uh- is she, um-” 

“She’s here. For about a week or so already. She keeps looking over at your empty spot in the driveway just like she did all those years you were away. Waiting for you, Francisco.” 

It’s the lump in his throat and ache in his chest that gets him home an hour and fifteen minutes faster than what his GPS said it would. He’s not sure what delusional part of his mind thinks that maybe you’ll be waiting for him when he pulls into the driveway. Maybe it’s the same delusional part of his mind that pictured you sitting there, cross legged on the concrete, staring up at the sky to count stars like sheep, waiting for him to come home all those years ago. 

He’s also not sure why it hurts so bad when he shows up and you’re not there. 

Frankie feels like he’s 16 again, sneaking into his own house in the wee hours of the night, digging the spare key out from under the doormat, attentive to the practiced pattern of how to avoid squeaks in the hinges as he turns the lock behind him, careful not to wake a single sleeping soul. He tiptoes over the 4th stair to the second floor and barely taps the 7th before he finds shelter in his room, successful from his journey. 

Every time he comes home, he can’t help but laugh at the fact his mother refuses to change anything about his bedroom. Everything is in the same place it was the day he left for the Air Force, down to the pile of unfinished homework from his Senior year of high school stacked on his desk. Each time he sees it, he’s never sure if the source of his laughter is nostalgia or irony. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. 

When he looks at the picture frames scattered across his nightstand, a 17 year old Frankie stares back at him, tall and gangly, arms too big for his own body, an awful haircut he begged his mom to let him get. It was the year he discovered how much he couldn’t live without a hat, simply out of necessity for the 6 months it took for his hair to grow back out. You were the first one to tell him how cute he looked in the one hat he already owned. He bought three more in the weeks to come. 

He wonders what the 17 year old in those pictures staring back at him would think of him now. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that high school him would have beat the shit out of him for the way things turned out, scrawny limbs and all. 

It seems like the military has taught him how to sleep anywhere besides his own home, keeping company with the shadows dancing on his ceiling in the moonlight, tossing and turning in the tattered sheets of the twin sized bed his mom promised she’d upgrade when he got big enough. To this day, he and his mom both know he was never begging her for a new bed because he had outgrown it, he just always wanted to make room for one more person. 

He clocks 3 and a half hours of sleep as good enough, creeping out of his house the same way he had come in, making the 5.4 mile trip to Benson Park to watch the sun rise. Frankie’s always hated running, it’s just as much of a surprise to him as it is to everyone else that he keeps doing it. It makes his knees hurt like shit and his lungs feel like they’re being strangled by rubber bands, a cruel cycle of self punishment he can’t seem to shake his addiction for. 

He’s sat on the same side of the bench underneath the ancient Blooming Dogwood since the first time he came here. He tried one time to sit on the other side. He’s superstitious enough to believe his one time fuck up has had a lasting effect. The bench is so hidden at the back of the park, he likes to think that the two of you are the only ones to have ever found it. No one else has ever burst through the bubble of secrets shared between the two of you there, leaving the wood grain to be stained with memories and moments that have shaped the both of you, good and bad. 

It’s the first place you ever told him about your dad. It’s the first place he ever told you about his. His dad was already nothing but memories by then. It makes him sick to his stomach that soon, that’s all you’ll have left, too. 

Frankie, Fall of 1999, Age 11

“How much longer do we have, Frankie? I feel like my legs are gonna fall off!” 

“Quit being such a baby, you’re fine!” 

“Next time we have to ride our bikes this far, I’m pulling an E.T. and riding in the front basket of your bike.” 

“Perfect, you look just like him.” 

“Frankie!” 

“Kidding, kidding!” 

Frankie’s never had a friend like you before. Sure, he’s got Santi, but it’s not quite the same. 

Santi took some easing into- five years ago, when Frankie moved onto Everett Street, he became a friend by force, not choice. Santi staked his claim on him, seeing Frankie as a gift sent straight from heaven, finally having another boy his age to play with after too many years of being sentenced to dress up and tea parties from his 3 older sisters. 

Santi was everything Frankie wasn’t- loud, assertive, the kind of friend who grabs you by the hand and drags you along with them whether you liked it or not. There’s times now, after a half a decade of friendship, that Frankie still questions the way Santi’s brain is wired, but Frankie’s too good of a friend to ever make a fuss about it. 

You, on the other hand, needed no easing into. From the moment he met you, watching you toss that football so far past Santi that he was convinced it would disappear on the other end of the street, Frankie had been mesmerized by you. 

There’s something about you that makes him feel a weird thump in his chest every time you’re together. Everything about you gives him comfort in a way he can’t describe, a safety he’s felt with very few other people in his life until now. 

There’s just something about you. He still hasn’t been able to quite pinpoint what it is. 

Whatever it may be, it’s enough to invite you on a bike ride to the back of Benson Park instead of Santi. 

“Do you even know where we are? I don’t think there’s any more park left past this point, Frankie.” You huff, slowing the wheels of your bike behind him as you come to the edge of a steep rolling hill, nothing left in front of you but acres of empty land and tall grass. 

“Yeah, I do. Maybe we just passed the trail on the way in. We’ll just- We can just find it on the way back.” 

He knows you know he’s fibbing, but he wants your trust that he won’t lead you astray more than he wants to tell the truth. 

“Okay. There’s a bench underneath that tree. Can we just sit for a little bit before my legs turn to jello?” 

You’re already halfway off your bike before he can respond. Even if he had said no, there’s no way he’d leave without you. 

“Fine. What flavor jello?” 

“Whatever flavor is your least favorite so you don’t eat my legs, Francisco. That’s just weird.” 

The two of you laugh, tossing your bikes to the ground as you bottoms find the wood of the bench you’d pointed out, you on the right side, Frankie on the left. 

“My mom only ever gets the red kind. I don’t even really like it that much. Don’t worry, you’re safe, Kenz.” 

“I don’t really like it either. But we have every flavor at my house ‘cause that’s like, all my dad eats.” 

Frankie starts to laugh like you’re playing a joke on him, trying to pretend your dad’s diet exists exclusively of artificially flavored gelatin, but your sudden silence and the way your voice drops to the ground right with your eyes tells him he’d better stop snickering. 

“Your dad only eats jello?” 

“Well not only, but a lot of it, I guess.” 

His face scrunches with a mixture of confusion and concern at your sadness. He’s never heard you this quiet before. 

“Um, w-why?” 

The silence is almost deafening. He’s not sure why he should be so concerned with asking about jello, but he’s too curious to let it go. He selfishly wants to know what about it makes you so upset, because he just as selfishly hopes there’s something he can do to make you feel better. 

“My dad has cancer. He’s really sick. He can’t really eat a lot, but jello’s the one thing he can keep down most of the time without, like, throwing up or whatever.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, like you’re worried someone else will hear and spill the rest of your secrets right along with this one. You say it like he’s the only one in the world you want to hear it. 

“I’m- I’m sorry. That sucks.” 

Frankie blames it on his instincts, the way his hand finds yours, outstretched on the bench. He touches you like he’s handling a baby bird who’s fallen out of its nest, delicate and careful, calculated, hoping you won’t try to fly away in fear. Instead, your hand welcomes his, scooting closer to the weight of his palm resting on top of it. He feels you give in as you let him carry you back to safety of the tree you’ve descended from. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we moved here. The doctors in Michigan said that there were even better doctors here who could maybe help make his cancer go away.” 

“And then maybe he won’t have to eat as much jello.” He takes a gamble with the joke, but it pays off with your surprised snort, “Sorry, that was stupid. I shouldn’t be joking about it.” 

“I mean, it was, but it was funny. It’s okay, my dad jokes about it, too. He always says, one day, it’ll be funny, so might as well make that day today.” 

His heart warms as he watches a small smile return to your face. It heats the pink in his cheeks when he realizes he was the one who helped bring it back. 

“Your dad sounds nice.” 

“He is. Even though he doesn’t feel good a lot of the time, he still always tries to come to my soccer games and stuff. I know he can’t be like what he was before he was sick, but he tries to be. What about your dad?” 

Frankie prays you don’t notice the way his heart sinks like he noticed yours. He chews on the inside of his lip so hard, he thinks it may bleed. He wants to lie, but he knows that you’ll know. You always know. 

“Um, I don’t- I don’t really see my dad.” 

It’s you now who's grabbing his hand, offering him the same type of safety net he’d made for you. He’s barely known you two months. He’s known Santi for five years and all he knows is that his dad doesn’t live with him. Frankie didn’t want to tell him, he’s not sure he’d understand. There’s a strange sensation that swirls in his gut, because he wants to tell you. You’d laid the first brick in the foundation of trust between the two of you. The least he can do is help you keep building. 

“Oh. Why don’t you see him?” He sees you’re prying, but not in a way that hopes to expose him. He knows you’re prying because you want him to let you in, to get a peek at what's behind the curtain. It’s a locked door most people in his life will ever get access to, but he’ll let you have a spare set of keys. 

“I never really knew him. My mom said he left when I was a baby. She says she’s always been happy it’s just me and her. That it was easier to live with one less person than to live with someone who was mean.” 

“Your mom sounds like a wise lady.” 

He appreciates the fact humor was your first response, too, it makes the sting of ripping the stitches off a still-healing wound hurt just a little less. 

“Yeah, I guess so. Still kinda wish I had a dad, though, ya know?” 

“You can borrow my dad whenever you want. As long as you don’t mind super embarrassing, stupid jokes.” 

“Are they as bad as mine?” 

“No. They’re worse.” 

Neither of you would have minded staying just a little bit longer, but the bright reds and yellows of the setting October sky remind you both that the parents you’ve opened up about are expecting you back before night washes over the quaint suburbia of your town. The bike ride home is much quieter than the one there, but the simple silence seems to speak louder than anything he’d have to say. 

The next day, Frankie would raid the cabinets of his kitchen for every last packet of jello he could find and bring them all to your front door.

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

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@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

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[terriblyrenderedenigma]

On Transformers and Human soulmate tropes...

(i do personally attack starscream at the end, i'm sorry starscream lovers, i love him too, but he's just a sad, devious little guy.)

Just a little thought here, so, I love soulmate tropes. Depending on the plot, they can be really fun and take so many interesting paths as a medium used within storytelling, whether romantic or platonic.

But what i want to talk about specifically is Transformer x Human soulmate tropes. Like, you have this super sweet side to it where the bot can be like 'I have waited my entire life to find you, finally, I can hold you in my arms and we never have to part again'. Depending on the character/story/type of SM (soulmate, shortening it because I'm not gonna keep writing it out) trope of course.

Can I just say how...instrumentally fucked this is though? So you have this race of robots who live for, what is essentially millennia out in the wild unless they catch the smoke. Their soulmate ends up being this little creature that lives for 80, maybe 100 years tops before dying. -Unless we're going for some kind of mind switch body type thing, but we all know how that went with spike in g1.

Our beloved robo blorbos will eventually have to cope with the fact that their soulmate, the person or creature they're MEANT to be with via laws of the universe, will die a LOT sooner than they will.

This especially hits hard with the decepticons who, depending on continuity -- hate humanity already. Bots who've gone through so much, losing their home, friends, and their dignities; have to learn to put up with and accept this creature as their fated mate/spouse/conjux endura, whatever you want to call it- SOULMATE.

Then the decepticons just have to deal with the fact that they're going to lose this person too, just like they've already lost everything else and oh GOD. Maybe they choose to forget about them and move on, stay alone and mourn what could have been if the universe hadn't had such a fucked sense of humor. Maybe they choose to accept it, but never let their SM too close because they know they'll just be hurt so much more hurt when the inevitable comes.

Then you have to think about decepticons having to possibly protect their SM from other cons! From being taken and 'saved' by the autobots.

Imagine some bots or cons just flying off the handle, going crazy just to try and keep their human alive in any way they possibly can, afraid of running out of time.

(Starscream lovers forgive me for the angst)

And Starscream especially, Maybe he'd try. He'd have a great time, take a chance, and give it a go. But what if he's actually terrified? Maybe he'd also self sabotage a little, knowing the relationship will never last too long anyways; not in the short blink of time it would be next to his life. Maybe, he doesn't actually know what to do with himself in a positive relationship after being, i dunno, consistently dogged on by megatron and he freezes.

There's something actually good for him, and since he isn't sure how to receive or accept that fact, he's gone. And maybe he'll come back, but the cycle could repeat.

(Im sorry, unless you put a tracker on him and call his ass and really give him some therapy. get him some god damn therapy.)

But yeah. All around, the angst potential is immense for this stuff and it makes me sad to think about so I thought i would share it instead of just write about it in an actual fic because my character analysis and ability to comprehend my own thoughts is so shit.

Okay, CIAOOOOOO~

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Wicked Games 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: non/dubcon, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: you had a one night stand. Or did you?

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A week passes in a tense slog. Barrett continues his pandering penance and you wallow in irritation. You want to put it behind you. You want to get past it but every time you do, it just happens again.

If this was the first time, it would be easy but you’ve lost count of all the times you’ve had this fight. 

Your menial office work does little to distract. It only allows you to think about all the bullshit. The way Barrett dismisses everything you do and has to list of everything you don’t. The way he can’t see his own flaws or how you’ve never once rubbed his nose in them like a dog.  

Is it passive or weak or just acceptance? You can’t say. You just always put up with it.  It’s just easier not to make an issue of every little thing. Problem is, now it’s a big thing. 

When you come home, you’re worn out but you still have work to do. Dishes, tidying, cooking. Even your weekends don’t allow you must rest. You need to sort through the bills and go get groceries. All along the way, he’s in the way. You’re not sure he’s trying to help, more so trying to force his way to forgiveness. 

You grab a bundle of reusable shopping bags from the cupboard overflowing with them. It only took about a hundred of the things to start remembering to take them with you.  

As you shut the cupboard, Barrett’s on the other side of the oven. Watching and waiting. He’d be a lot more help if you didn’t have to tell him what to do. You forgot a mug and to him, that’s high crime, but he can’t remember to pay the power bill without six texts on the due date. 

“So... what’s going on today?” He smiles. 

It used to be that that smile made you melt. It would make all your troubles flutter away like butterflies. Now it’s just another irk. 

“Groceries.” You wave the fistful of bags. 

“Oh, cool, want me to come?” 

You nearly scoff. Every weekend you ask and every weekend he’s too busy. His pals want him to jam in their garage band or go fishing down at some dirty river. Another tick on the wrong side of the Pros-Cons list. 

“Sure,” you shrug. It’s easier to just let him come along. You don’t need another argument and you could use the extra hands. 

You shove the bags into the folded shopping cart and put your shoes on. He toddles behind like a lost child. You’re repress a glare as you grab your keys and purse. You’re going to have to talk this out sooner than later our you’re really going to hate him. 

He follows you out to the bus stop and you wait in silence. You had a car but it broke down last year. Ever since, he gets a ride off his coworkers or friends and you flash your bus pass. It’s cheaper than leasing a car, even a used one. 

You don’t know what stresses you out more; thinking about all the stuff he does or just thinking about your life. You get on the bus and sit near the back. He reaches over to grab your hand. You wince but don’t pull away. 

“Nice day,” he says. 

“Mhmm,” you grumble. 

His attempt at small talk doesn’t go much further. You get off at your stop and walk the block to the grocery store. You unfold your shopping cart and pull out your list. Barrett grabs a bag of gummy bears and dumps them in the cart. 

“Those aren’t on the list,” you say. 

“I know but it’ll be a nice treat for later. We’ll have some tonight after dinner.” 

“Oh, alright.” 

You factor in the extra cost and mentally cross off the avocado from the list. You can go without. You roll through the produce section and work your way down the list. Barrett trails behind you. 

You stop in the cereal aisle to grab a bag of oatmeal. As you stand, you flinch and cry out at a surprise peck on your cheek. Barrett puts his arm around your shoulder as he presses his lips against you. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“Baby, giving you a kiss.” You look at him and he grins, “I miss you. I love you. I’m tryna be better, honey.” 

“In the grocery store?” You challenge. 

“It’s cute.” 

“Mm, it’s... let’s wait ‘til we get outta here. It’s starting to get busy.” You glance around at the other customers, hoping none of them noticed his little act. “How about you go grab some drumsticks? Flyer says they’re on sale.” 

“Oh, I can do that. Be right back!” He proclaims. 

He shuffles off and you shake your head and turn back to the shelves. The store brand on discount is all out. You hiss in disappointment. You search the rest of the selection. That’s the cheapest on the shelf and you really can’t stretch the extra dollar. 

You look up at the overstock along the top. It’s right up there but you’re just too short to reach. You give a poor attempt then stand flat on your feet. You peer up and down the aisle. You could find an employee. 

“Need some help?”  

You turn to face the stranger and give a start. They aren’t so strange after all. You know him. Well, not know-know him. Everyone in the city knows Steve Rogers, the Captain America. 

“Uhhh...” 

“What’s your brand?” He asks. “They don’t run restock until before closing. I usually come then, less busy but I got... ha, sorry, I’m rambling. What can I grab for you?” 

You lick your dry lips and glance at the shelf. You appreciate the help but telling Captain America that you need the cheapest bag on the shelf isn’t exactly dignified. You point to the price tag on the shelf and he reaches on his toes to grab the edge of the box on the top. He wiggles out a bag and stands flat. 

“Here,” he offers it with a handsome smile. “You know, it’s made at the same factory as the regular brand.” He taps the back of the bag, “exact same address. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re from the same lot.” 

“Oh, well, er... thanks,” you take the oats and put them in your cart. 

“No problem. Sometimes being a hero isn’t very glorious. Sometimes it’s just reaching the top shelf.” 

You force a chuckle. You’re sure the Cap’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Must be a real ego boost to help the little people. 

“Well, I appreciate it, Captain.” 

“Steve,” he smirks and stares. Your lower your brows and look behind you. Is he looking at someone else? 

“Oh, of course. I should go find my husband.” You roll around him and try to shake off the awkward encounter. You look down at your list as you stop at the end of the aisle. 

“Hope he’s not lost...” Steve calls after you. He says your name and you crane to look at him. You meet his gaze and blanch. He turns and struts off without another word. 

You turn back to your path and slowly leave the aisle. How did he know your name? You replay the interaction and try to recall giving it but you can’t. Well, you’re not exactly thinking straight right now. It’s nothing. You’re just stressed. 

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

i feel like some of the fandom is a bit harsh on Monty... like, trauma is definitely not an excuse, but it does give pretty much all of his actions an understandable explanation?

like... Monty was actively being abused by Esther in practically any scene they were together. he said something she didn't like, and she yelled and grabbed him threateningly. both of the times she transformed him, from crow to human and then back again, she literally stabbed and ripped him up in a really gory way.

i sure wonder why an evil witch's familiar who's constantly treated like that would follow her orders even if he disagreed with them!!

and considering that Esther is potentially one of the only humans Monty came into contact with before meeting the others, and she's like that - he turned out alright, didn't he? he's petty, a bit rude sometimes, and takes things personally, but generally, he's a shockingly decent person.

yes, he didn't take it well when Edwin rejected him. but, as others have pointed out - how was Monty genuinely meant to know any better? he had lived his whole life as a crow in a cage too small for him, where the only person he knew was his extremely nasty and cruel owner. and then, all of a sudden, he's forced into a new body and has humanity thrust upon him against his will. he explicitly expressed this discomfort himself when Esther degraded him for getting "too emotional" for her liking.

"i never asked to be human. with all these... feelings."

even after the bitterness of the rejection, Monty never actually wanted to hurt the Dead Boy Detectives. turns out, he didn't even know that Esther's plan intended to end them completely, and was so horrified upon finding out that he made an attempt to lead them to safety, which was, by the way, putting himself at massive risk. Esther already punished him likely under the assumption that he just didn't put enough effort into manipulating them - can you imagine what she'd have done to him if she knew about his last-minute attempt to actually save them?

of course, i don't think Edwin was wrong for not forgiving Monty. he deserved that. Monty still helped in the scheme that aimed to destroy him. he also fully deserved to reject Monty if he wanted to (conversely, i do also see people say that Edwin "could have handled it better," but honestly, i don't know if it's just me not being neurotypical or something, but i genuinely do not see how Edwin could have been nicer about it? he was straightforward and polite, then afterwards, still tried to be Monty's friend until the betrayal.)

however, Monty was still very much a victim himself, and any harm he did was not from his own will, instead motivated by fear of the terrifying witch who had him fully reliant upon her, often through both verbal and physical force. Esther never hesitated to hurt him. he was painfully aware of that. she didn't care about him beyond how useful he could be. and when he failed at that, her reaction was violent.

but he didn't have anyone else.

[ckret2]

Would Mabel being the reincarnation of Bill cause a rift between her and her family? I imagine that even though they know that Mabel and Bill are two different people it'd be kinda hard to get over the fact they ARE fundamentally the same being,especially for Ford.

Now, that's the problem. They AREN'T two different people. That's the whole point of this specific AU's take on reincarnation. It's not "Mabel happens to now possess the soul that was formerly used by some other guy" but rather "this is that guy after working on himself for thirteen years, she just didn't remember it until now."

"We know you're two different people" is the kind of thing her family might say to be reassuring. But in her ears it'd be like if she's on trial for murder and her family says "We love you because we know you're innocent," when actually she did totally commit that murder, and it was premeditated, and she didn't even have a sympathetic motive. Like it's nice of you guys to say that and I know you mean well, but if you only love me because you think I didn't do anything wrong, would you still love me if you understood the truth?

The biggest rift is on Mabel's end. She's holding back from letting them find out for as long as possible. It's not coming out until they put together the evidence themselves or she has a breakdown and confesses while in tears. And, naturally, when she's trying to keep that big a secret from them, she's gonna be withdrawn.

Like, there's a very high probability that Gideon finds out before any of the Pines do, that's how hard she's trying to keep it from her family.

When they DO start finding out?

Dipper's known Mabel almost fourteen years; he knew Bill two months. He's gonna get over it the fastest.

He's cracking annoying brother jokes before you know it. "I mean—you didn't manage to kill me in the womb, I don't think you're gonna do it now." "I forgive you for the sock puppet thing but now I REALLY wish I'd done more dumb stuff in your body while we were body swapped. As pre-revenge."

If anything, ultimately this turns out to be GREAT news for Dipper. He spent all last summer being pissed off that Bill had all the secrets of the universe and just wouldn't share them, to be a dick. WELL GUESS WHAT. NOW THEY'RE SHARING A BEDROOM. He's keeping her up until 3 a.m. asking about every conspiracy theory in history until Mabel lies "sorry, my memory of that one hasn't come back yet. Maybe my memories would return faster if I could GET SOME SLEEP..."

Stan's known Mabel off and on for fourteen years, and has gotten to know her really well over the past year; he knew Bill for—lemme check how long his death scene is—under two minutes.

Try to tell Stan that Mabel's Bill and his first reaction is "WELL THAT'S STUPID AND I DON'T BELIEVE IT." "But she can set fires with her brain." "Sometimes teenage girls do that! I saw it in a horror movie!" He's gonna process the news about the same way he'd process it if Mabel told him that she's some gender he's never heard of before: he's confused and too damn old to understand this complicated identity stuff, but he loves her even if he only understands half of what's going on, and he'll punch anybody who looks at her funny because of it.

Ford's only known Mabel since last summer; he's known Bill over 32 years.

This AU ain't a fic, so there's not a single set plotline, just a whole bunch of ideas that may or may not actually happen if I were ever to turn it into a story; and because of that there's a lot of ways things could go down with Ford, on a wild scale from hilarious to heartwarming to tragic, depending on what I think is interesting on any given day. But in many potential timelines, the first and most pressing question Ford's facing isn't "can I still love Mabel even if she was—is—Bill?"

It's "How do I kill Bill again?"

Because he knows Mabel the least and knows Bill the best, he has the best odds of looking past what everyone else sees as "haha that's just Mabel being Mabel!" and going "that's Bill fucking Cipher"; and because he hates Bill the most, he's the absolute last person Mabel would voluntarily tell about her exciting new personal discovery—meaning that he just has to draw his own conclusions. If he sees Bill looking at him through this little girl's eyes and clearly trying to convince Ford that he's not Bill he's gonna assume Bill's back from the dead and possessing his niece.

If Ford finds out, Mabel's not just afraid he won't love her anymore; she's also afraid he'll want her dead. If anything, him thinking she's possessed would be a good thing, because it'll buy her a little time while he's looking for a way to "extract" Bill to "save" Mabel, whereas if he knows the truth he'll know there's no Mabel to save.

Worst case scenario, she fears that, if he finds out, she's dead as soon as he can get his hands on her—unless she can find a way to defend herself.

Of course, this is Gravity Falls, where the power of love & family always wins, so in reality if he found out no that IS Mabel it'd stay his hand while he tries to figure out what's going on. His hatred for Bill is weaker than his love for his family. But she doesn't know that.

After all, Mabel's known Ford for 32 years, and for 30 of them he was on a suicidal vengeance quest to kill her; he's only been her grunkle since last summer.

[sourscheming]

Why the Tacomic scene in II 2 17 isnt as bad as some of you are making it out to be

II 2 17 SPOILERS BELOW!!

ive seen many people say they absolutely despise the tacomic scene in ii 2 17 due to many reasons. mainly being that the scene felt too rushed or that microphone was heavily out of character.

and while i can agree with these claims when looking at this scene from a first glance, ive realized this scene requires a lot more additional context and reflection to fully understand, using tiny bits and pieces left for us. and its my job to help glue them up! hope you enjoy my rambling :)

Arguement 1: Mic is very OOC

when first looking at this scene i can agree that yes microphone is very out of character. her acting so nonchalant, just playing off tacos actions. but let me tell you why shes not as ooc as some of you might think. first: a tweet from brian

“mic had always had a tendency to let taco off the hook” and this is very true! she will always try and play off taco’s actions due to how much she cares about her. and. with this being a life or death situation, she really didnt want to make a mountain out of a molehill and potentially die without any closure with taco. her playing off tacos actions might feel like its ooc, but it makes so much more sense whennyou consider their history and the fact thst in someways microphone still yearns and loves taco. she yearns for taco a 7/10 it used to be higher!! (source: brians streams) she still really loves taco despite everything.

i know what pissed many people off was microphone acting so… natural. she wasnt mad or anything. she was just so chill about it all when she shouldve been mad, right? i definitely agree with that, but most people seem to be forgetting this line

(nice callback to this scene btw)

but back to the point; mic hears everything. microphone always knew taco was in the hotel because she heard her. and doing this she had time to reflect and gather her thoughts so she wasn’t screaming at taco or getting mad irrationally. and keep in mind microphone most likely heard taco crying and screaming about pickle dying, i dont think she wanted to push her to do that again. hearing taco, the one who presented herself to be so strong and evil, just sobbing her heart out mustve been terrifying.

now i also wanted to bring up this:

microphone knows about the events of episode 15 and was most likely told taco died and why. she knows taco can die due to heavy emotional distress. acting angry and irrational and not sitting down to talk about wouldve stressed her out more and they couldve potentially lost her too. the reason why shes so chill about isnt because shes not upset about everything, it was because if she was, she risked the chance of loosing taco.

another tweet from brian to show microhone doesnt forgive taco yet, but she definitely woud in the future if taco proved herself:

and again it may not look like this in the episode, but microphones nonchalant attitude comes with a lot of jabs at taco, showing that she doesnt truly forgive her. plus, microphone never utters the words “i forgive you” once.

but the reason why shes able to move on so easily is because of how well she knows taco. taco had always struggled with apologizing, as seen in episode 13. she’s almost never used the word sorry consciously.

microphone had always been a big softie for taco being at least a bit sincere, so imagine how she felt when taco went fully sincere. and she knew she couldn’t just hug her and say i forgive you on a whim, so she sorta had to play it off to keep everything on track.

and this scene is so. impactful because of just what it represents. microphone had always been about “doing the right thing” and taco begrudgingly respected her wishes. but to see taco DOING the right thing mustve been such a turning point for microphone. shown her that taco CAN change, that she wants to. it solidifies that the care that microphone had wasnt one sided, taco LEARNED something from her. shes learning how to be better. shes trying because she wants to be with microphone. i think thats what really strikes a chord, she gained something, a friend.

Arguement 2: The scene felt really rushed

oh i definitely agreed with this at first. this segment will be much shorter because it’s basically hammering into your head that HEY they were in a LIFE OR DEATH SITUATION!!!

microphone needed to quickly rush taco out in order to keep her safe, they needed to do it quickly so they wouldnt die. again, mic wouldve reached out sooner but the situation was so stressful she only did it now. taco probably wouldve died if she didnt come out, and they all knew the onpy way they could pry her out was with someone she cared about.

do i wish they got 5 more minutes to talk? fuck yes, but also keep in mind they barely had time to do anything, so much was happening all at once they had to shoehorn something in. and with the points i listed earlier again, this was probably the best they could do due to circumstance.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

overall, while i do think this scene was rushed, theres still beauty to be had with it. its still really impactful when reflecting on it and i dont think it devalues the tacomic arc as much as some of you make it out to.

i wish there was more to this scene but i think what we got was pretty substantial especially considering everything that happened in ii 2 17.

they both still care for eachother, they both loved eachother so much, that they were able to put their grievances aside so they could spend their final moments together.

thanks for reading <3

[ask-the-rag-dolly]

okay . while i was writing the essay , i was going on a big spiel about how fandoms often reduce characters to familiar archetypes . then when i finished writing i realized i actually don't know what the Fuck i was yapping about because it all doesn't really apply to the tadc fandom post-ep 2 ? like Cool !! ragatha's an absolute loser of a woman , i think everyone has known that at this point .

basically ragatha's not the Best model for when i want to talk about nice characters being mischaracterized in fandom because i stopped seeing people making her put-together anyway . i can think of other characters that'll fit the thesis better .

i'm only deciding to post what i had down because i think i did say some stuff of note and because people were interested for . some reason ! . just keep in mind that it kind of became a nothingburger .

i'm in the middle of rewriting it to be less about the fandom though and my god it's already around 1118 words what am i doing with my life

also apologies in advance for the walls of text

——— this is not an essay to get you to like ragatha if you’re feeling meh towards her , or even dislike her . opinions are opinions , you have characters that appeal to you and i have mine ! this is just a ramblefest on why i love her , how people characterized her , and commentary on fandom culture as a whole

this is also not meant to bash any headcanons ! like good for you if you see her as the mother figure in the circus found family . the term ‘ mom friend ‘ here is used to describe how people often reduced her and similar characters down to a caretaker role for other characters while ignoring the Depth they have

as i think is clear in this blog by now , my favorite character in a piece of fiction has always been a mentally ill woman . the more complicated the brain , the better . i don’t have a type , but i know more often than not i would gravitate towards characters that are either misunderstood or disliked by most of the fandom

can you guess which category ragatha falls under —

don’t get me wrong , i am NOT generalizing tadc fans here ! the idea of her being a well-put together person lessened around episode 2 which is GREAT because i got to read very cool fics — and i’m not saying you have to know every part of ragatha’s thought processes to talk about her ( though at this point i think i’ve heard enough takes that makes me want to say that — )

‘ nice characters ‘ ( especially female ones ! ) in fandom never have the most pleasant development in my experience . either they will be pushed aside because they’re seen as boring compared to the more brasher characters or they’ll be disliked for the few times they did something seen as ‘ not so nice ‘ . and in the few times where they Are being paid attention , they’ll be put in an arbitrary box that waters down their traits .

in other words , fandoms put characters in boxes . terms like ‘ mom friend ‘ and ‘ cinnamon roll ‘ are those boxes . they're common tropes in media that fandoms typically like . it’s why people were so disappointed to find out that jax is actually an unlikable asshole instead of a ' jerk with a heart of gold ' — these boxes make the characters easy to consume and understand .

as you can tell , i don’t agree with putting characters in boxes ! first of all , how are they supposed to breathe in there ?

secondly , it’s just restricting yourself from genuinely engaging with a piece of media , especially for a character-driven story like tadc . i would be More forgiving of this problem if tadc was a plot-heavy show where the lore’s the main focus , but The Characters Are The Focus , Johnathan . trying to understand the characters personally to extract any potential moral lessons from them Is The Point of those types of stories

thirdly , i call those boxes arbitrary for a reason ; they often don't describe the characters at all , and in some cases , even goes against their characterization . my biggest problem with mom friend ragatha is that it Takes away the things that makes her interesting as a character .

do you know what's so compelling about ragatha ? it's that , believe it or not , she is Not the most reliable . one of the most fascinating things with ragatha in episode two is how it shows her approaching emotions Vs. Pomni approaching emotions .

even though it's unintentional , ragatha can be seen as Dismissive and Overbearing . the way she tried to reassure pomni of not feeling hurt by being left behind can seem Passive-Aggressive . her conversation with kinger shows that she Assumes what the other person thinks without hearing them out . this contrasts against pomni who lets gummigoo speak out his feelings and actually had viable things to say than ' don't worry about it haha '

this contrast is interesting to note because it shows the world of difference between ragatha and pomni's emotional maturity .

you can tell that ragatha can be simple-minded . not in a ' she's a dumbass ' way , but in that she's Reluctant to approach uncomfortable emotions without beaming it with a ray of positivity . like you can tell she thinks that Repressing her emotions to the point she can't feel them is the same as ' processing ' them . all of these are stuff that don't fit the Mature Mom Friend archetype .

and that's Fine !! because she was never meant to be in the role anyway !! there's a common theme of Community and Support in tadc , and that Everyone Has Each Other . ragatha was never meant to be the Glue holding everyone together , she's meant to be a part of the Unit that is the circus .

there's also a conversation to be had about how older female characters — or at least characters that are seen as having stereotypically ' feminine ' traits of being kind and caring — are often being pushed to a reductive , supportive familial role that reinforces gender roles , but you didn't hear it from me !

anyways uh in conclusion ragatha's awesomesauce ok i'm going back to drawing

[merakiui]

Hey hey I saw ur post with skulli and NNN.

Just wanted to throw in that in the Victorian Period it was normal for Maids to give young masters a Handjob to help them sleep soooo do whatever you want with that info. 🤷🏼‍♀️

Hope you have a nice day / night!

Ps: Love your content 💕

I had to research this a bit more because it's so wild it's almost untrue but also not completely outside the realm of possibility for that time period, but it really is a thing that happened. :O but also,, they couldn't have just used the tried and true bedtime story method instead??? 🤨 the traditions and thought process of olde really are fascinating.

Apparently, they also employed chambermaids who would complete normal household chores and duties (cleaning, laundry, etc), but they were also meant to be there as sexual relief for either the head of the house or the older boys in the family. Imagine being there as Skully's maid (and personal pussy). One minute you're doing his laundry or cleaning up in his bedroom and the next you're having to take your master's cock in your virgin pussy,, losing your virginity together in the hall..... orz no love (or so you think), just a lustful obligation to be fulfilled.

Now of course I need to apply this strange cultural moment to young master Skully who refuses to take a wife because he's still clinging to those stories of romance and true love from his childhood. But also because he's been in love with his personal nanny/maid since forever and stubbornly refuses to fall for anyone else. T_T he's at that age now where he should have been married and have had kids by now, but he's so awkward and not so charming when he's actually facing his potential suitors in the flesh. It's much easier to exchange letters, he thinks, but also no one understands him. >:/

Something something Skully who maybe has the most macabre nightmares and can never sleep, and nothing seems to help. So you're there to lull him to sleep with a handjob every night. Hehe maybe even getting down on your knees to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and he's a sputtering, blushing mess, insisting: "T-There's no need to go that far—!!!" But how else is the young master supposed to sleep unburdened by night terrors if he isn't completely, thoroughly satisfied? Waaa maybe even unbuttoning your dress and pulling your apron away to give him a titjob. Poor Skully who cums all over your face and he's so sorry, please forgive him, oh, he's an awful mess, please don't be cross with him, etc etc. >:) he cares about you so much,, maybe more than any master has ever cared for a servant before, but you're so much more than that to him. He wants you to be his wife so badly. T^T

He's so spoiled that now he can't sleep unless he's holding you in his arms (clinging like a koala) and his dick is kept warm in your snug, soft pussy. <3 this is not helping his crush on you,, if anything it only makes it so much worse. >_<

[marali-iin]

Sharpwolf (Antinous x Telemachus), is the peak of "Enemies to Lovers" BUT only before "Hold Them Down". HEAR ME OUT-

Yeah, I know Antinous beats the shit out of Telemachus in "Little Wolf" but THAT'S LITERALLY THE FRICKIN POINT. I know I've always said I hate enemies to lovers, but you know what I hate even more? BAD EXECUTED ENEMIES TO LOVERS. They're supposed to be ENEMIES, not rivals, which people often confuse. "But it's toxic-" TOXIC MY ASS THEY'RE LITERALLY THE TROPE. Enemies are supposed to hate each other, to want the other to suffer, to DIE, they have to be ruthless against each other, because they're supposed to have opposite views of something and be hostile because of it. Antinous and Telemachus are literally that trope

Now, if it's after "Hold Them Down" FUCK THAT, I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE. I can accept attempted murder, but I draw the line at rape. I can forgive the first two thirds of the song, when Antinous plans to kill Telemachus and break his bones? Enemies at its peak. When Antinous plans to then rape Penelope? GET THAT AWAY FROM ME I'M GLAD THE DUDE IS NO LONGER ALIVE.

I'm slightly disappointed that they had to make the suitors literally rapists so they "look bad", they were shitty enough as they were, in the original Odyssey they never try to rape Penelope, and yeah I know it was to build anger, even I fell for it and I get so fuckin angry. But still, I think we as writers in general often fall for whenever trying to make a character be disliked immediately turn them into a rapist, I've fallen for it, some of my writer friends have fallen for it, I've seen it in books and fanfics. It's normal, I'm glad we collectively hate rapists, but it's still a cliche I'm not ready to accept.

And just to circle back to the original topic and finish this, Antinous and Telemachus have so much potential for enemies to lovers. Antinous simply wants the throne? Telemachus is right there, younger than Penelope and more naive, easier target to manipulate, enemies manipulate each other. Telemachus wants to kick all the suitors out of his home? Antinous is literally the leader of them, manipulate him. Imagine both of these scenarios at the same time, both trying to use the other for their own benefit. And that's the point of Enemies to Lovers, hate each other at first, wish for the other's downfall and slowly start warming up to each other, realizing the flaws of your own view and how they're not that bad. Add a redemption arc and we're good to go, the problem with rapists is that they have no redemption (except Deidamia from Song of Achilles, I'll eventually talk about that but just to make clear in this house we DON'T hate her. Suck it up) That's why I REFUSE to work with post "Hold Them Down" Antinous.

So yeah, that was my rant for today, take this as a lesson. I can really, reallyyyy hate a trope, but I'll always hate more a rapist and a badly executed trope. I have standards

[tremendouscreationperson]

Logan x Reader pt.6

I know it took forever please forgive me!

I have a couple more ideas for this, if you guys want it to continue

If you think I'm just milking please it let me know, there's so many better fic writers out there I really didnt think this would blow up like it did 🫶

<< Part 5 Part 7 >> Masterlist

You had thought scavenging was difficult however as you stared at the immensely filled shelves you realised choosing was harder. You’d thought to purchase some crackers, just to see if Laura had preferences; however there were twelve different types of Goldfish and Goldfish was just one brand. This whole aisle was overflowing with crackers. It was insane. Who needed this many choices?

Elektra, Gambit and Blade had tagged along, the latter only for company, and they all seemed to be in the same position. Tired eyes mindlessly scanning for anything familiar. Anything that sounded good. Did you even remember the taste of ‘spicy chilli’? Or did you prefer ‘sour cream and chives’?

The shelves were too much and they were tall. You couldn't see over them, couldn't see potential threats or keep an eye on the exits. Why did the aisles need to be this long? They were endless. Endless and bright and colourful and the store was loud. Why were there children running around? There could be anyone around the corner. Each stomp of little feet drilled a hole in your head.

Picking up speed you rounded the corner and hid yourself by a pillar. The thing was an eyesore for the employees, they definitely had trouble stocking the shelves around it, but to you it was bliss.

You rest your forehead against the cool metal and force the air out of your lungs. You took in a big gulp before forcing it out again.

The noise of the store was drowned out by your breathing, by your hammering heart. You could hear vague snippets but it sounded like when an explosion was too close. Warped and muffled at the same time.

“Mon cher?” Gambit placed a light hand on your shoulder, despite how careful he was it still caused you to jerk. “Y/N. You 're okay.” You couldn't tell what was happening but your head was moving. Was it nodding or shaking? Your mouth opened to respond but nothing, bar a few halfhearted noises, could come out. “Y/N.” He tried again, but this had never happened. You'd never felt like this. This pain in your chest. Was… did you survive the Void to have a heart attack? “‘m get ‘ogan.”

You deliriously gave him a thumbs up.

Without any sort of logic or proof you knew the floor was safe. Of course it was, it was a constant. The floor would never leave. It couldn't. So you knelt down, your knees against the linoleum and your head still against the pillar. Or was it a beam? Why was this happening? You used to be able to do this. Why couldn't you fucking shop? All this time you'd had dreams of normality and now it was here and you were too crazy to be here?

Maybe you belonged in the Void. Then again, maybe this was Cassandra. You had thought it previously, everything was far too easy. She could be laughing her ass off at how you reacted to a fake superstore. Imagine.

Noise had slowly started to come back but it was too loud. Too much. Too bright. Why was it so bright? Why did people need to be blasted in the face to see what toothpaste they needed?

Maybe this was it.

Maybe it was the end of the line.

You were just rewatching your life.

That would be... nice.

To know that there was an end.

God, that was depressing.

You didn't mean it that way and you don't know why you thought it but it actually brought you some comfort.

Not enough to stop you hyperventilating on the dirty floors, though.

“Baby?” That was Logan now. Why was he always there to save you? He didn't have to be. Hell, he didn't know you. You might be the worst version of yourself and here he was doting over you.

You didn't deserve that.

What had you done to deserve that type of love?

He had sat out on the fire escape all night and you can't even pick up fucking crackers.

Who even likes crackers!?

“Baby?” He repeated, closer now.

You turned to the side and saw him but also saw through him.

“Can you tell me your name?”

What sort of mind fuckery was this? He knows your name. “Y/N L/N.” Your voice was tiny but he could see the way your mouth formed the words.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Your eyes stayed trained on his face but you answered using your peripheral. “Two.” The word still small and but now just hardly audible.

“And what's this?” You let your eyes meander down to his hand and saw he was pointing at a scrubbing brush you were hunched by.

You felt your brows pull together in confusion. “Cleaning thing.”

He let out an amused huff but was sincere with his words. “Now, love, what can you hear?”

Hear? You can hear everything. Him mostly. There were footsteps and trolley wheels and the buzzing of the speakers and constant rustling of shopping bags or plastic packaging and chattering and the child running riot was now crying and the checkouts were beeping and the deli counter number was called. “Rustling?”

“What else?”

“Crying.”

“One more?” His voice had lowered, he was more breathy.

“Your breath.”

“Can you follow my breathing?”

It was even. He was breathing in and out. Like literally every other living creature. Even trees could breathe.

“Are you able to move your hand?” He continued, tapping his chest. “Put it here?”

Of course, who did he take you for? You shakily slapped it onto his chest and he held it tight. Taking in the largest breath and releasing it slowly.

He repeated that for a while and slowly you found yourself assimilated. You were copying him with perfect movements.

The constant humming in your head had stopped, the noises were bearable, the lights even seemed duller. “I- I think I'm okay now?”

“Can you stand?” His eyes were darting all over your face, trying to gauge a reaction.

You bit your lip and nodded, moving stiff legs and easing your way up. He was swift with his movements making sure you were one hundred percent okay on your wobbly legs before he stepped back.

“That's never happened before.” You felt tired, drained. Your whole body was on fire. Why was it so sore? You had mentally freaked out and now your body was aching?

“It was an anxiety attack.” He voiced the obvious but could tell you were going to argue so carried on. If he was talking you had to listen. “They're not uncommon for those who've suffered. I’ve had them due to my PTSD.” Maybe you'd feel at ease if you knew he got them as well.

“But I don't have PTSD.”

“I think you might,” You scrunch your face. “the years spent in the Void, couldn't have been easy.”

“We survived.”

“That's what VETs say.”

Your rebuttal died on your tongue as you took two seconds to actually think about it. He might be onto something. “Is that why Stark said we need a therapist?”

“Possibly.”

“The whole time I was in the Void this didn't happen.” You grumbled. “Just carried on.”

“You didn't have time then. Your brain can now process your trauma.” Damn, Lydia - his therapist - was a genius. “In a weird way this is being healthy.”

“It's called an atta-” You huffed, hugging your middle. “I don't care what's happening, I just don't want Laura to see.” You had separated in the store to cover more ground. She had wanted to wander, to see the store for herself, and you had thought you'd be able to gather everything by the time she was headed back to you.

“She may need to see. She mig-she feels like she has to be strong.” He knew what Laura thought because she was him. “She needs to be shown this is okay.”

You were getting frustrated now. “Okay but not yet. Just- I just want a nap. My head hurts. My body, too.”

“Okay, we can leave.” It was not even noon, the others would ask questions about your sleeping pattern.

“Oh wait, no, I don't want her to worry about being noisy.” You tapped your teeth together as you wracked your brain. “Can I nap in your room?”

“Of course.” He would never deny you that, it also was a win-win as he could monitor you without Laura's beady eyes stalking him.

~~

It was safe to say that your “sickness” was the worst kept secret. It was obvious to everyone what had happened and even Wade seemed concerned. So much that he postponed the party.

Logan had settled you into his bed hours ago, checking on you periodically and was just waiting for you to rise. He had nothing better to do.

You were his world.

Laura had knocked once to see if there were any updates but he had told her the truth. That he had nothing to tell and was worried himself.

She walked back with slumped shoulders, a sliver of guilt slid up Logan's back but she was gone before he could make amends.

Another knock pulled him from Laura's disappointed eyes. Logan hoisted himself off of the armchair and opened the door to see Elektra.

She reminded him of Jean in a lot of ways.

“Here.” El handed a bag over. Logan frowned and opened it to see a multi coloured box. He and you had left the store earlier than the others to get home. He had made no purchases, leaving his basket of goods on the floor where you had slumped over. He hated himself for letting you out of his sight but you had strode off so confidently and Blade was talking to him about different moterbikes. Logan was distracted for a millisecond and you had vanished. Why did he take you guys to a store that large?

“Uh.” He didn't know what to say.

“Just invite Laura over and play these.” She spelt it out. “The kid’s worried sick and won't listen to us.”

He accepted the bag and nodded once. “Okay.”

If loving you meant loving Laura he could do that. He didn't dislike the kid but he saw so much of himself in her. And he hated himself.

El turned on her heel and entered her own door, opposite his.

Logan itched his chin and sighed, walking next door. He knocked twice and waited.

Laura opened the door in a grey hoodie and your fluffy socks. “Hello.”

“You, uh, you wanna play connect four?” He shook the plastic bag.

Laura eyed the bag but nodded once and followed him into his home.

Logan's apartment was the same as yours except he had added throws, blankets, books, CDs and LPs and many more home comforts in preparation for your arrival. His home was decidedly cosier and Laura didn't hate it.

“She's still asleep so I thought we could pass the time together.” He spoke as he sat at the dining table. Laura stood behind the chair to his right and awaited instructions. “You can sit, I just need to set this up.”

Logan unravelled the contents of the bag and found Guess Who and Sorry we're sitting beneath Connect Four. He left them both on the table and delved into the first game.

Building the game wasn't difficult and explaining it to Laura was as easy as saying “connect four of the same colour, either portrait, landscape or diagonal”. The picture on the box was practically instructions.

But playing against her was challenging. She knew how to think like him, knew how to outsmart him.

It occurred to him that she was always observing people. She knew his tells. She was always present and did contribute to the conversation but she preferred to watch. To take in.

Laura was very good at connecting four so after a few games he pulled out Guess Who. That was a little bit more complicated.

“Are you George?”

Logan had thought to pick George but went for a random number - seven - and counted his way along the board. “No. Do you have long hair?”

“I do.” She agreed and he flipped the heads. “I was drawn to George so I thought you might've been.”

“You're onto something there.” Logan sipped his cola. He made sure there were snacks and drinks available.

“Blue eyes?”

“No.”

“I don't know how they got your DNA.” Laura had felt guilty. She knew her Logan didn't ask for her to be born and this one didn't even know she was a thing.

“Been around a long time.” He shrugged. “You'll have that to look forward to.”

“How long?”

“Lipstick?” She shook her head. “I've been around a good two-three hundred years.”

Laura let that settle. Would she be around that long? The doctors did thousands of tests on her but none said she'd live an extended period. “Blonde?”

Logan nodded, noticing the shift in her demeanour. “You okay?”

“That is a long time to be alive.” She picked up a chip and snapped it in half. “Y/N will be dead. And El. And Gambit.”

“You might not live as long.” He tried to make that sound like a good thing. “What's your healing factor like?”

“I've never been ‘injured’.”

He thought about that. He couldn't ask her if she had died. That might be too much for the young woman. “And the Adamantium?”

Laura frowned.

“Your claws.”

“What about them?” Finally popping the chip in her mouth.

“The metal isn't part of the mutation.”

“What?” Laura revealed her claws. They came out sharp and shiny. “They've always been like this.”

A little girl. A small child having the procedure that almost killed him. She definitely would live as long as he does. “It's bone, they added the metal.”

Laura observed her claws, hand swivelling. She had never known them to be bone. Would they even be effective?

“It's alright, though,” he shrugged, giving her a cheesy thumbs up. “You have Blade and me to keep you company.” Laura smiled and rolled her eyes. “Are you Claire?”

~~

The next few days were okay. You were still achy and found it difficult to move but you weren't totally invalid.

In fact you were playing with your newest toy. A telecommunication device. Or a phone.

Wade had burst into the front room, you all collectively sat in, paper bags in hand.

“Guys, I hope you know how odd it was for me to walk in there and ask for five phones. They thought I was a drug dealer.”

Blind Al kissed her teeth. “You could've been buying company phones, idiot.”

“Oh.” Wade slumped. “Maybe it was the meth I offered the cashier…” He handed each of you a box and squeezed himself between Gambit and Al.

There were two sofas that you all were occupying. You were sitting next to Logan, a blanket covering the two of you. Laura was sitting on the floor in front of you, she had done so you could braid her hair but decided to stay. El was perched on the arm of Al’s sofa, Gambit and Wade next to Al, and Blade was standing at Logan's side.

The setup of each phone was easy. Technology was a lot faster than you remembered.

El spoke before you all got distracted. “We have to save each other's numbers.” She knew the collective braincell liked to wander.

Each of you read out your number whilst the others typed it in. But as that happened the phones asked for a contact picture. Now that caused chaos.

El was smiling sweetly in the first pic and looked like she was being held hostage in the last. Gambit had his eyes shut and a middle finger up in practically every one. Blade was exactly the same, it was eerie, he stood statue still as you all snapped him. Laura’s eyes were confused but she did force a smile. You threw up a peace sign just for Wade to tell you it wasn't 2001 anymore. Wade had a different pose for each phone and they were all more elaborate than the last. Al didn't want to participate at all. And finally Logan, much like Laura, faked a smile until you and her took the pics.

Photos were fun. You liked photos. You'd had a trusty Polaroid back in the day and loved snapping pictures, but this was amazing. The photos were really detailed and you had them all saved in a ‘gallery’.

“You happy with the camera?” Logan asked as he saw you in the settings reading what each symbol meant.

“Yeah it's really good and I can take front facing photos.” You smiled at yourself. “Look!” Logan's eyes dropped to his face and he raised an eyebrow as you tapped the button. He huffed out a disbelieving laugh and you snapped again. “You're smiling!” You giggled to yourself, leaning forward. “Laura look.” Laura was playing about with dark mode and she turned her head to see you and her. “We can take a photo.”

Laura smiled and you poked your tongue out as you snapped. You made a heart shape with your hand and got her to copy it, snapping another.

“Logan, get in.” You begged.

He sighed - completely for show - and moved closer. “This angle is all chins.”

You frowned.

“Laura, come and sit up here.” He pat the slither of space between you two. She complied and you tried to get everyone in. “Y/N angle the phone.” You did as instructed and you all smiled.

The phone was heavy in your hands and an awkward shape, your old phone was a flip and easier to hold. “Do the heart thing whilst I hold this.”

The wolverines did.

You took some more, without noticing Wade was in the background, and eventually ceased, sixty-four photos later.

“This is so much fun.”

Wade watched you swiping through the photos, “Just you wait, pumpkin, ‘til you get a hold of the apps.”

“Apps?”

“Like little things on your phone.” He scrunched his face. “Like Snapchat or Instagram or Facebook.”

“I know Facebook.” You nodded. “It was an internet thing, like MySpace.”

“Now it's on an app.”

“Oh.” Was all you had in response. Wade showed you how to get to the app store - Logan, carefully, watching to make sure he wasn't being a little shit - and showed you how to ‘download an app’.

“I have to put my phone number in?” You stared at the screen.

“If that's what it says.” Wade had noticed Al and Gambit speaking again so upped and left. He laid himself across the two of them. “Just follow the steps.”

Okay.

You could do that.

Shit.

The first hurdle.

It asked for your date of birth.

Technically your date of birth was different now, no?

“What do I put?” You asked Logan over Laura's head. “I'm not that old.”

“Just do the maths, put the correct day and month but subtract the years.” He suggested.

“My date of birth would mean I can't have this app.” Laura commented. “Not over eighteen.” She had followed the instructions Wade told you and was now in the same dilemma.

“Do the same but backwards.” Logan tried.

You both, then, had to pick a profile picture. You had the photos on your phone and picked one of you three.

“I don't have a photo of myself.” Laura pressed the camera button and jumped. “Do-do I just take one?”

You smiled. “If you want to.”

“You don't have to have a picture.” Logan supplied.

Laura bit her lip but did decide to take one, she gave a small smile. “Is that okay?”

“You look lovely.” You squeezed her arm.

The two of you had just finished messing about with Facebook when you both received a notification.

‘Elektra Natchios had sent a friend request’, you looked up at her and quickly added.

Gambit and Blade didn't delve into Facebook, the former said he couldn't be bothered the latter told you it was too public.

You suppose Blade is right. But at the same time this is familiar. This is a way to find people. To potentially seek out your family. Or at least see if they exist.

You were just putting the phone away when another friend request popped up. ‘Logan Howlett has sent you a friend request’. He had no profile picture or cover photo and no posts. He did have friends, some of whom you recognised as the X-Men.

“Do you speak to them?” You swivelled your phone, displaying the friends.

“Charles has told them who I am and why I'm here. They accept anyone, they were eager to listen to my story. Probably waiting for you, now.”

“I don't think I can just add them.” Your fingers hovered over Hank’s fuzzy face.

“Then don't.”

“Why don't you have any pictures?”

“I don't really do pictures.”

You weren't too quick but opened your gallery. “You did here.”

“That was with you two.” He gave you a half shrug. “It's different.”

~~

Texting was fun.

You taught Laura all the old slang you used to use. BRB, LOL, TTYL, 411.

Laura did use some of them but preferred to text properly, she had spent a good portion of her time in EDEN and the Void learning basic reading and writing, why would she throw that away?

You were laying in Logan's bed, having claimed it four days ago, listening as his TV played music. He had shown you how to go onto YouTube via the TV and you were very much a fan of these Apps. You did feel a little guilty because you had effectively intruded on his space but his bed was comfy and smelled like him. God it was heavenly.

Why did he smell so good?

Y/N: nighty night beautiful x

Laura: Goodnight x

You had drilled into Laura the importance of kisses. A kiss at the end of the text was vital.

You came out of your messages, having texted the others ‘night’.

Gambit: see ya tomorrow

El: Night, love x

Blade: night

It was a routine you all wouldn't dare abandon. Whether or not you lived in this apartment all your lives you knew you'd all stick to saying goodnight. You had done for five years.

You pressed on Logan's name and sent him a message.

“Why are you texting me?” Logan called through the wall. You could hear his footsteps, sitting up, you waited. It wasn't long before the door was opened and Logan revealed himself.

Jesus. H. Christ.

Why was he shirtless? Your brain short circuited whenever his wide chest and mouth watering abs were in view. His torso was covered in soft hair your fingers itched to grab.

“I-I was just saying ‘night’.” You snapped your jaw shut.

“Oh, I thought you needed me.” He ran a hand through his hair.

You liked his short hair but you missed his fluffy locks. Nothing better than running your hands through them.

You were both now just gazing at each other.

He looked glorious, you felt self conscious. He could literally be a Grecian God, you could picture statues being made in his honour.

“You wanna-” Your eyes darted away. “You wanna sit with me?”

Why were you so awkward?

This was your husband friend.

Logan’s eyes widened an inch but he did nod. “Yeah sure.”

He made his way to the right side and plonked down. His weight caused you to slide a little over but you quickly righted yourself. You plucked the remote off of your knees and turned David Bowie down.

“I wanted to thank you.” You fiddled with the remote. “And I'm sorry I've stolen your bed.”

Logan shrugged. “You weren't well and I'd never kick you out of my bed.”

He was admitting things that were as innocent as they were damning.

“You're cute.”

“Hmm.” He raised his brow. “I remember you claiming that.”

There wasn't much more to say, instead you both listened as ‘ashes to ashes’ changed to ‘modern love’.

“This was my favourite song.” You commented, leaning your temple on his shoulder.

“I remember.” He agreed.

Pulling your head up in shock, “you do?”

“Yeah.” His eyes glanced at the screen. “My Y/N liked it too.”

“Do you- is this weird?”

“I don't know.”

“Do you miss your Y/N?”

He considered the question. “I didn't have enough of her. I think I missed the 'what ifs' and now I know you and him were married, it feels worse. What about you?”

“I miss him, it is a little weird to see you walking around with his face. It's odd because we slept together and I am attracted to you but there's that obstacle. Now the world isn't ending, we have to face the consequences of our actions, you know?” You hoped he understood what you meant. “Is it wrong to want you? You are so much like him yet I don't know you.”

You had said a lot of really important things, however he was stuck on just one. “You want me?”

That caused you to chuckle. “Of course, look at yourself. Sex on legs.”

He didn't care for moral dilemmas the way you did. You wanted him. He wanted you. It may just be his animal brain but, surely, that was the end of it.

“I mean you almost killed me walking in here all shirtless and tanned.”

You were trying to joke to defuse the tension but his eyes told you it wasn't working. They were heavy, lidded and staring straight into your soul. “As if you in my shirt, in my bed, hasn't done the same.” He spoke directly to your lips.

Oh yeah. For quickness you had borrowed a shirt, using it as a nightie. “Please, I'm not nearly as gorgeo-”

He cut you off with a kiss.

You melted.

Of course you did.

It was Logan.

Your hands found his cheek and chest. Both threading through the respective hair.

Logan slid his tongue across your bottom lip in a silent question and you were quick to answer. He kissed you frantically, needing you more than oxygen.

You were slowly being pressed into the mattress. It was a perk of the Adamantium, he was heavier than he meant and that solid mass turned you on.

You had to break the kiss to catch your breath and he merely explored your neck. Your ragged breaths were now being cut off as you spluttered and gasped.

Fuck.

Your hand on his cheek had meandered to his nape where you tugged at the hair as you twitched in pleasure, your back arching.

What were you saying earlier?

Consequences of actions?

None of that mattered when he bit down.

The position that he had manoeuvred you in caused your left leg to wrap around his hip as he kept nipping your neck. He loved to mark you.

Even if he didn't ‘claim’ you as his, back in the day, everyone knew because he would mark you. It was the animal in him. He needed the world to know who you belonged to.

“Logan.” You let out a breathy whisper against his temple.

The man raised his head to gaze into your eyes. Fuck. They were blown wide.

“Tell me to stop.” He warned.

You couldn't. Why would you?

Your response was a silent head shake.

Logan's eyes landed back onto your lips and he dipped to devour them.

His hands, that had been at your sides, were moving in opposite directions. One slid up to rest just under your breast and the other travelled down. Fingers tickling a path down to your core.

He played with the waistband of your underwear, pulling it taught against you and watching the wet patch smear.

Logan smirked and kissed your chin, then your neck, your collar bone, spent a while on your chest - licking and biting, claiming you, yet again - and then your stomach and finally kissed the material just above your core.

He swiped his tongue along the fabric and barely loosened his hold, before tearing it with his teeth.

By fuck.

This man would kill you one day.

The torn fabric hung loosely as he nuzzled his way between your folds, forcing your thighs over his shoulders. His nose separated the slick lips as he then ran his tongue across them. He fluttered his tongue around the wet hole and collected the slick on his muscle before depositing it on your clit. He took extra care caressing the sensitive bud, swirling his tongue sweetly.

The noises that came out of your mouth were whorish, you sounded like a two-bit 80s porn star and he loved every one.

Eventually Logan added a finger to your hole, it eased in, and curled it as he pumped his hand.

You tried so hard to keep it down, to try to sound less pornographic, but he was a monster. He knew how to get you going. In fact you were on the verge right now. Any second you'd be cumming on his finger.

“Keep going.” You begged.

Logan hummed in response and it vibrated your clit.

“Fuck, do that again.”

He began humming as he added a second finger and you saw stars. You clamped down and let out a moan as you came.

He kept pumping his fingers and lapped up your slick until you groaned and tapped his shoulder to give you a moment's respite.

Logan stilled his tongue with a frown but kissed your thighs, biting the pillowy flesh.

“Shit.” You looked down, dazed, at his smug face. “Fuck, you're perfect.”

“I can take my time with you now.” He admitted. “I couldn't back in the Void, not like I wanted to.”

“You did a pretty good job then, too.” You recalled.

He rolled his eyes but continued placing languid kisses on your abdomen. “You are the perfect one. This pussy is delicious.”

His devotion caused you to bite your lip. “Fuck me.” You order.

“I like it down here.” He suggested nuzzling his nose on your clit.

Your argument died with the groan that forced its way out of you.

He sucked at your clit and you swore you ripped strands of his hair out. It was a shame because his hair was so soft.

Logan lapped at your pussy all he wanted, building you up slowly.

“Do me a favour?” He spoke between your folds, they muffled him a little. “Hands and knees?”

You nodded, deliriously and eased your way up, spinning to present yourself like a needy bitch.

Logan growled at the sight, your dripping pussy spread for him.

He buried his face, again, but carried on upwards. His tongue now circling your other hole. You twitched at the new sensation but found you enjoyed it just as much so let him have his fun.

He kept playing with you, teasing you with his fingers until you were shaking.

“Logan.” You warned.

He seemed to understand because he kept the same rhythm, rather than interrupting, and you came again.

He milked your orgasm again and licked a stripe from your clit to your ass, across your spine and back up to your neck.

“Mine.” He growled in your ear as you felt his tip line up. Both of his hands were on you, underneath his shirt, caressing your tits so it amazed you that you felt him notch and slowly ease his head into you.

Your eyes crossed in pleasure as he pulled out and pushed back in, the hole so wet it squelched louder than you could moan.

He huffed, unhappy with your shirt and ripped another item of clothing you were wearing. The shirt was discarded behind you but the waistband of your panties still sat on your hips, slowly moving higher with each thrust.

You knew he was holding himself back, afraid he'd hurt you, so as he pushed in you pushed back.

You cried out as he hit that spot inside you. “Harder.”

Logan caught your drift and picked up the pace. It really didn't take a lot of convincing.

He slammed into you from behind, pushing you further into the mattress, making you present yourself more.

He sat up and if he could die, he wanted this to be the last thing he saw.

You were amazing.

He collected all of your hair and eased you upwards, once again, nipping at your nape. There was something about the nape that transfixed him. He loved your smell and you smelt the most from your nape, he adored it but his own mingled with yours was something else entirely.

He needed you.

It was so painfully obvious.

How had he not admitted that to his version of you?

What a fucking idiot he was.

“Lo.” You could only say his name but he knew. You were close.

“Mmhmm.” He agreed, nibbling your earlobe. “I need another one, c’mon.”

You couldn't even hear his request over your third orgasm. This was different though. This was wetter. You instantly worried, what was happening? But Logan gasped.

“Fuck.” He stuttered inside you, pushing you down as his claws made an appearance at each side of your shoulders. “Fuck did you just squirt?”

“I-I don't know.” Your voiced muffled into the pillow, a hand patted your utterly soaked legs. “I've not done that before.”

He groaned, still rocking inside you. Logan held himself up via his claws and pounded into you with a whole new energy. He was frantic, frenzied. It didn't take long for him to spill inside.

His claws still barely held his weight but he wouldn't crush you.

“Shit, sorry.” He spoke once his senses returned. “I should've as-”

“Shut up, that was more than fine.” You panted against the pillow.

Logan kissed your temple and slowly retracted from the mattress and you. As soon as he was out you felt empty.

“Hmm.” You grumbled.

“What?” He chuckled.

“Put it back in.”

Logan knew you were real but he found himself in disbelief that someone this perfect could exist.

“Let's swap positions and I will.” He flopped over onto his spine and you followed sheathing his dick back into you.

You groaned and found yourself relaxing onto his chest.

This was possibly the best day you'd ever had.

“I'm sleepy but wake me up in an hour and we can do that again.” You gave him a cheeky wink.

Part 7

@geeksareunique @lovelyvaderx @melissa-ashe @st1nkabutt @maximumchilddreamland @ravenmedows @vulgarfuckinvirgo77 @bisasterbisexual @tzurue @narniansmagic @seamlessepiphany

[starqueensthings]

We need to talk about Echo (and by talk I mean screm). S3 E13 + 14 Spoilers!

FRIENDS, I'M GOING TO EXPLODE. I need to talk about Echo for a minute. We need to talk about Echo for a minute,  because he has spent the last two episodes in the absolute thralls of complete and total danger, and I personally don't feel like there's been enough of a celebratory uproar for me to be satisfied with the level of appreciation and love that man deserves. (Remember when Hunter ran face first into a colossal exhaust pipe and we all collectively lost our minds because it was so impressive and so sexy? Remember when Tech drove a speeder really fast through a tunnel and we all fainted? I'M A TECH GIRLY. IT WAS ME! I FAINTED!!) but, Y'ALL, Echo deserves that right now!! And for all eternity!!! Because he is wholly submurged in the harrowing potential of torture and execution, and he didn't even bat an eye to put himself there. My awe of him is all-consuming, so please forgive me if this rant reads as nothing but incoherent screaming. 

Echo haters (first of all, we can't be friends....) come on this journey with me! Let's back pedal to the beginning of the last episode (13). He stole an imperial shuttle. Let me repeat, he stole an imperial shuttle. And not just an attack shuttle. Not just a lil one-pilot transport. Bro somehow stole a Rho-class medical transport, which is very large, obscenely conspicuous, and very easily tracked. And, to use his own words, it was "the best he could do on short notice." The man stole a shuttle on short notice. ON SHORT NOTICE? HELLO, HOW DID HE DO THAT. WHY AIN'T WE LOSING OUR COOL ABOUT IT. 

Next stop on this I-love-Echo journey through my mind: not only did he provide his brothers transportation in the complete void of their own (RIP havoc bb), but he also came equipped with intel and clearance codes, and, as Rampart stated, those things change DAILY. Echo somehow procured top secret imperial clearance codes, and a fkn SHIP, within hours of the Batch requesting his help. Not to mention, the ship had yet to be reported missing (which means it was only-freshly commandeered), and the clearance codes worked. Of course they did. Echo never fails. Never doubt Echo. "Echo's on it."  

Choochoo, next stop! Once they arrived on that station orbiting Coruscant, and made their way to the control room (lookin sexy as heck in his armour-au-noir), he broke imperial encryption, hacked into the Imperial database, almost instantly found them the location of a ship departing for the prison that holds their daughter Tantiss, AND THEN DIDN'T EVEN HESITATE TO CLIMB ABOARD AND STOW AWAY.  

He didn't even remotely have a plan, or have time to make a plan. He didn't know who or what else would be on board that mysterious vessel. He didn't know where it was going other than the name of the fkn mountain (which has proven to be nothing but unhelpful thus far). He just ARC-troopered his way through that crowded hangar, dodging aggressive astromech's and inconsiderate loader droids, shirking from the perspective eyes of highly trained commandos, and snuck his way onto a heavily guarded, extremely unknown science vessel. Then, of course, he wasted no time, hacking into the ships control system (may I gently remind- there were at least three pilots and an officer prepping the ship for jump and closely watching all aspects of its controls), disabling the proximity sensors without being detected, and then seamlessly covered the troopers absence by pretending to be him (which we all know is what should have happened on Serenno but... hindsight is 20/20.)  

So... SO.... now we're at Episode 14. Here we at fkn terrified station because HULLO ECHO IS ALONE ON A SCIENCE DIVISION TRANSPORT; we have literally seen them carry around Zilo beasts in that shit. What the heck else could be on there that they don't know about? Literally anything. Because THEY KNEW NOTHING before attaching themselves to it. Echo knew NOTHING before sneaking onto that thing and creepin' around. Thank heck he didnt come across a fkn fresh wave of slither vines ok?  

NEXT, Echo shoots (not stuns- lol) a sassy fkn droid (they had it coming, not sorry), then another trooper. AND THEN discovered his only option for departing the ship once it enters atmosphere is going completely undercover, because (in true "we improvise everything" CF99 fashion that gives me heart burn just thinking about it), they had zero fkn plan to get off the ship. I will repeat: completely undercover. On Tantiss. COMPLETELY UNDERCOVER ON TANTISS. NO COMMS, NO BACK UP, NO RECON, NO PLAN, BARELY ANY GEAR, and I would just like to stress... no neuro brace. He left his neurobrace on that ship. Left it. LEFT IT AND TOOK A HAND INSTEAD. PLEASE FKN SEDATE ME.  

We can't leave this station yet... This I-love-Echo train needs to linger at this point for a sec because I think it's lost on some people how wild this is. Echo without his neurobrace is huge. It's a bigger deal than Echo without his armour. Armour is, in the grand scheme of things, inconsequential (one can find more- see Howzer). Echo's neurobrace is not armour, it's a computer and it's so so so crucial to how his mind processes information and events. Don't forget, the Technounion HIJACKED HIS BRAIN. They took every memory from him and manipulated it for their gain. Pruned it, tweaked it, blanched it, poached it, turned it into scrambled eggs, and then fkn ate it up and used it to defeat their enemies (Echo's family- I'm sobbing). They implanted him with an unfathomable amount of information; they changed the way the neurons in his brain fire in relation to stimuli. That neurobrace is so so critical for him. Now, we know he can operate well enough without it, we saw it in the last episode of the TBB arc in season 7 of Clone Wars, but... please.... to what extent? We don't know what an extended time without that neurobrace looks like for him... especially when all other aspects compliing his surroundings foreign, unknown, and dangerous, and that scares me.

AND NOW HE'S ABOUT TO RUN AMOK IN TANTISS with Emerie who, (I'm sorry) is wishy-washy as heck (who are you loyal to!!!!! What is your history!!! Are you trustworthy and what are you looking to gain!!!), trying to adopt a collection of Jedi children whove spent maker-knows how long playing space tetris, WHILST ALSO ATTEMPTING TO LOCATE AND ESCAPE WITH HIS BROTHERS UNDER THE EYE OF THE GALAXY'S SECOND MOST DANGEROUS MAN. 

So yes, short of d-d-d-di... can't say it... short of THE WORST CASE, Echo has made the ultimate sacrifice to save not only Omega who is literally the only person we've seen able to make him truly laugh, but all the clone brothers that he's been desperately trying to locate and rescue. His bravery and determination are literally unrivalled, and he did it while feasting on nothing but humble pie because that man wouldn't know arrogance if it danced naked under his perfect nose.  

Okay so welcome, we've finally pulled into I-Love-Echo station. Before departing the ride, please stand and do a hip hip hurray for the miracle that is Echo, including but not limited to, everything he's done, is doing, and is willing to do for other people. 

[hvly]

No, cause let’s talk about the virgins tired of being virgins.

My personal favorite is that Oikawa has never gotten any type of close with a girl because of the sheer amount of bitches he has around him

(Also, I stumbled across your blog and I think I’m in love??? Please say you’re not taken 👏🏼)

ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴍ 🗣️ : anon, babe, forgive me for getting to this so astronomically late. BUT now that I'm here, let's talk about it 🤭 Oikawa is a hoe in theory, not practice. And I am more than happy to elaborate.

ᴄᴡ: virginity loss (male), afab reader, light praise. not proofread so be nice.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ : 1k+

Humor me for a minute. Imagine what it'd be like to take THE Tooru Oikawa’s virginity. To be his first, if you will. He'd try to be really smooth about it. Using his flirtatious nature to cover up the fact that he's inexperienced when it comes to being intimate. And who, honestly, would doubt or question his validity? 

The volleyball player is far from short on potential sexual partners. Throngs of fangirls practically throw themselves at his feet, hoping to land on his radar for just one chance. And like any good idol, he gives his adoring fans what they wish and pray for.

Pandering to his female fans by addressing them as “his girls”, giving hugs instead of handshakes at fan meet-ups, and playful flirty banter to appear more personal and within reach. No one who’s ever interacted with him would get the impression that he’s a “virgin”. 

To say he had you fooled would be quite the understatement. And to say you were pleasantly surprised to be the one to find out would be an even greater one. 

You stare down at where your bodies would soon connect, your hand gently leading his member to align with your entrance. Oikawa's bangs tickled your forehead as he watched, his breaths gradually getting shorter out of what you could only assume was anticipation. “Are you ready?” you ask, looking up at the brunette through your lashes. 

He nods slightly, breathing out an airy ‘yes’. You felt your heart skip in your chest, the way he answered catching you off guard. It felt surreal guiding the reputed womanizer through his first time and seeing him like this. Meek, breathless, desperate. How lucky you were to have this opportunity.

“Okay,” you whisper, taking a deep breath before leading his cock into your welcoming walls, using your legs to gradually pull him in. Oikawa inhales sharply from the new sensation, quietly muttering to himself as he sinks inch by inch into you. 

You lay still when Oikawa bottoms out, allowing him a moment to adjust to each other’s bodies. “How does it feel?” you ask, your hands coming up to cup his face. His cheeks were warm in the palm of your hands, ears hot against the pads of your fingers. He’s breathy when he responds, brown eyes misty as he looks at you. “Good...Really good,” he mutters, his collarbone peaking through with each breath he took. “Can I?” he paused, voice breathy and barely above a whisper, afraid to appear too eager. He looks like he’s close to tears, eyes glassy against his flushed skin. You peered back into those warm eyes, rubbing your thumbs across his cheeks as you nodded.

Oikawa swallows and fixes his hands to your hips. You felt him move backward, his cock dragging against your walls. He starts slowly, his hips rocking in a steady back-and-forth motion. Soft groans and hushed curses sounded from the boy as he relaxed, less rigid and more confident. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, lip caught between your teeth as you let Oikawa use your cunt to find a comfortable pace he could build on. Gradually, his movements quickened. His thrusts became less tentative and more precise, hitting faster and deeper every time his hips connected with yours. You gasped quietly, your eyes snapping open upon Oikawa’s (frankly unexpected) new pace. 

Your breaths start to quicken as pleasure slowly builds in your core. “Yeah, keep going,” you moan. Oikawa huffs out some sort of acknowledgment as he continues to drill into your tight walls. You vocalized your pleasure loudly, praising the brunette for how well he was doing. And in such a short amount of time for someone who claimed they were inexperienced. 

For a moment, you wondered if the pro volleyball player was lying about his virginity. Maybe he was using it as a type of ploy to garner sympathy from his fans.

But the thought went as soon as it came. Your attention was brought back with a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, your hips bucking in response. You gasped before it was quickly replaced with a loud moan, your hands gripping the pillows behind you. Oikawa groans above you, his fingers digging into the fat of your hip. 

Any timidity that he previously had was now long gone. He thrust into you with a new found confidence. Or maybe it was just pure lust and pleasure that drove him. You went into this fully expecting not to orgasm, but the virgin boy proved not to be underestimated. 

You couldn’t help but rain praises down on the brunette, his performance truly commendable.. ‘Yes ! Just like that’ and ‘You’re doing so good’ falling freely from your lips as the coil in your abdomen steadily wound up. Oikawa threw his head back with a loud moan before looking back at you with hazy chocolate eyes. “Gonna cum…Fuck, I’m cumming,” he manages to choke out, squeezing his eyes shut as he nears his end. You moan in time with his frantic thrusts, yeses ringing throughout the room like a mantra. 

His cock twitched with such intensity you swore you could feel every vein on his cock, even through the latex barrier he wore. You reach climax first, your cunt fluttering around Oikawa. He pumped into your walls once, twice, three times before his hips suddenly stilled. Oikawa gasped loudly, an equally loud and drawn out moan filling in any possible silence within the room. You felt his load steadily fill the condom, the faintest traces of warmth within your walls. Every twitch of his cock added to the feeling of (technical) fullness, and you were almost certain that he’d spill out of it if he kept cumming like this. 

Oikawa collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and his heart pounding against your shoulder. You smiled a bit, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. He chuckled breathlessly, propping himself up to look at you. 

“So,” he smiled, a smirk tugging on his features, “Did I earn the title of womanizer?” Oikawa’s expression was light and playful, not taking himself too seriously and well aware of his reputation as a “lady-killer”. You giggled, shaking your head lightly.

“Almost. Still gotta teach you a few things before then.”

© 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴𝘰𝘯 2023. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺.