#imagine this is the only way to save their lives!!!

[cinnamanz]

✦ ─── 𝓒hampagne 𝓒oast , 𝓢ophia 𝓛aforteza do you miss me too?

─── 𝓨ou think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you. but you don’t. not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to. and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

❝𝓪ll my last strength against you,

𝓫aby tell me what you need.❞

౨ৎ 𝓹airing. predebut!sophia laforteza x female reader ౨ৎ 𝓰enre. fluff if u squint, undefined relationship, was it ever casual? no. angst (i tried) like a ton of it but i wasn't trying to drown u, hurt no comfort, wc. 3299 a/n. my exams js finished nd i thought id give yall sumn as compensation for the lack of mamma mia updates LMAO i was trying sumn new w this oneshot—writing style wise—nd im ngl it didn't quite go how i wanted to nd i ended up writing less bc of this experimental oneshot 😭😭😭 anyw, this is a long overdue angst from me i tried my best💔💔💔 i saw smn on tiktok say sophia is the type of person ud have a crush on high school nd that mainly inspired this so thanks random tiktok editor. this is mostly how i imagined champagne coast

❝𝔂oung as i want to know,

𝓲'll never let you go.❞

YOU REMEMBER HER BEST IN SHADES OF GOLD. not the kind that glitters, but the kind that glows. sun-warm. skin-close. the kind of gold that poured through her bedroom blinds every time you snuck in past midnight and stayed for as long as you could before school dawned, heart thudding, breath caught between wanting and wondering.

sophia.

sophia with the smile that felt like a secret sunrise. with soft pink polish barely clinging to her nails and the habit of humming songs she hadn’t written yet. her voice always held a lilt of laughter, like a secret being shared. 

she had a laugh that caught sunlight in its rhythm, and a way of remembering everyone's name like it was the most important one she'd ever heard. she moved through the halls like spring after a long winter—bright, warm, impossible not to notice. her presence made lockers bloom and linoleum shimmer. 

she’d offer a compliment with such genuine ease that it felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. she held eye contact like she was seeing you for the first and last time all at once. sophia, who always smelled like vanilla chapstick and the faintest trace of gardenias after rain. you said her name like a prayer you didn’t believe in but kept whispering anyway. just in case it could save you.

she’s everywhere now. bigger than memory, louder than youth. katseye headlines every festival lineup, and her voice spills from every speaker like honey and summer. but back then, she was just a girl with stardust in her laugh and music in her fingertips. her family’s name opened doors and booked venues, but sophia walked through them like they didn’t matter. she made time slow down. she made you feel like you were being seen through a softer lens.

sophia’s world had always been lyrical. she moved through life like she was humming a song only she could hear. each step light, each smile like a melody lingering in the air long after she’d walked away. 

everything about her felt improvised yet effortlessly right, like the first draft of a poem that didn’t need editing. she spoke in rhythm, thought in metaphor, lived in verses. there was music in her hands, in her laughter, in the way she leaned her head back when she was thinking—as if catching something only the sky could offer.

your world, on the other hand, was cinematic. made of still frames and silences. you didn’t move through life—you watched it. framed things, paused them, looked for symmetry in the ordinary. 

you didn’t always speak, but you noticed everything: the flutter of her lashes when she was about to say something vulnerable, the exact tilt of her smile when she was hiding a bruise of sadness. where sophia saw a lyric, you saw a shot list. where she saw wonder, you saw composition. where she breathed melody, you caught meaning in the silences between.

she narrated the world in chorus; you captured it in light. you were opposites in the way a poem and a film are different ways of saying the same thing. 

and somehow, in those precious months where your lives tangled and bloomed, you translated each other.

you met her in late march. spring still a whisper, flowers barely blooming, the sky bruised with indecision. your film teacher read names off a list, pairing students for the semester film project. you weren’t paying attention until you heard it: "y/n and sophia."

she turned to you with a smile that looked like it belonged to someone in a film already. sharp and soft at the same time. her voice was breezy, casual. "guess we’re partners."

you nodded, blinking, caught in her gravity already.

when you sat together to brainstorm, her notebook was full of lyrics—descriptions of faces in profile, sunflowers, waves crashing over shoulders. 

she wanted to create something that felt like breathing. you wanted to shoot something that felt like dreaming.

so you made a film about nature and people. about how vines wrap around fingers like lovers. how wind braids hair. how skin glows in golden hour like the earth is passing its light into it. sophia became the muse. barefoot in tall grass. spinning in white linen. half-submerged in a creek, laughing. you directed and held the lens like it was a heartbeat.

"you make the world look softer," she said once in awe, watching a playback.

"it only looks like that because you’re in it," you replied. your voice almost cracked from saying it.

she didn’t say anything then. just smiled at the screen, her reflection flickering over her shoulder.

that project was the beginning. the spark. long editing nights that bled into morning. coffee shared from the same chipped mug. the camera always between you—until it wasn’t. until it was just her, and you, and the quiet understanding that bloomed beneath everything left unsaid.

it started, maybe, on the hill.

that nowhere hill behind her high-rise, just past the stillness of manicured parks and closed cafés, where city light softened into starlight. you called it your chapel. the place where time slowed down and everything else disappeared.

every summer night, you’d sneak into her room at twelve-oh-something. her window creaked like it missed you. sophia would be waiting in a hoodie three sizes too big, her braid unraveling like ribbon. sometimes she brought snacks. sometimes she brought a poem. sometimes she brought nothing but herself.

and that was enough.

you’d walk, fingers brushing, shoulders bumping. and when the world was quiet enough, she’d start to sing. something half-formed. breathy. beautiful. you never interrupted. just listened. memorized the shape of her in the dark.

you brought your guitar once. not to impress, not to perform—just to fill the quiet with something that wouldn’t spill over into words. sophia lit up when she saw it, eyes shining like she’d been waiting for this without knowing it.

"you play?" she asked, voice full of something like awe.

"just a little," you said, shy.

she grinned and sat cross-legged in the grass, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands. "can i sing?"

and so you played. soft, simple chords beneath your fingers like the beat of a heart learning a new rhythm. and sophia—god, sophia—she sang like her voice belonged to the sky. high, clear, breathy in the way that made your lungs forget how to work. you caught her gaze mid-song, and she smiled at you—not the kind she gave to the world, but the one that felt like it was stitched from your name.

you harmonised by instinct, your voice falling in beside hers like it had always belonged there. no one told you how music could feel like holding hands in the dark. no one told you it could be the first time you really felt someone without the need for physical touch.

when the last note faded, you didn’t speak. just sat there, letting the silence gather around you like a blanket, the ghost of melody still hovering between your mouths.

she leaned her head against your shoulder.

"you think stars remember us?" she asked.

"i think we remember them enough to make it count," you replied.

she looked up at you, pupils wide, eyes full of summer and something softer.

"i don’t want to be forgotten," she whispered.

"you won’t," you promised.

because that was the night something began. not loudly, not clearly, but with a strum and a hum and a shared breath beneath stars.

you'd never play that song for anyone else again. not because it was sacred. but because it already belonged to her.

the first time you kissed, you could feel the earth shift beneath you.

her lips were soft, trembling against yours like they were learning how to be still. the air between you was thick, humming with the kind of tension that seemed too big for both of you, yet you moved closer, closer still, until it was only her and the night and the stillness of a world that didn’t seem to matter anymore.

her hands were on your face, fingers delicate as they traced your jaw, as if committing every contour to memory. and then her mouth was on yours again, and this time, the kiss was deep and slow, a kind of sweetness that burned hotter than you ever imagined. you ran your hands up her sides, fingers exploring the soft curve of her waist, mapping it to memory like it was the only thing you’d ever truly need to know.

you could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her hoodie, the heat from her body seeping into yours. it spread like wildfire, quick and alive, until every nerve inside you was set alight. you held her so close—so impossibly close—that her breath mingled with yours, her heartbeat a steady thrum in the rhythm of your own.

god, you thought, as you kissed her deeper like she was air and you were addicted, letting yourself succumb and drown in her warmth. i have never felt so close to heaven as i have now with my lips on hers, and holding her so close to me that her warmth spills and spreads over me in waves, lighting every nerve lining of mine on fire.

“i think..." you whispered, your voice shaky with something raw, something tender. "i think i like you."

she smiled at you, the softest, saddest smile you'd ever seen, as if she already knew that what was happening between you was fleeting even before the hushed confession, a fleeting thing that would burn bright and quick before it was gone.

but for now, it didn’t matter.

for now, it was just you and her and the kind of kiss that felt like everything.

and for just a moment, you let yourself believe that everything was enough.

senior year rolled in with deadlines and early applications and the kind of weight that makes your bones feel older than they are. you and sophia partnered up for another media project. a short film. something dreamy, something about the in-between. something that felt like both of you.

one afternoon, everyone else had gone home, and it was just you and her in the empty classroom. she was sitting on the windowsill, the wind playing with the ends of her hair, painting her in soft light. you lifted the camcorder, pressed record. through the viewfinder, she looked unreal. backlit, untouchable. like something borrowed from a dream.

and it struck you again—how sophia's world was lyrical, and yours was cinematic. where she sat in that golden light, she looked like a line of poetry you’d never forget. but through your lens, she was also something else—framed, finite, fading even as you filmed. it hit you with a sharp kind of knowing: this would only ever be a memory. the footage would last, but the moment would not.

"what?" she asked, turning to you.

"nothing," you said, even though everything was happening all at once. because in that moment, with her framed by the sky and the silence, you knew. this wouldn’t last.

some people are moments. not destinations.

and sophia? she was a meteor. blazing. brief.

that footage still lives somewhere on your hard drive. you haven't played it in years. you’re not sure you could survive the sound of her voice saying your name in that soft, sun-drenched tone again.

some days, she was distant—her mind lost in melodies you hadn’t yet heard, her gaze turned inward, like she was looking at something beyond you. other days, she clung to you like gravity, as if the weight of her presence alone could pull you back from drifting too far into your own thoughts. 

you started to learn the language of her moods: the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was uncertain, how she bit her lip when she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words, as if speaking them would unravel something fragile that was better left unsaid.

one night, there was nothing but the quiet between you. the hum of distant cars, the weight of the stars above. you could feel her next to you, close but just out of reach in a way that made everything feel too heavy, too raw.

"i wish i could keep this forever," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. the words fell from your lips before you could stop them, the kind of wish you didn’t know you had until it was already there, full and aching.

“this?” she asked, her voice soft, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“you. us. this...whatever this is,” you murmured, unable to name it, afraid of the weight of what it could mean if you did.

she didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at you, the kind of look that made you feel like she could see into the places you didn’t let anyone touch. her smile came slowly, tinged with something tender and sad, as if she already knew what was coming, what was always coming, but wasn’t ready to let go yet. 

"you know some things aren’t meant to go on forever, even if they feel like they could."

you wanted to argue, to tell her that this—whatever this was—felt too big to be just a passing season. but the truth was, you didn’t know what it was. nothing about it was defined, and maybe that made it even more real.

"maybe," you whispered, the ache tightening in your chest. "but even a song gets stuck in your head for years."

and in that moment, with nothing else left to say, you both let the silence stretch between you.

when katseye began to bloom into the world’s consciousness, you watched her from the quiet. from the sidelines. where you had always been. tv interviews filtered through your screen late at night, their light flickering across your bedroom walls like ghosts you couldn’t name. 

there she was—sophia—draped in gowns that shimmered like the sea on moonlit nights, lips painted the soft red of a closing day, laughter threaded with rehearsed charm. people loved her. how could they not?

but you listened closely—not to her words, but to her voice beneath the voice. and god, it still sounded like her. like the girl who once sang barefoot beneath the stars, who curled into your side with wind-tangled hair and asked if heaven could be a person. that voice hadn’t changed. it still held the ache of midnights, the tremble of wishes no one ever said out loud.

but her eyes—her eyes had learned something you hadn’t. they were no longer the windows that once opened only for you, soft and unguarded and impossibly full of wonder. 

now they shimmered with something distant. practiced. eyes that had seen too much, learned how to hold just enough back to be adored but never known. she had become someone the world could look at, but never touch. someone who had learned how to let go.

you didn’t go to the farewell party that night of graduation.

you told people you were busy. that you forgot. but the truth was quieter than that, more fragile. you couldn’t stand the idea of watching her say goodbye to a place she always belonged to, to a chapter she had always meant to leave behind. you couldn’t watch her smile at the crowd and thank them for memories that brushed her skin.

so instead, you went to the hill. the hill that started it all. 

alone.

the one you both used to sneak off to when the world felt too sharp. the one where you’d bring your guitar, and she’d bring her voice, and between the two of you, you created something unnamable. you didn’t bring the guitar this time. there was no need. even the silence was loud with her absence.

you lay on the grass and stared at the sky until the stars blurred, your throat aching with a name you refused to say out loud. but it was there. it always was. in the hush between crickets. in the wind brushing against your cheek like a goodbye you never received. her name lived in the quiet. in the stillness. in the ache.

and maybe that was love.

not the kind that stays, but the kind that marks you anyway.

and sometimes, on the loneliest nights—when the world feels too quiet, and the sky hangs heavy with all the things you never said—you still look up at the stars and wonder if they remember.

two girls. a camera. a song.

you wonder if the stars recall the softness of her voice beside you, how it curled into the night like incense smoke, how your name sounded different when she said it—more alive, more whole. you wonder if they remember how her hand brushed yours in the dark like it meant something, like everything unspoken between you was understood anyway.

one of you rose—like the crescendo of a chorus, like light breaking over a stage. the other stayed—quiet, still, holding onto the echoes.

you don’t talk anymore—an outcome that didn’t come as a surprise—not really. just likes on old photos buried beneath filters and captions that meant more at the time. sometimes a tagged memory surfaces from the past—a birthday, a laugh, a behind-the-scenes shot—and her username feels like a paper cut across your chest. she never shared it, and neither did you. a reminder. a timeline. a pause you never quite recovered from.

every once in a while, champagne coast plays—that damned song you’d both fought over whether to use for the short film or not, that cost hours of editing over something so petty you’d won anyway—. maybe in a café, maybe in the shuffle of a playlist you forgot you made. 

the first few notes are enough. your breath stutters. and suddenly you're seventeen again, filming her by the window of an empty classroom, wind tugging gently at her hair, sunlight turning her into something god might’ve carved by hand.

you still remember the last day of filming. how she laughed at something you said. how you almost kissed her again, but didn’t.

how the golden hour touched her skin like it was saying goodbye too.

that day replays sometimes, in slow motion, like the final scene of a movie that never made it to theaters. you never really wrote an ending. just...stopped filming.

and maybe that’s the cruelest part. that there was no goodbye, no final bow. just the quiet unraveling of something too beautiful to hold.

you think about reaching out. just a text. just a line. this song still sounds like you.

but you don’t.

not because the love is gone—but because some stories are meant to live in the quiet. in glances. in songs. in memories. because letting go doesn’t mean you ever wanted to.

and sophia—sweet, golden, soft at the edges and sharp at the center—was never really yours. but she was real.

and that’s what you carry. not the goodbye. not the could-have-beens. just the memory. just the thought.

the way she looked at you once, when the camera was rolling and she didn’t know it—blissfully unaware she’d changed your life for the better or worse or in between, if that even made sense. the way your name lingered in her voice when no one else was listening.

the stars. the song. the stillness.

her.

and you. forever changed.

not by what lasted—but by what burned bright enough to leave a mark.

even now, you still look up. you find the time to. and sometimes, she’s still there. in the sky. in the silence. in the memory. like light you never forgot how to follow.

masterlist.

— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx

[lbjeff]

Tim isn’t a halfa, he is a ghost, the special one. He born in Gotham, live and serve Gotham until his died, even his death due to Gotham. So when he in Gotham, he is a ghost but has visible body, showing his present. But one he out of Gotham, he is a ghost, completely, like all other ghost. His power set includes what other ghost can do and some of things other ghost can’t do like max abilities in hiding, stalking, replays the scenes due to traces left at the scene, etc

Tim knows this when he met Phantom. Knowing about his death, completely, was a hard pill to swallow but he still accepted it. But he refuses to let his family know about his death.

With the Batfamily, it feels like Tim suddenly distance himself far from family. There were fights between them, yes, but they thought everything would be back to normal, like alway because Tim wasn’t a guy who let emotions get in the way. (It could happen after Bruce got saved from time stream, there are a lot of conflicts between them). Tim disappeared one day and when he comes back, he cut all of his ties.

Tim reappeared as Red Robin, or Red Ghost as he calls himself now. He doesn’t use the Wayne’s techs, the suits or anything belong to Bat. He works alone, silent and effective, and leave no trace behind like a real ghost. His siblings try to talk to him but they can’t even find where he locates, what cases he is after or how to get to him. He completely drop out of school and join the program of studying collage online, he already quit his job at WE so the Bats couldn’t find out where his civilian’s life live.

Tim also retired his leader role at Young Justice, and work with them as advisor, and he only shows up if there is Phantom join in

Because he is the ghost now, Tim’s way of thinking became more and more like a ghost, only chasing after his obsession. He has spent so much time to solve Gotham’s crimes to avoiding dealings with his feeling about his death, now Tim obsession is about Gotham, like a Batman’s imagine in his mind the first time he know about him: A ghost of Gotham that serves this city for the better day

Now Bruce and Tim’s siblings see Tim become what they afraid Bruce would become: a cold emotionless knight that drop all of his civilian’s life to chase after Gotham’s crimes while pushing all friends and family out of his life

Below here is a joke

Batman: Work alone with his bunch of kids, his butler, his hero team, and the staffs at WE’s technology development. Sometime also with the villains

Tim as Red Ghost: Work alone with no one know about his death (except Phantom), doesn’t need technology or sidekick cause now he doesn’t need to sleep, never feel tired and has a whole set of power that let he go after as many cases as he want in a day

Tim loved Gotham. He did.

He also loved himself, sometimes.

But apparently, not an hour ago, when a random squatter pulled a gun on him and shot him in his own safe house.

And Tim just... let them.

Yet here he was, desperately scrubbing his bloody clothes before giving up and throwing them away.

He feels different now. Wrong. He's probably just tired. But he's here and physical.

He is fine.

He can continue his activities without delay.

...

There has been a delay.

He woke up on the floor under his own bed just this morning. His fridge short circuited during the night, and now he has to chuck everything that's gone bad. He can't find his laptop from where he left it, and the pipes in the building burst all of a sudden.

He was about to call someone, anyone, to complain about his shitty morning when his hand phases right through his phone.

And the desk.

And the floor.

And suddenly, he's halfway in the ground

...

Ok, so he's a ghost now. But still also alive, somehow.

All these weird powers keep activating randomly, and it's keeping him from stalking or researching or literally doing anything!

The worst is the intangibility, clothes falling off so often he can't even go outside or else he'll accidentally flash someone.

Tim only got this far through will and necessity. The only person possiably able to help thankfully not that far out of reach.

Phantom.

Which is still the best and worst and most obvious name for a practically unknowable thief in existence, sans Catwoman herself.

Tim knows next to nothing about them except that they are excessively kind-hearted and have intangibility as well.

Maybe he could find out more on Phantom from this.

Maybe doing so, Tim will finally have someone to talk to.

[everythingisamazing]

Viktor feeling like he is not good enough is the reason I see most often being given for him and Jayce not getting together romantically during their years developing Hextech (that and Jayce being oblivious). I think that's not quite correct. I believe, the true reason is Viktor deciding very early on (probably the first night of their partnership) that he is going to put Jayces happiness above his own desires. Especially because the first interaction he ever had with him, was saving Jayces life. There is enough visible yearning from Viktors side to make me believe he was definitely interested and would have given in if Jayce made the first move (which, as we canonically know Jayce does not make, even when put in clearly romantically charged situations) but I think in his mind, the risk of initiating was simply not worth it. Consider: Viktor knows that Jayce tried to kill himself, because he thought his dream was being destroyed. I am pretty sure that he would be very hesitant to do anything that could compromise said dream, because he knows how strongly it is tied to Jayces well-being (little does he know that he himself is the actual dream hehe) His sensitivity towards Jayce being the reason for keeping his distance, is also way more in character to me, than Viktor being insecure. There is no other character, that pays more attention to Jayces emotional needs in the show than Viktor (prime example in the next paragraph). Also, his whole thing is wanting to save people and easing the suffering of others. And while he might have insecurities, such as public speaking, Viktor is also shown to be sassy and confident in many other interactions. One of the best examples for him being very in tune with Jayces emotions, is the scene, where Jayce basically gets pushed into being a councilor. There is a small moment, where the camera is behind Viktor and you can hear him exhale slowly, as if to regulate his breathing. It reads clearly to me as a thing that someone who is feeling the stress of the person they care about would do. The scene also shows that Viktor is the only person in the room, who is noticing how Jayce is feeling, while everyone else is just talking at him. As time passes I think the reason Viktor holds back also changes. Firstly he probably gets kind of used to it, and secondly, when he realizes he does not have much longer to live, I imagine he doesn't see the point in giving into his feelings anymore. Interpreting Viktors emotional sensitivity as the reason for the unfulfilled romantic potential between him and Jayce, also makes the other interpretation, of Mage Viktor letting Jayce suffer in the ravine on purpose, even more tragic. Because it means that Viktor, who never wanted to hurt Jayce and who would put Jayces happiness above his own, had to create a loop where he would save him as a child, only to torture him as an adult. It means, that no matter how hard he tried to deny himself in consideration of Jayces well-being during their partnership, he would inevitably have to make him suffer FOR him, as the only way to save the world. Damn.

[aliwritex]

ali, i have thoughts that i must share. thoughts on going shopping with isack's money for lingerie? like, he has no idea what you're buying, but you come home with a few sets. you'd make him do a fashion show, but he wouldn't be able to do anything untl he had seen all of them, and chosen his favorite to fuck you in. i'm just imagining him sitting in his desk chair, struggling not to touch you, dick throbbing in his pants, as you keep coming out in lacy little outfits to show him, twirling around.

yes yes YES!!!!

So let's isack had forgotten his wallet at your place, and you texted him about it, joking about how you were going to spend all his money. But he took it seriously, telling you could go on a little shopping spree. And after confirming multiple times it was okay, you thought of something that you would both enjoy.

Isack got the notification on his phone, two different stores but he couldn’t tell what they were, he only knew that they were expensive. So when he got to your place he had no idea what he was in for.

“Oh! What did you get?” he asked when he saw the big shopping bags in your living room.

“A gift for you,” you told him, then paused, “in a way. Grab them for me and come to the room, please?”

Just minutes later you were showing him the first set you bought. You started him off with a light blue set, lace in a pattern of leaves adorning the see through cups and the thong. You had sat him down on a chain in your room while you changed in the bathroom so when you walked out of the door he could see you.

He shifted immediately in the chair, spearing his legs as you walked towards him. He reached out to touch as soon as you got close enough.

“Nah! No touching, remember? You have to choose one first.” you pulled away and gave it a twirl, showing him the back. “This is option one. Wanna get a closer look of the back, too?” you teased, approaching him and arching your back so your ass sticks out.

“Putain” he swore under his breath “So fucking beautiful, my love”

“Got this one in mind already?” you asked and he just nodded.

Two sets later and he was losing his mind, cock rock hard in his pants as he just watched you show off thin laces and thongs that showed everything — but it was the last.

You knew Isack well enough to know what set he would pick so of course you saved that for last. It was a deep red set, thin mesh with floral embroidered details on the bra, matching panties and to finish it off a gatherer belt, holding up black stockings. You checked yourself in the mirror first, fluffing up your hair to give yourself a little confidence boost.

“Ready?” you asked, still behind the door.

“Please!” he begged, his reaction making you chuckle.

Then you walked out, making your way towards him one last time, swinging your hips as you did. Isack literally threw his head back, but quickly sat up straight, not wanting to miss a second of you in that.

“Putain de merde” he sighed, reaching out to grab your hips and pull you closer to him.

“I’m guessing you’re choosing this one?” you teased.

Isack just nodded, his face already so close to you that his nose brushed against your stomach – his breath making you shiver. He guided you to turn around, showing him the back. The sight made him groan, his mouth placing kisses down your back till he left a bite on your bare cheek. It made you jolt, and quickly turn back to face him.

“I’m glad you like your gifts” you joked, melting as his hands cupped your ass.

then he fucks you in every way possible, and when you’re done you joke: “After we go through the other three i’m getting crotchless ones, that will be easier”

“What do you mean crotchless?”

[mintyys-blog]

Hey Minty,

I had this idea thats just consuming my brain. Invincible variants reactions to their s/o or y/n or whatever being a failsafe/contingency for them. Whether its Cecil who orchestrated it or the Viltrum Empire or Y/N themself. I just can't get enough of the angst. But also like the relief of knowing there's someone who could stop them if they go too far (at least for Main Mark).

But also imagine the weight of knowing you are the last line of defence against a ticking time bomb. A time bomb you are friends with, save lives with and maybe even love?

*screams into pillow* My brain is going feral.

I'd love to see how you would write this :D

~ Rainbow

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o who is a failsafe

MAIN MARK

Mark stood in the center of the ruined lab, pieces of destroyed tech and scorched metal still hissing around him. His fists were clenched, his jaw tight. He’d only come here because Cecil insisted. Something about Y/N needing help. But all he found was a recording… and a truth he never expected.

Y/N. His girlfriend. The one he trusted with everything—his fears, his doubts, his heart. She wasn’t just his anchor. She was his failsafe.

The recording showed her standing with Cecil months ago, before they even started dating, voice quiet and unsure: “If he ever goes rogue… if he ever becomes like Omni-Man, I’ll stop him. I can do it. You built me to do it.”

Mark didn’t breathe for a full minute.

When the lab doors opened and Y/N stepped in, sheepish and nervous, he couldn’t even look at her.

“Mark…” she started, but the words died in her throat when she saw his face.

His voice cracked. “So you were… you were made for me?”

“No. Not for you. Because of you.” She stepped closer, heart pounding. “Because they were afraid of you. And I was too—once. But I stayed. I loved you. I love you.”

He flinched. “You were supposed to be the one I could trust, Y/N.”

“And I still am.” Her voice trembled. “I’ve never raised a hand against you. I never would. But if you lost yourself—if you became something terrible—someone had to be strong enough to try. It didn’t mean I didn’t love you.”

Mark’s eyes burned, the thought of her standing against him more painful than any fight he’d ever been in. But in some twisted way… it made sense. Someone needed to stop him if he went off the rails.

He finally looked at her. “You could’ve told me.”

“I was afraid you’d leave.”

He took a breath. Then another. “…I’d rather it be you than anyone else.”

She blinked. “What?”

“If someone has to stop me… at least it’d be someone who loves me. Who’d try everything else before killing me.” Her knees nearly buckled from relief. Mark walked to her, wrapped her in his arms, and whispered into her hair: “But you better keep me in check before that happens. I don’t want to give you a reason to pull the trigger.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark leaned back in the towering chair of what used to be the White House, now his throne. The file glowed faintly in his hand—pulled from a hidden bunker buried beneath the Pentagon. Redacted lines, weapon schematics, biological augmentations… and a photo of her.

Failsafe: Y/N L/N

Objective: Contain or eliminate Mark Grayson should he become unmanageable.

He should’ve felt rage. Should’ve crushed the file to dust. Should’ve hunted down whoever thought they could build a leash for him.

But all he did was smirk.

She padded into the room moments later, barefoot and dressed in nothing but one of his shirts, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Mark?” she murmured, brows furrowed. “What are you doing up so late?”

He turned the file so she could see it. Watched the blood drain from her face.

“I found this.”

She froze. “Mark—”

“You were supposed to stop me.” He rose to his feet, letting the pages drift to the floor like snow. “Contain me. Kill me, if it came to that.”

“I didn’t—”

“But you didn’t.” His voice was low, calm. Almost… proud. “I burned cities. I crushed armies. I rebuilt the world in my image—and you stayed by my side. You had your chance. You never took it.”

She stepped back, uncertain. “I couldn’t.” Mark stalked forward, cornering her against the edge of the desk. He gripped her jaw gently, making her look up at him. “Because you love me, or because you’re afraid of what I’d do if you tried?”

Her lips trembled. “Both.”

His smile deepened. There was something wicked in it—but there was something devoted, too. “Good.”

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her temple.

“I don’t need a failsafe. I need you, exactly like this. Loyal. Soft. Mine.”

His voice dipped, dangerously close to reverence. “Let them try to make another weapon. You’ll always be better than steel or poison. Because you didn’t stop me.” His fingers slid around her waist, possessive. “You chose me instead.”

And in the silence that followed, she realized something chillingly comforting: If the world burned again, he’d keep her untouched at the center of the flame.

MOHAWK MARK

The war room aboard the imperial flagship was silent but for the hum of alien tech and the static flicker of the holoscreen. Mark stood in full armor, streaked with blood and dust, staring down at the classified file that had been delivered to him anonymously.

Failsafe: Subject Y/N

Tier-Alpha Contingency Asset

Directives: Neutralize Emperor Grayson upon breach of Viltrumite protocol or descent into instability.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

He just read it.

Again and again.

Until the words blurred together and his jaw clenched hard enough to crack bone.

You entered quietly, instinctively knowing something was wrong. Still in your garden clothes, hands stained with alien soil, your smile faltered the second you saw the expression on his face.

“Mark…?”

He held the file out. Said nothing. Just watched you as you took it, hesitantly flipped through it, and realized what it was.

You looked up at him slowly. “I didn’t know they kept it. I didn’t think—”

“You knew.”

His voice was quiet. Dangerous.

You swallowed. “I volunteered. A long time ago. Before we—before this. Back when we weren’t sure how far you’d go.”

“You thought I’d lose control,” he said, each word precise and surgical. “You thought I’d become a monster.”

“I thought someone had to be able to stop you if that happened. And no one else would have the strength—or the reason—to do it.”

The room trembled. The ship’s gravity pulsed around his fury.

“You still kept it from me.”

You stepped forward, your voice breaking. “Because I didn’t want to stop you anymore. Because I fell in love with you, and I buried it. I didn’t even think about it until now.”

Silence.

Then he exhaled—long and low. Some tension bled from his shoulders.

“I believe you,” he said. “But I won’t lie—part of me wants to erase every trace of that file. Of that version of you.”

You flinched.

But then he looked at you, eyes softening just slightly. “And another part… is grateful.”

You blinked. “Grateful?”

He nodded. “Because if I ever do become something you’d need to stop—if the blood, the empire, the legacy rots me from the inside out—at least I know you’ll still be the one who can end it.”

He took your hand, guiding it to rest on his chest, right over his heart.

“But until then, I need you with me. Not against me. Not hidden. Beside me.”

And when he pulled you into his arms, it wasn’t just as his consort. It was as the only person in the universe he’d ever trust with the power to destroy him.

MOHAWK MARK

The imperial palace was alive with the sounds of war councils and training sessions. Mark stood at the balcony, his eyes scanning the horizon as he flexed his fingers around the edges of the railing. As the emperor of the Viltrumite Empire, he held absolute power, but even he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach as he turned back toward the holoscreen that had just updated.

Failsafe: Subject Y/N

Directive: Terminate if required, Subject has capability to neutralize Emperor Mark Grayson upon loss of control.

The file was official. Efficient. Cold.

But what stung wasn’t the potential of losing control—it was the fact that you’d been placed there to take him down if things went too far.

When you entered the room, he didn’t even have to look at you to know you’d been near the tech department. Your aura, your confidence, it bled into the air as much as your heart did.

And now, it wasn’t just the idea of the Viltrumite empire that weighed on him—it was the woman he loved.

You walked up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Mark?” Your voice was gentle, but it held a quiet strength. You’d already seen the file.

He didn’t turn toward you. “So this was your plan, huh?”

You frowned, moving to stand in front of him. He didn’t let you see his face, but the tension in his body was unmistakable.

“Mark, please,” you began, voice steady despite the storm behind his eyes. “I didn’t want this. I never wanted it. It was just… a safety measure. In case—”

“You knew what I was capable of. And you still agreed to it?”

His anger wasn’t as violent as it usually was, but there was something heavy and unnerving in his tone. A frustration built from knowing how far you’d go to keep him in check. But more than that, a fear. The fear that you, his everything, could end him if he fell too far down the path of destruction.

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing the edge of his chin. He finally looked at you, his expression hard, but his eyes betrayed the hurt he refused to acknowledge.

“I didn’t want to be your contingency,” you said softly. “I didn’t want to be someone who’d be used against you. But I couldn’t stand the thought of you losing yourself, of everything we’ve worked for falling apart. So I agreed to it, but I never thought I’d have to follow through.” His gaze softened for a moment before hardening again. He stepped back, rubbing a hand through his hair, obviously conflicted. “You trust me, right?” he finally asked, voice low.

“Of course I do,” you replied, the sincerity in your words clear.

“Then trust that I can keep control. Trust that I don’t need you to be my fail-safe.”

The moment hung in the air between you both, thick with uncertainty. But then he stepped forward and cupped your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered. “Not to some protocol. Not to some plan. You’re mine, and if anything were to ever happen to me, I want you to be there by my side—not as someone who would end me, but as someone who would save me.”

You leaned into his touch, your breath calming as you rested your forehead against his. “I’m here, Mark. Not as a failsafe. Just as me.”

He kissed your forehead, wrapping you up in his arms tightly, his grip like steel but his heart finally unburdened. “Good. Because if you ever turned on me… I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

OMNI MARK

The quiet hum of the headquarters filled the otherwise still air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of the holo-comm as it flashed an incoming file. Mark’s gaze remained fixed on the screen before him, his expression unchanged even as his fingers hovered over the control panel. He’d been briefed on the situation earlier, but now, seeing the details in front of him… it felt different.

Failsafe: Subject Y/N

Directive: Terminate if deemed necessary. Protocol initiated for the termination of Mark Grayson if he loses control.

The coldness of the file, the efficiency of the directive—it was nothing new. He’d seen similar things before. But seeing your name there—knowing that you, his partner, someone he trusted more than anyone, were tasked with stopping him if he went too far—it hit deeper than any punch he had ever taken.

He stood up, his mind racing. He’d always believed that if things ever got out of hand, it would be because of the greater mission. But this… this felt personal.

And he wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better.

When you walked into the room, Mark’s attention snapped to you. There was no need to say anything. He knew you knew. You were already walking toward him, a hesitant frown pulling at your lips.

“You saw it,” he said quietly, his voice holding a weight that made the air around you both feel dense.

You nodded, your eyes searching his face as if trying to find the right words. “Mark… I didn’t want this. It wasn’t my choice. I never wanted to be that—a failsafe. It was just… a measure they thought would be necessary.”

He took a deep breath, his chest tightening. “Necessary?” he repeated, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that the people I’ve fought for, protected, fought beside… they thought you would have to kill me if I lost control?”

You reached out, gently touching his arm. “They believed it was the only option to ensure things wouldn’t spiral. But I never wanted that. I just—I wanted to be there for you, not against you. But you have to understand, Mark. You can’t always control everything.”

Mark’s heart ached at your words, the tenderness and truth behind them. You were right, in a way. The power he held, the weight of being Omni—he had lost control before. But the idea of you, his lover, the one person he trusted more than anything, being the one tasked with ending him if it came down to it… that was something he couldn’t just accept.

He turned away from you, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t… I can’t let that happen. I can’t have you as my fail-safe. I can’t have you be the one who has to end me.” His voice cracked slightly, and he hated that, but he couldn’t help it.

You stepped closer, pressing your body against his, your arms wrapping around his waist. The warmth of your presence calmed him, but the sting of betrayal and fear remained. “I never wanted that, Mark. I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I thought… I thought that if things went too far, if you lost control, I could stop it. But that’s not how I want to be with you. Not at all.”

Mark closed his eyes, his hands coming up to cup your face gently. “Then don’t be that. Don’t be someone who could ever hurt me. You’re my partner. You’re my… everything. I never want you to be the one to take me down, no matter what happens.”

His thumbs stroked your cheeks as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You are my failsafe. Just not in the way they think. You’re the one who keeps me grounded. You’re the one who reminds me who I am.”

You smiled softly at him, your hands resting against his chest. “Then I’ll keep reminding you, Mark. You don’t need a failsafe. You have me.”

Mark looked into your eyes, a soft breath leaving his lips as he pulled you closer, holding you tight, as if to protect you from everything. “Thank you. For not being the one to stop me. Just for being here.”

And in that moment, everything seemed to fall into place. He wasn’t the hero the world wanted him to be. But in your arms, he didn’t need to be.

PRISONER MARK

The cold, sterile walls of the prison-like environment were nothing new to Mark. It had been his reality for longer than he cared to remember, the metallic clangs and the emptiness of the space suffocating any trace of his former life. He’d been alone in his thoughts for what felt like years, only finding solace in the brief moments when you’d come to see him.

But tonight, as he sifted through the files on the screen, something caught his eye—something that made his blood run cold. His hand froze as his eyes fell upon the title of the file.

Failsafe: Y/N

Directive: Terminate if necessary.

Mark felt the weight of the words like a physical blow. His mind couldn’t comprehend it at first. He scanned the contents, desperately hoping it was some kind of sick joke, but there was no mistaking it. It was a directive. You, his love, his partner, were programmed to be his end if things ever got out of control.

His breathing quickened as the file details painted the grim picture: a contingency plan set up for the possibility that he might lose control. It was more than just a failsafe; it was a death sentence.

He slammed the file closed, his fist hitting the desk with a resounding crash. His thoughts raced, anger bubbling up, but underneath it all, there was something much worse: betrayal.

The sound of the door opening snapped him out of his trance, and there you stood, the woman who had been his light in the darkness, the one person who had kept him going. Your expression faltered the moment you saw him, and he could tell immediately you knew.

“Mark…” you started, your voice small, almost too gentle, like you were afraid of the storm brewing inside him.

He didn’t look at you. He couldn’t. His mind was spiraling. How could you? How could they make you the one to take me down?

Mark’s voice was a low growl when he spoke. “You knew. You knew, and you still stayed.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you replied quietly, stepping closer, your eyes pleading with him to understand. “I never wanted to be this. I never wanted to be your failsafe. But they—they—made me, Mark. I had no say. I was supposed to be your contingency.”

He shook his head, the weight of the realization sinking in deeper. “They made you a weapon against me.”

“No,” you insisted, stepping forward and reaching for him, your hand touching his arm, a calming presence amidst the storm. “It wasn’t like that. They didn’t make me want to hurt you. They just… thought that if things got too far, if you couldn’t stop yourself, that I would be the one who could.”

Mark turned to face you, his expression dark with hurt, anger, and confusion. He towered over you, the distance between you both feeling so vast despite your closeness. “And you’d kill me if it came to it, wouldn’t you? You’d be the one to do it, if I ever went too far.”

Your eyes softened, the sadness there making his heart ache. “I didn’t want it, Mark. I didn’t want any of this. I just wanted to be by your side. But they—they—made sure I would be the one to stop you, just in case.”

A cold laugh escaped him, but it didn’t sound like anything close to amusement. It was dark, bitter. “They knew exactly what they were doing, didn’t they? Turning the one person I trust into my executioner.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his chest, and he finally let his guard down, looking down at you. His eyes were full of pain and disbelief, but there was also something else. A quiet realization. You weren’t his enemy. You never had been.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. “I never wanted to hurt you. I just wanted to be the one who kept you safe.”

He closed his eyes, a deep breath filling his lungs as he pressed his forehead against yours. “But you don’t understand. They’ve taken that from me—taken the one thing I had left, the one thing that kept me from losing myself completely.”

You whispered softly, “I won’t let you lose yourself, Mark. Not while I’m here.”

He stood still for a moment, his heart hammering in his chest as he fought against the overwhelming weight of everything. He wanted to believe you. But the thought of you—the person he loved most in this world—being tasked with killing him if it came to it… it was almost too much to bear.

“Don’t make me that,” you whispered. “I’m not your weapon, Mark. You are my world.”

Mark’s resolve began to crumble, and he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as if you were the only thing that kept him tethered to reality. For the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel vulnerable, to feel safe in your arms. He needed to. He needed to believe that you wouldn’t be the one to destroy him.

“I won’t let them turn you into that,” he muttered against your hair. “I won’t let them take you from me.”

“I’m here,” you whispered back, pressing closer to him. “I’m here, Mark. And I always will be. You just have to trust me.”

He tightened his grip around you, his body trembling with the fear and relief that swirled together. The realization that you had always been his failsafe in ways they would never understand—that maybe you were what kept him from falling too far—was something he hadn’t wanted to see. But now that he knew… he didn’t know if it would ever be enough. But for now, it was everything.

[passionwillow]

Could we get a nsfw alphabet for Frankie?👉👈

YES YES WE CAN

Frank Langdon - NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He'll always clean you up and cuddle, but he usually needs a minute. He likes to bask in the afterglow, steady his breathing and hold you before getting up. A lot of time its a little rushed, only because he wants to just lay down and hold you.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. They save lives, they're skilled, and the way you react under his touch.. It drives him insane.

He loves your hips!!! He loves holding them!!! And using them to tug you closer on his cock UGH. Just grabbing at the flesh, holding for dear life.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves seeing it in your mouth or on your face. He usually likes finishing inside, but something about seeing your pretty face painted with it, or seeing you swallow it..

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves being submissive for you! Letting you run the show, seeing the light in your eyes and your excited grin gives him a thrill. Order him around, call him a good boy.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He knows what he's doing. Whether that's experience or human anatomy knowledge, he's confident in his abilities. He knows where to touch you, how to curl his fingers or thrust just right to get you crying out.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

RIDE HIM. He loves seeing you on top, getting to just kiss and bite at your tits. If you aren't confident, he's happy to guide you and help or go for missionary.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Usually serious. He's focused and locked in on you, pleasuring you, but if something humorous happens he'll laugh. You guys trip, clothes won't come off, etc..

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It's dark and thick, just like his hair. He keeps it maintained and under control, even shaving a little bit to help.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Usually pretty romantic! He isn't opposed to dirty talk or getting a little rough though, so it all depends on the mood.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Maybe a concerning amount. He can't help himself, he thinks about you nonstop. He's a little obsessed. So he's always sneaking off to receive himself, sending you pictures to taking videos.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He wouldn't mind being pegged. Part of him is nervous and part of him SERIOUSLY wants to try it. Otherwise, it's kind of the usual. Spanking, tying you up, a little choking.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bedroom, on call room, back of the car, literally he doesn't care. Just let him slip inside you (he begs for it you can't convince me otherwise).

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You breathed. You looked at him, you smiled, you laughed. Literally everything gets him going. Just give him an excise, honestly.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything with piss, feces, vomit, or anything that could seriously hurt you. He has his limits, even if it's something you'd try. He can't imagine harming you.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A MUNCH. Desperate at anytime to taste you. Sit on his face and just let him feast. He could go at it for hours if you'd let him. When it comes to him, he'd never turn down. blowjob. If you don't really want to, cool with him. But seeing you on your knees gagging and choking on him? Ugh.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He can go whatever you like. He can pound into you and fuck you senseless or the his sweet time and draw it out. He's happy with whatever, he just follows the mood.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Lovessss them. He looks forward to pulling you into an empty room and pinning you to the wall, or finding an empty bed and taking you in an on call room. He's always mumbling and whining into your neck about how he'll be quick, just needs you for a second.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He'll experiment to a degree, and he loves the thrill of getting caught. Someone seeing you moan around his cock, or clinging to his shoulders as he pounds you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Easily 2-3 before he needs a break. He just gets so revved up and high off of you, he doesn't even notice that his won body is telling him to stop.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

YES YES YES. Vibrators are his favorite. Pressing one to your clit and watching you squirm and cry out, or losing his damn mind when you use it on his cock. Handcuffs, gags, blindfolds. He enjoys all of it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can't tease you for long because he cracks in no time. And he gets so whiny and pouty when you tease him! Tugging at your clothes, begging for just a minute with you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

SO loud. So whiny and needy and he doesn't know how to be quiet. You usually have to cover his mouth when he goes at it with you at work because he's so blissed out.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Claw the hell out of him. He loves seeing the marks your nails leave, the red streaks on his back.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

A good 5 inches, average thickness. Not super huge or anything but more than enough to get the job done.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HELLO??? Always horny. Always needy. Always desperate nad tugging you into an empty room or hall.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He passes out. Arm around you, weight half on you, face in your chest. He's out like a light.

[strangelittlestories]

"I hesitate to say that you've 'screwed the pooch', but only because it's an understatement."

The Gray Wolf and Reynard the Fox stood over the smoking ruins of the fairytale castle.

The Gray Wolf continued, "It may be more accurate to say that you have single-handedly assembled a 3-piece flatpack canine-themed bedroom suite."

"Alright, hear me out though-" Reynard was cut off by a secondary explosion, which took out the one remaining tower.

The fox danced out of the way, hot-footing around the flaming debris. The Gray Wolf, meanwhile, shapeshifted into a firebird to avoid the scorching mess.

"I would say you crapped the bed," continued the wolf/bird, "but in fact you have turned an entire luxury hotel into a collection of 4-poster manure heaps. The hotel owner will need to pivot to selling fertiliser and that is not the career they dreamed."

"Okay, but-"

"When you brought me in to help with this job, I trusted in the quality of your reputation as a trickster, huckster and confidence creature." The Gray Wolf transformed back into her familiar salt-and-pepper form and gave Reynard a wintry form. "Imagine my surprise that it turned out the only trick you ever pulled was convincing the world that a single braincell of yours existed."

"On the plus side, technically we did save the shepherd girl?"

"Saved her from what? A life of luxury in the palace with the Queen? All we needed to do was get her in the right place, provide a little guidance, and help her answer some riddles." A wolf should not be able to tut like a schoolteacher, but this one managed it. "Admittedly, the interference from the 'Stiltskin was unexpected, but your incompetence leads me to only one conclusion."

"Which is?" replied the fox, miserably, slinking into a sad embarrassed puddle of red fur, "That I'm a waste of ink? A story whose moral is failure? A two-bit firecracker in a ten-shilling box? Proof the oral tradition was a waste of breath if it produced me? I've heard it all before."

"No. Never put down to incompetence what should be attributed to malice." The Gray Fox pounced on Reynard and pinned him to the ground, revealing the knife of bleached boned hidden in the dirt beneath him. "My conclusion is that you're a traitor."

"Aw, dang." Reynard's eyes lit up with the flames of chaos. "I really thought I had you there. Turns out the animal helper can help herself too!"

"Who turned you? The snow queen? King Cole?"

"Oh, that's a long story." Reynard smiled a smile that had beguiled a thousand fools. "And you don't have time..."

Then the third explosion went off.

---

Enjoy my stories? Consider supporting my live show! https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/poor-life-choices-at-the-edinburgh-fringe

[kittenninja14]

WELPPP the time for me to ramble has come loll. HEHE >:3

anyways one of my fav parts of the new trailer is this part in the interview... like the way he says it... the anguish, the frustration, the desperation in his voice...

and like I've seen some hate circling about this scene with people saying that Superman getting all emotional Is just him being "angry and "acting juvenile". Some are even going as far as calling it a "temper tantrum" and while maybe on the first watch it might seem like an accurate way to describe this scene...

but rewatching it, i've come to realize that it's actually not a temper tantrum or him being "overly emotional or juvenile"

This is actually such a really interestingly complex, yet beautifully appropriate reaction for Supes.

Because, take it from Clark's POV. He's trying to help. In his mind he saved thousands. And the questions that are asked paint him as a villain. As the "bad guy". All because he wanted to help.

Him getting emotional and frustrated is completely valid imo.

I just love how David portrayed Clark here... because like... this is Superman.

In his mind, its not about what others think or which country it happens in, in his mind its "if I have these powers I'm using it to save people regardless of politics, race, differences, etc" and like... I love it?!?

The way David so beautifully shows the almost-offended, indignant, desperation of Clark in that moment is amazing.

The frustration in his voice when he says "I wasn't representing anybody except for ME" ADTFDSBSD YESS EXACTLYYY

Because Superman isn't JUST for America.... He's for the world.

THATS who superman is.

ANd you can see how much it frustrates him that him saving peoples lives makes him the bad guy just because it doesn't fit the government's agenda. AJHGBMSSFBNF LIKE HELLO!??!? THIS IS SO AMAZING!!

AND LIKE... THAT PART "PEOPLE WERE GOING TO DIE" BROO HE SOUNDS SOOO GOOOD?!?!

LIKE YOU CAN HEAR THE ANGUISH AND, LIKE, HOW IT SOUNDS LIKE CLARK'S ALMOST ABOUT TO CRASH OUT BC LIKE HE CANT IMAGINE WHY PPL ARE HATING HIM FOR DOING NOTHING BUT GOOD AKJFYTSHFDSNBFS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS PART REALLY WAS AMAZING TO ME I JUST LOVED IT SMM BC IT REALLY SHOWS SUPERMAN'S HEART HERE.

He isn't just the Man of Tomorrow--the Beacon of Hope--only for the United States... He's that for everyone.

and he WANTS to be that for everyone.

but he can't without being hated upon.

but that's why I find Gunn's version is so interesting. Because it asks the question, "can Superman work irl with all the politics and conflicts"

AHHHHHH THIS MOVIE IS GONNA MAKE ME CRY I SWEAR STGFNHGS <33

https://kittenninja14.tumblr.com/post/731916269075480576/hey-yall-i-just-found-this-incredible-video-and

[aethon-recs]

What a wonderful list of fun social media-themed Tomarrymort recs, all delightfully creative reads. Tagging @blogalinda @duplicitywrites @exarite @k3uuu @kushimanii so that they can see this as well.

Squeezing in some additional recs along this theme:

📱 angel on a satellite by @houndsofheaven (E, 17k, WIP)

Harry Potter texts the wrong phone number and strikes up an unexpected friendship with a man named Tom. Tom is a private sort, never revealing much about himself. Despite this, Harry finds himself falling for him anyway. Tom Riddle is a world-renowned actor who is highly dedicated to his work. He doesn't have any interest in cultivating personal relationships. They're only a distraction. Yet, a simple text exchange with a cheeky university student turns his world upside down and strikes a burning obsession.

💸 cult classic by @aitafrog (G, 3k complete)

For his whole life, Harry’s been looking forward to leaving behind the Dursleys and making his own fresh start. Perhaps he’d get an accounting degree and go into banking, or maybe he’d study criminal psychology and become a cop. He’d envisioned endless opportunities ahead of him, with countless ways of reinventing himself. But for all of his daydreams and plans, he never quite imagined his fresh start involving the infamous cult leader Tom Riddle.

🎮 gaming buddies by @reggieblk (M, 19k, complete)

All it takes is a rude comment under a YouTube video for Harry and Tom to meet their best friend and, incidentally, the love of their lives. Through thousands of hours of playing Minecraft together, getting to know each other, and finally meeting in real life, it was inevitable they'd fall in love.

🎬 Love Don't Die by @moontearpensfic (E, 15k, WIP)

Imagine the person you love most. Now magnify that times infinity to the edge of the universe and back around, and you'll have something of an idea of how I feel for the magnificence that is Harry James Potter. or Harry Potter guest stars on Tom Riddle's award-winning show, oblivious to the monster that lies behind his angelic, cinnamon roll face.

💬 Personal Assistant by @phantomato (E, 10k, complete)

“And that’s it? I call ‘Tom’ and you show up?” “Yes,” Tom answers.

🎥 Pom-Poms & Perverts (Part 1) / An Alley & Anal (Part 2) by @known-concepts (E, 10k, complete)

Tom is enrolled into another school, and he's itching to get expelled again, he's so close to provoking some moid meathead into giving him what he wants, so close to flicking open his pocket knife and sinking it into flesh, when he steps in. Harry Potter, general good person, and the only male cheerleader in the entire school.

🎻 Steps to Parnassus by @solelyseeking (M, 8k, WIP)

Tom Riddle doesn’t believe in love at first sight- but he does believe in obsession. He’s been fixated on Harry Potter since he first saw him play: dark hair curling over the tips of his ears, violin tucked neatly under his chin. In the competitive world of the Conservatory, their final year brings them an unexpected twist. What happens when Harry gets too close to uncovering the depth of Tom’s affection? Harry believes they’re rivals. Tom knows the truth is far worse that that.

💻 The Dark(web) Lord by @allthesmilesxo (E, 10k, WIP)

Tom Riddle isn't gay. But he doesn't mind if his YouTube subscribers think that Lord Voldemort is. After all, anything goes when it comes to clout, baby. What will happen when he accidentally discovers a cute twink in desperate need of saving from a problematic mommy blogger? Or: "How a phony call-out video inadvertently led me to the love of my life"

SMS: Inspo recs

This fest aims to see more tomarrymort social media AUs created, but there are a bunch of great ones already~ Peruse the links below for some inspiration (or just because -- there's something for everyone here) <3

In alphabetical order:

almost got in a knife fight after work (a thread), chaoscookiescrimes

Dark Livestream and DL Extended Universe, Anna_Hopkins Hogwarts Valley, @chaos-bear, @curioushabitforarivergod, @cindle-writes, @aitafrog, @take-the-unknow-road-now, Lytri, @known-concepts, @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger, @tommarvoloriddlesdiary, @valkyrie-chemist

Lover’s Spit, Amelinda and k3u

Musician/Social Media AU, @theonceandfuturequeenoftarts Part I | Part II | Part III

Never Gonna Give You Up, @laeveteinn

No amount of therapy can help, @the-wig-is-a-metaphor

Riddle Me This (alternately, the world's best/worst podcast), @goldenzingy46

Smells Like World Peace, duplicity

Thank You, Slimes, For Sending Me to My Death So That I Could Meet This Gorgeous Man., Kushimani

the crushing weight of cancelling your fav, @cindle-writes

To give and to take, @known-concepts

Waiting For You, orphan account

xxx puddlemere star seeker nudes leaked, exarite

Please feel free to add recs, as this is only a selection of the social media/Internet fics to be found in tomarrymort land~

[chibishortdeath]

Recent doodles cause I was sick so obviously I had to give that to the vampire hunter man. The transfer was mostly successful btw, the headaches are less frequent d(^^)

Text and other ranting ⬇️

This one has no text. It’s just Simon waking up a little feverish— I was going to draw him getting out of bed and other longer character interaction comic stuff, but I uh was also having the head pain at the time 💀💀💀. Maybe someday later.

Simon is in like a robe or housecoat and saying “I-I’m all alright” and there’s a bit in parentheses under him that says “says guy who is clearly ill”. Then there’s a littler doodle of him doing the unsteady walk you do when you’re sick sometimes in his pjs—

The text is as follows: (Christopher) “oh my god— Simon, go lay down you are burning up.” (Simon) “immokayy” (Christopher) “you are swaying on your feet please—”. I think Simon would probably deny that he was anything less than in perfect health even when visibly not 💀. Or do the thing of “I’ve had worse” or “I can handle it” and like no, sir, what you’ve missed here is that part of handling it is rest, go lay down!!! Also Christopher is here because I just wanna see all the Belmonts getting to be a family and have significantly less responsibilities to deal with. Good lord do these guys need just a fun slice of life everyone is alive and well and we threw them into modern times AU holy shit… And also Christopher is Mr. Dad Guy Belmont, he’s definitely the guy out of all of them to be harping on someone to take care of themselves. Idk I feel like he gets extra dad vibes having been the guy allowed to be a dad on screen lol. Although I could see most of them doing this for someone though, so Simon has to go through like a whole maybe 5 other dudes insisting that he go rest and following him to make sure he’s alright. That whole denial thing is not going to work 💀. I’m thinking maybe I should draw that huh, ok another one on the ever growing list—

[prismbearer]

Idk why there's disbelief over Mark S/Helly in terms of motivation. Helly is just as capable of cruelty and selfishness as Helena. They are at the core of it, the same person with different memories/experiences. They can be two perspectives worthy of indulging their own dreams and desires and also be the same person. Narratively here especially, this isn't about morality, it's about human nature.

Helly was never cruel, sure, of course. Helly felt like she was the same as the other people in MDR. But Helly has something right now that she never even achieved as Helena. Someone who loves her. Someone who is choosing her. Helly is Winning over Helena here.

Jame Eagen wanders down just to be a freak and reinforces the reality of it. Helly is "More" than Helena, hasn't been worn down by the weight of experience and the world (and their cult and corporate bullshit). She still has, in some way, the innocence of youth and lack of experience with the world. She doesn't have the same fears and burdens or triggers as Helena in her conscious experience. She still has the ability to express her passions and outrage and defend herself. And to love and not feel sorry for it.

Severance gave Helena a chance to exist without the learned perspectives and burdens of the Eagens and she is able to be free with herself and her passions and desires-- whereas Helena was likely drained of any dreams for potential beyond a strictly guided future decades ago.

Of course Helly is feeling a rush of joy and satisfaction over Mark loving her. Mark choosing her. She tried to do the "right thing" by being logical with Mark. "I'm her." Even outside of Lumon, if they bring it all down, there's no hope for an Eagen and an ex-severed employee in reality. In the Real World they will never be together. Mark couldn't love Helena, how could anyone love an Eagen? (Poor Helly really with like, the enemy is within etc, but that's kinda the situation framed by Lumon for everyone by setting the stage with your Innie isn't human kinda rhetoric.) (This was also reinforced by Helena trying to get close to Mark to see if he still had feelings or chemistry with her and finding out they were not going to work outside Lumon.)

What if the equator is a building that could be a continent? Can be their whole world? They're choosing to live Now. Together in the present despite knowing that with their half lives, they could be brought to an end at any moment. It's very willful young love of them. And why wouldn't it be? This is their First Love. They haven't even been "alive" that long or have any memory of romance beyond their current infatuation. They don't know the world or it's places, and maybe that's okay, maybe they can exist in this space so long as they have love and the others.

It's completely human for Helly to accept Mark choosing her. To run to him just to see him for maybe the last time. It's human for Mark S to run to Helly. It's human for poor Gemma, who doesn't even know her fucking husband is severed, to be pounding on the door.

But this is their Final Day to Mark and Helly. Maybe the very end of their world. It's Judgement Day. Of course they'd have them holding hands and running back to the unknown to face the end together. To die together.

There is also zero fucking chance Mark Scout would risk his life and brain continuing reintegration once his wife is back. Mark Scout is going to choose his wife. Mark is choosing Love on both sides here.

All of it is reasonable.

[ahopefulbromantic]

wait do you believe in hell as eternal conscious torment? (im curious bc that debate has been a crux of my own journey w faith & christianity)

I believe in hell as eternal disconnection from God or more precisely as defined by the Catechism a "state of definitive self-exclusion from communion with God and the blessed" (CCC 1033). How that would look like i have no idea but i do know that tearing yourself apart from the one and only source of life, love, happiness, fulfilment, goodness, and everything that is good would absolutely be the worst torment imaginable, or rather well, unimaginable. And i do know God would hate to have His beloved children be in this state. I hope with all my heart that hell is completely empty, i wouldn't wish it upon anyone and i mean anyone

Oh and since you mentioned a debate, can you tell me more about it? Cause i'm not sure what you're refering to and i'd love to learn more! God bless you anon and best wishes for your journey with faith!

[quietwingsinthesky]

i do love canon amy & rory but god, does some part of me wish they really had gone with the idea of the doctor picking up a child as a companion (and then later, that child’s best friend with a huge crush on her.) with the rest of the season really not changing at all, except now it’s amelia pond with an angel in her head killing her and lost alone in the woods. it’s little rory who dies and is forgotten and becomes a toy soldier. if this is going to be a fairy tale, then let it be one. children have never been safe in fairy tales.

[pkmoth]

having swap au thoughts. *slaps roof of claus* there's so much mental illness in this guy. im gonna blow up everyone in the room and then myself

[landofgay]

I hope today was the worst day of my year. because today sucked. but I think it's gonna get better now

[bookofmac]

my most gonzo tlt theory is that one of the Tridentarii is gonna get twa sister'd into an instrument by the end of it and the only way they get to talk is by one playing the other