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

[sufferu]

Bravo to you for choosing not to let Rem be forgiven so easily. Honestly I've never been a big fan of Rem as a character, sometimes her endless pandering and obsession with subaru just really annoys me instead, and I've never understood people looking at her doing all that and then saying “Wow that's so hot I'm so jealous of Subaru!”

As for the ones who want her deeds to be easily forgiven by everyone, my personal guess is that they all only care about her body and the unheathy way she forces herself to act like the perfect waifu just for Subaru's sake, but subconsciously they can't stand the shit she did either, so they secretly want their favorite waifu to be a perfect being without flaws. But to me, isn't it essential to love a character and accept their flaws as well? They did wrong things, but there's no doubt THEY did them anyway, and that is part of what makes them who they are. Another thing is that forgiveness has to be earned, we're not cruel, coldhearted, or closeminded for not forgiving someone who hurts us. So I too agree with that anon who thinks WHDAA cast need to to beat some sense into Subaru on way too forgiving and tolerating the people who have hurt/killed him.

But now that you've decided to do that, beware of those rabid Rem stans coming after you and I'm worried that their harassment goes overboard and affects your personal life

I will say — I believe that Rem and Subaru’s canon dynamic is one of the most intriguing and multifaceted dynamics in the entire series. Their parallels regarding their insecurities and family members, their mutually codependent tendencies, the way they run the risk of becoming each other’s perfect enablers, the genuine sense of love and affection that runs parallel to the unintentional toxicity fostered within their relationship — it’s all really interesting stuff. In fact, exploring their dynamic through the lens of outsiders (including amnesiac!Rem) finally getting to peer under the hood is one of the main reasons I wanted to write a react fic at all.

As for why people like her — honestly, I think it’s kinda easy to guess? She’s a very cutely designed anime girl, she’s incredibly well-voiced, her insecurities are genuinely relatable, she’s got a super awesome oni power-up transformation, her morning star lends itself to some of the best choreographed action scenes in the series (or at least Season 1), she appeals to the whole “submissive maid” aesthetic that she knows Subaru finds attractive (and that also appeals to the target demographic of Re:Zero specifically, let’s be real here) — and frankly, there are so many scenes in anime where characters we’re supposed to like do fucked up shit that it’s not difficult to just…gloss over the whole “tortured the mc for several hours” part of her character. It’s understandable, especially if you’re not an insane person who spends all their time hyperanalyzing the anime they’re a fan of like I am. I don’t think it’s really that far of a leap for her to develop such a massive following, she was basically designed to be as popular an anime waifu as physically possible.

But then, that clash can become…a little uncomfortable if you’re writing a story where “Rem tortures Subaru” is a major plotpoint, and if you don’t want to reevaluate their entire relationship, it makes sense to find a way to just — get the characters to move along, much like a lot of the irl audience does.

But I really like toxic characters and angst and complicated relationships and all that fun stuff, so that’s what I’m gonna focus on. —Also Rem is WORSE in the LN. Girl starts fantasizing about whisking Subaru away while he’s practically comatose from shock (second Arc 3 loop) and then also makes a comment like “even if he had tried to assault her in her sleep, she knew she never would have resisted” like GIRL??? The idea of not tapping that insane well of potential drama is ludicrous to me lmaoo— especially because I really don’t care about maintaining the status quo ;)

(Also frankly, anyone who would start seriously harassing me over whether or not I share their opinion about a fucking anime girl is too pathetic for me to care about. I honestly don’t think I’ll get that big of a response — especially not on Tumblr “Gay Website” Dot Com — but even if I do…I don’t care, lmao.)

[feyyyd]

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.

[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. 

[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

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @raspberrybesitos

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @vee-bees-blog @itsokbbygrl

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @jolapeno @ovaryacted

@amanitacowboy @mystickittytaco @anoverwhelmingdin @greenwitchfromthewoods

@witchofthedeepwoods @ericamarie093 @readingiskeepingmegoing @whimsiwitchy @whoaitspascal87

@vickie5446 @katw474 @ravenpoe67 @inthedarkestnight @brittmb115

@harryscherrysugar

@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[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.

[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~

[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

[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. >_<

[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. 

[tsunamiiseas]

I HAD A VISION

Or rather, my brain soup came up with a headcanon for the Earthspark cassettes [and Soundwave in turn] at 11pm-

So in Season 1, Episode 7, "Family and Friends", Bumblebee mentions that Soundwave tried to employ one of his cassettes while starved on energon, only for them to explode instead. Now most of the fandom [me included] like to think this cassette was Rumble, because the angst potential. Bro.

Sooo what if I made it more angsty,,,

The cassettes were like peas in a pod, with Soundwave being the latter. Rumble and Frenzy were twins, and being music lovers, they both donned weaponized instruments to bring to the battlefield melodious murder.

While Frenzy had her laser-blasting guitar, Rumble had an electrifying bass, both metaphorically and literally. They synchronized with eachother, using their respective weapons' high and low notes to disorient and disable opponents: Frenzy made audio receptors ring with her guitar's shrill notes, and Rumble made the ground tremble with the booming notes of her bass. Adding Laserbeak and Ravage's support, the cassette quartet was a force to be reckoned with.

But now, the cassette quartet wasn't even a quartet anymore, because Rumble was gone.

Frenzy could still remember seeing Soundwave's chest explode, with Rumble barely having left it. Armour and wiring turned to flame and cinders, blue and red charred black and brown. She could never forget how Soundwave's chest cavity spewed out parts of his internal frame, how Rumble blew up into a hundred pieces of burning metal, how she could hear them scream till their voiceboxes glitched and their sparks practically implode as one of them died.

She didn't remember much after that - thank Primus she couldn't - because the only memories she did have after witnessing her twin's death was a whole lot of pain, unconciousness and grief. She knew Soundwave didn't forgive himself after that; he still hadn't, and she and her remaining siblings noticed how cautious he grew of all their energon consumption, making sure they had enough fuel all the time. Soundwave didn't even seem to care that he almost died in the process, because he was drowning in the abysmal depths that was grief for the part of him that did die that day. All of them were griveing.

And Frenzy wasn't really the same anymore after that. None of the cassettes or Soundwave were. Frenzy didn't have any rumbling bass to complement her sharp guitar, no maroon to go with her purple, no stupid red idiot to playfight and bicker with. Not anymore, not after Rumble kicked the damn bucket and left a missing piece in each of their sparks. For Frenzy, it felt like half her spark was gone, because to her, it really was.

She didn't even get to say goodbye.

When they came to Earth and saw Lord Megatron with the Autobots, the enemy who they'd been fighting for milennia, who Rumble died against, Frenzy knew Soundwave had every right to be furious. She felt her own anger bubble when the traitor tried to coerce them into surrender.

"Don't make this personal, Soundwave." He had said, as if he was the one who lost a sibling, the one who lost a kid. The former warlord would never understand just how much Soundwave and the cassettes had sacrificed for the war, for him.

Frenzy readied her guitar, digits over the chords that would produce the loudest notes she could muster. That was Rumble's job, and it was supposed to stay that way.

She wanted to rupture the deceiver's audials and make his processor implode within itself - even though Rumble was the one who enjoyed it more than she ever would.

"Autobot sympathizer!"

[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.

[pasukiyo]

Hey, I loved your Tom Riddle fanfic, Addiction! Can you please write a part 2 of this where he starts ignoring her after this cuz the ✨scary feelings are getting out of control✨ so she tries to make him jealous and *you can guess what happens next*?

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!ravenclaw prefect reader 4,221 words notes; this can be read as its own imagine. but, for a little more context, you can read addiction here. warnings; smut and a little angst

 “I see you’ve been spending a lot of time with that Ravenclaw prefect, my Lord.”

 Tom said nothing, only glanced Avery’s way in acknowledgement over the top of his Potions book. Avery and Lestrange shared an amused grin as they eyed their friend, and Lestrange leaned forward, resting his elbows against his knees. “She’s pretty,” he said, and again, Tom said nothing but he could feel his muscles tense, his jaw locking at Lestrange’s words. 

 Avery smirked over at Lestrange and scooted towards the edge of his seat, tilting his chin down so that Tom may hear what he said next. “She seems to fancy you, you know,” Avery whispered, and Tom glanced over at him again. His brow furrowed at their smirks, but again, he remained silent. “And forgive me if I’m wrong but… it seems that you… feel the same.”

 Tom set his Potions book down onto the table in front of him and leaned back into the cushions of his seat, clasping his hands together in his lap. He eyed the two boys before him, expression blank but still, his actions seemed calculated, as if everything he did was carefully planned. 

 “Since when did how I feel become either of your concerns?” Tom asked, and the two boys in front of him seemed to flush at this, and they both shared a look. A silence ensued, and Tom felt relieved to think that the conversation was over. That was, until Lestrange cleared his throat and leaned forward again. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, but…” he trailed off and glanced at Tom, his gaze sharp and daring him to continue. “…you’ve been spending quite some time with her lately. It almost seems to me, to us, that… you’ve gone soft.”

 Tom blinked at this, could feel his jaw tense again, his fingers curling into his palms to form fists. It was true that he had been spending more and more time with her lately but for them to think that he could’ve gone soft? 

 Foolish. They were foolish to think that he, Tom Marvolo Riddle, did not have his priorities sorted. His priority, of course, was seeking information about Horcruxes, and to even begin thinking that she could deter him from this path made him so… so… 

 Tom blinked. What if Avery and Lestrange were right? What if this thing he felt for her— whether that be love or simply infatuation— was making him soft? The feelings he had only really acknowledged just weeks before on the top of the Astronomy Tower, the fluttery feeling he got in his chest when she was near, the panic and dread he felt at the idea that something could happen to her— it was a weakness. He told her that very night, and still, he couldn’t push her away, couldn’t resist the urge to have her as close as possible. 

 It was sickening, the way he felt, that he was even capable of feeling such things. Tom Riddle was many things, but a coward, he was not. But this premonition that he could potentially be falling in love… It frightened him. 

 He cleared his throat and quickly regained his composure, pushing himself off of the sofa cushion to look down at the two boys still sitting before him. “I think… that the two of you must be foolish to think so poorly of me,” Tom said, and Avery and Lestrange scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads. “My Lord, that was not our intention—“

 Tom raised a hand to silence them, and the two boys pressed their lips together, practically shriveling away where they stood. “You are to never question where my priorities lie from now on,” Tom stated, and the two boys bowed their heads, their bodies shaking. “And please, don’t the both of you have essays for Professor Slughorn to write?”

 And with that, Tom strode off, heading for his dormitory, leaving both Avery and Lestrange shaking in the Slytherin common room. 

 Tom found that the easiest way to ignore her presence was to not look her way at all. He would usually avoid walking down the same corridor as her altogether, which was easy enough the first few days. But as time went on, he suspected she began to grow worried, and avoiding her seemingly became more and more difficult. So instead, he would walk by without so much as sparing her a glance, always leaving her dumbfounded and confused, wondering whether or not she’d done him wrong.

 She watched as Tom walked by, his expression blank, his eyes set to the hallway ahead. He didn’t even acknowledge her, and she could feel her heart stutter in her chest, and she swore she could even feel a few fragments tear from it and flutter down to the depths of her stomach. 

 Could she perhaps have done something wrong? She searched her brain for anything, anything she said or done that could’ve possibly upset him, but turned up with nothing. She couldn’t help but feel insecure, worried even that she messed up the beautiful thing she thought they had. 

 She had to talk to Tom. It was the only way to ease her growing concern, the only way to piece her heart back together. 

 However, trying to flag Tom down proved more difficult than she anticipated. It certainly was no help that she had no classes with him, since he was a year ahead, and couldn’t even rely on lunch or dinner since he never seemed to stick around for long after she arrived in the Great Hall. He never seemed to be on duty at night when she was, and it wasn’t like she could enter the Slytherin common room herself to track him down. 

 She felt helpless, with absolutely no way of finding Tom or grabbing his attention. 

 Until one night, as she patrolled up and down one of Hogwarts’ many corridors when she swore she saw the end of a student’s robes up ahead. She picked up her pace with the intent of catching whomever it was out of bed, only to find that it was none other than Tom Riddle himself, walking down the hallway. 

 “Tom!” She exclaimed, and she swore she could see his shoulders tense at the sound of her voice, his feet stopping in their tracks. She rushed towards him, stepping in front of him before he could even think to hurry away. For the first time in days, she gazed up into Tom Riddle’s dark eyes, and for a moment, she seemed to relax. Her lips curved up into a smile at the sight of him, and she stepped closer. “You’ve been terribly difficult to catch lately.”

 Tom said nothing, his jaw clenching as he stared down at her, and her smile quickly faded. She tilted her head, her hand reaching for his but he did not let her hold him, slipping his fingers away from hers before she could grab ahold of them. She flinched at the action, gazing back up at him. “Is everything alright?” She asked. “You seem to have been ignoring me as of late.”

 Tom’s brow wrinkled as he watched her, her fingers now locked together and fondling with each other, her eyes darting from his down to the floor. “Have I… have I done something wrong?” She questioned, blinking up at him. He noticed the way tears brimmed the outskirts of her sockets, and he noticed the way she tried to blink them away. 

 His heart thud against his chest. Why did he want to hold her? Why did he want to draw her into his chest and feel her close? Why did he feel angry at her tears? Why did he hate that he was seemingly breaking her heart? Wasn’t this what he wanted all along? To keep her away? 

 “Tom?” She said after a while of silence, but she didn’t dare make any more moves to touch him. With the same blank and unchanging expression, he glimpsed down at her, pushing down every sick and wretched feeling he felt towards her. 

 “No,” he finally said. “You’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.”

 And with that, Tom walked away, leaving her to stand alone in the hallway more puzzled than ever. 

 Tears made her eyes sting and she rubbed at her eyes, desperate to make them go away. All she could feel now was anger, red hot anger at the boy she was watching walk away. Her eyes narrowed and she glared at his back as he turned the corner, and she glared at the place he once was too. 

 How could he do this to her? To practically admit to her just a few weeks before that he loved her— albeit, in his own strange and confusing way— on the top of the Astronomy Tower, to make love to her and to kiss her and hold her only to push her away? How could he play with her feelings like this, like they meant nothing? How could he be so selfish?

 She pressed her lips together in a firm line as she turned and walked away, patrolling the other empty corridors instead. She had to do something, something to grab his attention, something to make him regret ever taking her and the way she felt for granted. She was not going to let him throw away this thing they had, this thing that she knew had the potential to blossom into something beautiful. 

 And the next day when she caught the eye of a handsome Gryffindor named Warren Collins, she began to work on the blueprint of her plan. 

 Warren Collins was a year above her, a seventh year and Gryffindor’s Seeker. He was tall, not as tall as Tom was but still towered over most of the school. His eyes could make anyone melt, and she’d admit, she felt a little weak-kneed when she first gazed into his dark, angular eyes. They weren't as dark as Tom’s, and certainly didn’t seem almost sinister like his. No, Warren’s irises were warm, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day. 

 She caught another glimpse at Warren Collins as he and the other players on Gryffindor’s Quidditch team headed towards the Quidditch pitch for practice, and she knew that this was her chance. She made her way over to the pitch and made her way up into the stands where a few other girls sat, and she wondered how many of them were there to watch Warren in action, like herself. 

 She sat alone at the top and in the far right corner, her hands clasping together between her thighs for warmth. She watched as the Gryffindor team huddled together at the very bottom of the pitch, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the top of Warren’s head, his hair wavy yet well-groomed and as black as a raven. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him when he looked up, staring seemingly in her direction. Her lips curved into a smile when he did, and he may have been far away, but she swore she could see his full, pink lips smile too. 

 It wasn’t long after this that the Gryffindor team hopped onto their brooms and began to practice. She watched as the Gryffindor captain released a used Snitch, and Warren soared through the air like a bird, tracking it down. She tilted her head up as he soared over her head, her skin littering with goosebumps at the chill his broom left in his wake. The other girls on the stands squealed and tried to tame their hair back down to their heads, adjusting their robes as they giggled. 

 And when the practice was over, she made certain that she was the first one to leave the stands, and she sauntered her way over to the entrance of the pitch, trying to make it less obvious that she was waiting for someone. The other girls from the stands soon joined behind her, giggling and murmuring amongst themselves about the players, Warren’s name definitely amongst their uttering. 

 And it wasn’t long after that that the team emerged from the pitch, and so did Warren. 

 She smiled when she saw him, his fingers weaving through his tresses, taming the black waves back down on his head. His skin glistened with sweat and he appeared the slightest bit winded, but he was all smiles, his grin only growing when he found her amongst the small crowd of girls. Two of the other boys teased and shoved at him when they saw her, and she giggled when Warren pushed them away, making sure to flutter her eyelashes as he jogged towards her, broomstick in hand. 

 “First time I’ve seen you out here for a practice,” he commented and she giggled, swiping a loose strand of hair behind her ear and faking shyness as she glanced towards the ground. “I hope I didn’t fly too close to you earlier,” he added, and she shook her head. “Not at all. And I enjoyed it, watching you practice, I mean,” she said and he smiled, cocking an eyebrow. 

 “Yeah?”

 She nodded. He pressed his lips together and hummed, looking her up and down. 

 “Well, maybe you should come to practice more often then.”

 She grinned, ignoring the dirty looks from the other girls when Warren gestured for her to follow him. “Perhaps I should,” she replied, following at his side back towards the castle. His smile widened, and he seemed to be staring, perhaps even a moment too long. She giggled at him and playfully shoved at his arm. “Why are you looking at me like that?” She questioned and he laughed, shaking his head towards the ground. 

 “It’s nothing, I just…” he trailed off, as if trying to find the right words. “…it’s just funny. We haven’t once spoken to each other in all our time at Hogwarts,” he said, and she tittered. “Plus, I was sure you had a thing for the Head Boy.”

 She flushed at the mention of Tom but made a quick recovery, shifting a little closer towards Warren so that their arms could occasionally touch. “You mean Tom Riddle?” She tittered. “Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t. What I do know for sure is that he’s arrogant and definitely has a stick up his arse.”

 Warren threw his head back and laughed at this, and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled when he did so, how his entire face seemed to illuminate when he laughed. “Finally, somebody says it,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Only been trying to convince the others for seven years now.”

 She smiled, it wasn’t like what she said wasn’t the truth. Tom Riddle was arrogant, and definitely did have a stick up the arse. She didn’t realize that there could be others who noticed it too, however. 

 She and Warren made their way to one of Hogwarts’ many entrances and pushed through the double doors, entering the warmth of the castle. “So, what’d you think of the team, then?” Warren asked as they made their way through the corridor. “You think Gryffindor may have a shot at winning the House Cup this year?”

 She cocked an eyebrow. “You forget I’m in Ravenclaw?” She questioned. “Surely you remember I don’t particularly want you to win?” Warren’s eyes glimmered with amusement at this, and just as he replied with some sort of snarky, but playful remark, she saw him. 

 There Tom Riddle was, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest as Avery and Lestrange talked to him. But she knew he wasn’t paying attention. Not when his eyes seemed to immediately find hers, flicking back and forth between her and Warren. 

 As Warren talked, she snaked her arm around his and pressed herself closer into his side, which seemed to take him aback at first, the pale skin of his cheeks turning scarlet but his smile widening all the same. She watched as Tom straightened his posture and his jaw clenched at this, and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip to suppress her smile.  

 Everything was going so smoothly, so beautifully. 

 Tom couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

 She certainly didn’t waste any time, did she?

 Her arm locked with Warren Collins’… it made his blood boil. He knew what she was doing, he knew by the way she locked eyes with him, by the way she kept looking at him as she nestled closer into Warren’s side, by the way she laughed a little too hard at whatever it was Warren was saying. He knew this must be her idea of some game, of some way to tease him and to make him angry. 

 He was ashamed that he was playing into her hands, that the way he felt now was exactly the way she wanted him to feel. His chest burned, it ached with the unmistakable feeling of jealousy. He cursed himself for feeling this way, for wanting her so badly even though he knew he shouldn’t. 

 He cursed himself for waiting in the shadows outside of the Ravenclaw common room later that night, for feeling so obsessed with her that he’d wait for her to come out, which she did, and follow her as she made her way to the prefects’ bathroom. 

 He watched from the shadows as she slipped inside, and after a moment or two, he slipped inside as well. 

 He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her turn on the faucets to the bath, as she ran her fingers through her hair and set her towel down on the edge of the bath. He watched as she began to slip off her dress robes, leaving her in only her undergarments before he cleared his throat and she jumped, her arms instinctively hiding herself as she turned towards where he stood. 

 His eyes were darker than ever now. In the shadows, he looked nefarious. 

 “Tom?” She gasped as he pushed himself off of the door, taking slow, calculated strides towards where she stood, frozen. “What— what are you—“

 “Do you think I didn’t notice the little game you were trying to play earlier?” He asked, and she blinked, her initial shock melting away to give way for the amused smirk tugging at the corner of her lips, her eyebrows raising. “I didn’t think you’d notice, thought you were still avoiding me,” she replied coolly as Tom stopped before her, towering over her and eclipsing the light behind him. 

 “Really? You think I and the rest of the school wouldn’t notice the way you were practically throwing yourself onto Warren Collins?” Tom scoffed, and she flushed at the comment. “I was not—“

 “You were,” Tom interrupted her, his hand grabbing at her waist and tugging her closer until his breath loomed over her face like fog, until their noses were almost touching when he looked down. “And if you think for a second that I’m going to let Warren Collins of all people think that he has a chance with you, then you are gravely mistaken.”

 For once, she felt intimidated standing in his presence, and she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden, as if Tom just being there made all the air escape her lungs. She kept her lips pressed together and held his heated gaze, but he knew he had already won. She watched as the corner of his lips tugged into a smirk. 

 Damn him. 

 “Yeah?” She muttered. “Then show me who I belong to.”

 Tom inhaled sharply through his nose as he searched her eyes, a raging sea of emotion mixed with anger, with love, with lust. With the hand already on her hip, he tugged her in closer until his lips were on hers, and she knew had lost the second he kissed her. 

 Tom never kissed her like this before, not even on the top of the Astronomy Tower. Never had he kissed her with such fervor, he never did anything that his brain hadn’t already calculated. But he kissed her now with reckless abandon, without any care in the world. 

 He kissed her as if his life depended on it. 

 She mewled into his mouth as he stripped her of her undergarments and he made quick work of stripping his own self down. She grabbed at his hand and guided him down into the bubble bath, his lips finding the sensitive spot on her neck as they settled down into the bath. Her fingers wove through the dark tresses on the back of his head as his tongue dragged along her throat down to her collarbone and down to her breasts, her chest heaving when he collected one of her nipples into his mouth. 

 “Oh, Tom,” she moaned, throwing her head back as he flicked the tip of his tongue against her nipple, kissing his way between the valley of her breasts to give her other breast attention. She could feel his cock against her thigh when one of his hands trailed down her waist, forcing its way between her legs. She tugged at the roots of his hair when the pads of his fingers rubbed against her clit, and all she knew now was that she needed more. “Please Tom, please I need… I need…”

 Tom hummed against her collarbone as he let his fingers slide up and down her slit, teasing her entrance, teasing her aching clit. “What do you need, hm?” He asked and she tried to answer, she really did but when he touched her like this— Merlin, she couldn’t even form coherent sentences in her head. “Do you need me to show you who you belong to? Just like you said earlier?”

 All she could do was nod, and Tom hummed against her throat, kissing her skin, leaving not even an inch untouched. She panted when he drew his fingers away, only to be filled up with his cock in one impatient thrust, and she tugged harder at his scalp. He drew her into his chest and panted as tears brimmed her eyes, droplets beading down her cheeks.

 Tom’s eyebrows knit together as she leaned back against the wall of the bath, and he grabbed at her hips, fucking into her with the image of her and Warren Collins together like the fuel to his fire. Her moans were bordering screams, and her incoherent mumbling permeated the bathroom, bouncing off of each of the walls and playing like a symphony in his ears. He wanted to hear more, to hear his name and his name only from her lips. 

 “Say my name,” Tom murmured into her ear and she cried when he picked up his pace, his thrusts animalistic, inhumane. “Tom! Oh fuck, Tom!” She cried and with one of his hands, he gripped her chin and forced her to stare into his dark, narrowing eyes, his thrusts never once faltering. 

 “No,” he shook his head. “That’s not my name,” he said again and she shook her own head, not understanding as he fucked her closer and closer to her end. “I want you to say my name. My true name,” he whispered against her cheek, his lips right next to ear. “I want you to call me Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.”

 She panted and nuzzled her cheek against his, his lips pressing kisses to the shell of her ear. “Say it,” he whispered. “Call me by my name. Call me your Lord.”

 Her chest heaved as her cunt clenched around him, squeezing him so tight that he almost lost his composure for a moment, dropping his head to her shoulder. “SAY IT!” He shouted this time, and she cried out once more. “Please! Let me come, my Lord. Make me yours, Lord Voldemort.”

 Oh, how his name, his true name, tumbling from her lips made him happy, the happiest he thought he ever felt. He thrusted his hips into her harder, harder and harder until her body began to writhe and spasm with quake of her orgasm, and he fucked her through that too, chasing his own. 

 “Tom— Lord! Lord Voldemort!” She cried as he felt himself coming closer to the edge, closer and closer and closer until he spilled himself inside of her, his hips stuttering as they slammed into hers one final time. Tears streamed down her cheeks like rivers and her fingernails were etched so deep into the skin of his shoulders, she knew they would leave marks. 

 Lord Voldemort held her body close, breathed her in like she was the air itself. His palms soothed over the small of her back and her waist, over either of her hips. To think that she could have ever been his weakness seemed foolish to him…

 …because right now, he felt the most powerful he’d ever been.

 She whimpered as she let herself fall deeper into him, let him hold her as she tried to chase air back into her lungs. Lord Voldemort only held her to his chest, whispering into her ear how she was his, and if anyone, Warren Collins included, ever tried to take her away from him, it would be the last thing they’d ever do. 

a/n; i wasn’t originally planning on writing a part two but i actually liked this idea and… ngl i feel kind of proud of my writing here 🙈 ps… thank you for the request anon! i’m so glad you liked addiction!

🥹🤍✨

[beartitled]

I think Normal Bill is almost just as intelligent and knowledgeable as his canon counterpart, since he had more time to focus on science and such instead of chaos and despair and.. just about every problem in the book.

Can he also still see through trees and The All Seeing Eye on the dollar bill?

Does he have all the powers of Canon Bill?

How does he feel about Ford and Dipper?

What would he think if he saw his parents?

And.. how does he feel about all the.. imagery of him throughout the world? (Remember how Ford had a fucking golden statue of him? And with the cave paintings.. and the dollar bill, the pyramids have a vague eye shape on them (since canonically they were statues of Bill until the top hat and hands fell off) The Eye Of Providence being a sign for God.. yeah it’s REALLY suspicious, I don’t think he really trusts the Pines family at this point, because they are horrible at hiding things, you don’t need to be an all seeing god to know that.

(Sorry for the long rant, I just love this AU)

Don’t apologise for a rant 🫵 I love rants, my brain just can’t comprehend them sometimes 💥

And also aww 🥹 glad you enjoy this AU ❤️

Okay lemme try answering 👏

First yes, absolutely, he’s a smart boi

His energy is just in the nerd stuff now, instead of chaotic insane vibes he has in the canon

Yea and I think he considers it normal lmao

“Wait what do you mean you don’t see through trees Mabel? Like.. I thought everyone did??”

He’s a smart boi, but he is oblivious in some instances

Not sure about all powers, but some for sure

Also this Bill walks everywhere, bc he never saw humans fly and didn’t consider trying (maybe he saw one human attempt it and decided to never try it himself 💀)

I honestly not really sure

Again not my initial idea, but remember one person saying that Bill would have some intrusive thoughts about Pines time to time, not understanding where they come from and probably feeling really guilty about those

But ultimately I think he would consider them a semi family to him

If y’all want a more detailed answer

He’s probably the closest to Mabel, bc she’s a forgiving person and treats Bill as a new person

This version of Bill would be in a girls squad and hang out with them during sleepovers (he’s a gossip girl come on 💅)

Dipper would still be cautious around Bill (as well as Ford), but would get used to him over time forming some sort of brotherly bond

Also Bill would ship Dipper and Pacifica, occasionally playing cupid for them during Dipper crushing on Wendy

He saw an opportunity to tease Dipper (and he said it would be a good enemies to lovers trope)

When people said “Stan would’ve taken that shot” yea, he would kill the child

But perhaps after seeing Mabel being buds with Bill, he just might be a little less defensive

It could both ways really: either Stan would be completely against Bill, but grow to tolerate his presence with occasional (semi)friendly bullying; or Stan would double down and just actively trying to kick Bill out

Either way they would have some sort of rivalry for sure

He would be buds with Soos and Wendy, just chilling with em on the occasion

And the last but not least Ford

He would be the most paranoid and cautious, not because he’s afraid of Bill like Dipper, but because Ford is afraid of “trigger the old Bill inside”

He and Dipper had an agreement to hide all possible information that could potentially remind Bill about his old self (all the Pines agreed to it too to some extent)

Were they successful in it? Who’s to say

Bill obliviousness saved em a bunch of times

And to address the elephant in the room: no, Billford does not exist in this AU

*booing can be heard across the fandom space* NO, YOU’RE NOT GETTING OLD MAN YAOI ON THIS ONE

🍅💥🐻‍❄️ *tiny bear screaming*

Anyway

I just don’t think it would be fitting in that particular scenario

Don’t get me wrong I like canon Billford (I love the memes and the fact that they are implied to be canon exes is hilarious), but canon Billford

This particular AU just makes the situation incredibly specific 💥

I tried to imagine a scenario where Billford could happen (like i dunno, they gave baby Bill to Oracle and then met his “normal” version)

But with the direction in which this AU went, I think it’s best to leave Ford and Bill with a platonic/parental relationship

To be fair it would be incredibly weird to raise your ex in a baby form 😭💥

But I never actually considered to continue this AU originally, so um 💥💥

I think Ford would just eventually start treating Bill like Mabel: he’s a new person now and to keep that new person undamaged, you need to keep a lot of information hidden (for everyone’s and Bill’s own sake)

This version of Bill and Ford would get along, bc they would both be nerds

(btw Bill’s design is similar to Ford, bc this is how nerds look 🤓💅/silly) (but you can adapt it in a way that Ford just had an influence on Bill, they have a family nerd look™️)

I’m still not sure what kind of time paradox shenanigans the went through to raise Bill tho 💥

This

Honestly I think it would be hilarious if he just thought it was some different guy

“A triangle… with one eye… what if.. naaaah I don’t have a top-hat”

Anyway thank u for the ask ❤️ hope it was fun to read through💥

[miss-conner3]

In the AU of the leader Ando, what is the relationship between Ando and Narinder? (If he has forgiven him, of course) If he has forgiven him, do Narinder and the little lamb end up having a romantic relationship or not? And, what would be Ando's reaction upon seeing that his little brother likes the black cat?

I would like to start by saying that between Ando and Narinder, there was no forgiveness.

Ando resented him enough to put aside his greatest wish (that of “resting in peace”), deciding from that moment on that now that he had his power, he would use it against him at all costs.

Also including the idea of allying himself with one of the bishops to finally ensure that The One Who Waits could never escape again. Unfortunately, he had no luck on that part.

The bishops only saw him as his pawn, the prophesied lamb, the monster that would kill them, and listened to nothing more.

So seeing that more than potential allies, they were obstacles, Ando decided to meet their expectations.

And he killed them.

After all that, Ando took the risk of facing Narinder on his own. Armed only with his thirst for justice, fervent wrath, and the power of the red crown, Ando fought to the death.

Over and over again.

Until almost destroying his soul.

As for Narinder, in his arrogance, he saw Ando as just “a little inconvenience” that he could get rid of later. When everything was done.

Although, in the end, the prophecy finally acted in favor of Ando, ​​and in the face of his defeat, Narinder, enraged, challenged him to end his life if he wanted it so much.

And Ando did want to.

However…

Despite the hatred he had for him, Ando could not find enough willpower within himself to kill him.

No matter how much pain he had put him through, no matter how much hate he had made him accumulate, he couldn't do it. He couldn't face Death.

Nor the emptiness that would bring.

The rest is history.

Narinder became his follower, and Ando, in his inner tirade, could only question the true nature of that decision.

Without really reaching a conclusion.

Moving on to happier things...

The lamb, like Ando in the main AU, had no idea of the real reason why his species was hunted to the point of extinction.

So Ando, as his older brother, took it upon himself to quickly bring him up to date. Letting him know in every way possible about the role Narinder played during all that massacre and how much he would hate for him to take action against the lamb just for the simple fact of being his brother.

Pretty much warning the lamb to stay away from him.

A warning that, surprisingly, the lamb did hear.

Although with mixed results.

After all, Ando still couldn't catch a break in this life. ¿Right? XD

¡Thanks for asking!