#it just happened to be what i wanted to rewatch at the time and i decided to kill two birds with one stone so to speak

[ancientwastedlores]

Homelander Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

I’m a Loki girl through and through, but a recent The Boys rewatch kinda got me obsessed with Homelander, so I thought I’d write a quick little angst fic based on the Somebody Else x My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” mashup (which I have been playing non-stop by the way. My boyfriend has accepted this new way of life.)

Huge thanks to @blindmagdalena for encouraging me to write this! 

I haven’t written fiction in a while, so I hope this is good! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Homelander Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Oh, here we go again. 

You put on a plastic smile while he holds your wrist in a death grip behind your back. 

The cameras flash incessantly, almost making your eyes water - whether that’s from the ache throbbing in your arms or the flashes, you can’t tell anymore. 

"Homelander! Are you going to cameo in A-Train’s multiverse movie!?"

"Homelander, is there a universe where you are A-Train!?" 

Homelander laughs, flashing his sharp pearly whites. He exudes charisma as he raises his hands to stop the line of questions. 

"I guess you’ll just have to catch the movie next week, boys!" 

He pulls you closer to him. "For now, the missus and I have to make it Vought for the premiere!" 

With a flourish, he flips his cape like the showman he is and then holds you as he launches, leaving the reporters in the dust. 

You feel your tears trail behind you as he whisks you to the penthouse. Normally, New York looks bejeweled from this incredible height. Tiny dots of lights up and down the massive steel and glass buildings. At this height, life is erased. Humans are erased. It’s tall shapes and big shadows, like an unfinished rendering of a video game. 

You’ve always loved flying, but you suspect you’re in for a hard time once your feet touch the marble floors in the penthouse.

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

Homelander stayed silent for hours after getting home. You decided to bake him some banana bread - his favorite - and whip up a good old-fashioned chocolate milkshake. The scent of it usually makes him forget whatever he was angry about, but it doesn"t seem to be working right now. 

He paces the room, his rich red cape trailing behind him in the most dramatic way. Homelander has his theatric tendencies, and you have learned to indulge them. 

Even when the cost is high. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask despite your better judgment. 

"What could possibly be wrong? You’re the Jackie Kennedy to my John Kennedy. What could be wrong about that?" he snaps. 

"John…" 

"Why you?" he asks. "Why you and not me?" 

"Me BECAUSE of you, John; they wouldn’t care about me if I weren’t dating you!" 

He heaves, his eyes red without the aid of a laser. His chest rises and falls as his brain scrambles for a response. He is angry; no, he wants to be angry. He just wants something to rage about. 

He isn’t actually angry that the reporters swarmed the two of you and bombarded you with a hundred questions before paying attention to him. After all, the questions were about him. What’s he like as a boyfriend? What’s the cutest thing he’s done for you? Have you ever worn the cape? Would you ever be in a movie with him? 

No, there"s something else. You’ve given up trying to dig deep and find meaning in his outbursts because, more often than not, you get it wrong. Some obscure random thing might have happened 5 minutes or 5 years ago and he seethes about it before calming down. 

This is life now. 

"Are you actually mad at me?" you ask. "I won’t leave this penthouse if you don’t want me to." 

He laughs - a sarcastic, painful one. You’re all too used to this. 

Homelander looks you up and down as if scanning you. Assessing you. As if asking himself what you mean for his approval points and how you look on his arm. 

You are by no means perfect, but Homelander loved that about you. He never lied that you were the hottest one he’d been with or even the most intelligent. But he loved that you loved him. He loved that you forgave his outbursts and allowed him space to throw a tantrum or brood silently. 

He loved that you were patient with him, which is more than anybody had ever been with him. But he often tested that, too. 

"You know what, I think I'll do this premiere alone. I wouldn’t want you to feel out of place in such a big crowd." 

That stings. You’ve never been a showman or particularly extroverted, but you wanted to try. For him. And you thought you were getting pretty good at it, too. 

But you nod. There’s no use in arguing. 

Clearly, though, he isn’t done. "I mean, I know you hate putting yourself out there, and you end up a nervous wreck after these events. I don’t want to spend the night taking care of you." 

"Sure. I understand." 

Somehow, your neutral, bland response does not anger him. For some funny reason, it relieves him that he doesn't have to fight with you to get what he wants. 

He turns on his heel and exits the house without another word. 

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

You exit the shower and spot the dress you were going to wear for the premiere. In typical Homelander fashion, he wanted you to match his colors rather than A-Train's colors. This was A-Train's night, but he'd be damned if you wore anyone else's aesthetic on your body. 

It’s a red-white-and-blue dress with a dramatic, asymmetrical neckline and fitted bodice with sparkling red and blue sequins transitioning into a voluminous, flowing skirt. Homelander picked it and got it tailored just for you. He knew the parts you were insecure about and made the designer alter the dress to ensure you felt your best. The poofy ball gown style skirt hid your ass, which you didn’t like the shape of. The neckline softened your broad shoulders, which you always felt made you look too masculine. But Homelander made sure the neckline didn’t hide your neck and collarbones, which you loved. 

You touch the rich satin fabric, your heart aching. You were so excited to show this dress off, hanging on to his arm as he flashed his charming, boyish smile. You consider wearing it, even if it's just to clean the kitchen, but decide against it. It would hurt too much. 

You put on a clean pair of sweats and potter to the kitchen. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you decide to just watch the live broadcast of the premiere and make do with that. 

Three hours pass - you’re asleep on the couch at this point with the TV still running. The premiere ended, and now the channel is playing clips of all mentions of the multiverse in all the past movies. You’d watch if you weren"t so emotionally exhausted. 

A click of the front door wakes you, and through blurry eyesight, you see a smudge of red-and-blue enter. You prop yourself up and rub your eyes sleepily. 

"Hey." 

He sounds like he’s in a jolly mood. 

"Hey," you say back. "How was the premiere?"

"I missed you…" he says, voice dripping with sincerity. 

"I missed you too…" you bring your arms up as if inviting him to cuddle. 

You know he had a miserable time without you. He fucks things up for himself and comes back like a baby in need of consolation. 

Sure enough, he makes his way to the couch, where you’ve created a little nest of fluffy pillows and blankets, and practically falls onto you. You wrap your arms around him as tightly as you can while he buries his nose in your neck. 

"So. Is the movie every bit as terrible as you thought?" you ask, knowing he’s in the mood to shit-talk A-Train. 

"Worse," his voice comes muffled. "Terrible. Horrible. Garbage." 

You laugh and push him lightly so you can have an audible conversation. "Tell me about it." 

"It baffles me the bullshit Vought comes up with. So pointless and bland and unnecessary. And A-Train was eating it right up. Lapping up every last bit of praise like a fucking dog."

"A-Train looked lost in the spotlight. He cannot handle it like you do," you say. "Nobody does." 

A giddy smile crosses Homelander’s face. You pinch his cheeks lightly and then run your fingers through his perfect blonde hair. "Do you want to watch something half-decent and doze off on the couch?" you ask. 

"No… I want you to put that dress on so I can fly us to dinner."

You look at him, your heart twisting painfully in your chest. His boyish grin is disarming, softening your resolve just like it always does. You want to say no. You want to tell him you’re too tired, that the emotional whiplash of his moods has wrung you out like an old sponge. 

But you know that’s not what he wants to hear.

You force a smile instead. "Sure.”

You stand, your legs unsteady, as you head to the bedroom to slip on the dress. It feels heavier now than when you first tried it on. Maybe you’re tired. Maybe it’s just your mind playing tricks. 

You catch your reflection in the mirror. The dress is stunning—perfect, even. He had it made for you, tailored to his vision of you. But when you look at yourself, you see the hollow shell of the person you used to be. You see someone who bends and folds and breaks under the weight of his love.

You hear him calling from the living room, impatient. "You ready yet? You’re gonna knock 'em dead."

You close your eyes, gripping the edge of the dresser until your knuckles turn white. No, you cannot leave him. He needs you, and he doesn"t mean to be mean. He’s trying to make up for it, isn’t he? Stop being such a sensitive, emotional baby. Get the fuck out there and let him show you how sorry he is.

You enter the living room, the satin catching the light and making you look almost ethereal. Homelander is stunned by his own creation. 

"Gorgeous. Fucking perfect." 

You smile and do a little twirl, feeling like the most beautiful girl in the world. 

He rises from the couch, his cape draped dramatically over one shoulder, and strides toward you like a man who owns the world because he does. "You’re my queen. The only one who can keep up with me."

Yes, but do you want to? Or do you want to slow down a bit? Savor the small moments and not spend your life waiting for the next attack? 

You can do nothing but kiss him. He pulls you close by the waist and almost devours you in his frenzy. Waves of emotions crash over you, voices urging you to both switch off your brain and get far away from the broken man. 

How much more of this can you take? He will make it his mission to find out.

He pulls away and flashes his pearly whites. "Ready to lift off?" 

"Abso-fucking-lutely" you smile back. 

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

The restaurant is one of the most exclusive in New York—floor-to-ceiling glass windows that overlook the city, tables spaced far apart to ensure privacy, and a waitstaff so attentive it’s almost suffocating. Homelander loves it here. Not because of the food, though it’s excellent, but because everyone here knows who he is. They don’t gawk or ask for autographs, but you can feel their reverence in every stolen glance, every hushed whisper. He thrives on it.

You sit across from him, the candlelight bouncing off the sequins of your dress. He's been in an unusually good mood since you arrived, and for a moment, you let yourself believe tonight might actually be different. He's been complimenting you all night, his eyes lingering on yours in a way that makes you feel like you're the only person in the world.

“See?” he says, leaning back in his chair with a self-satisfied grin. “I knew this dress was the one. Look at them.” He gestures subtly to the other diners, some of whom are clearly trying not to stare. “They’re jealous. You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

You smile faintly, murmuring a soft “thank you” as you sip your wine. It’s moments like this that make staying feel worth it. But then, as always, the warmth starts to curdle.

The turning point is subtle. It always is. He starts picking at his food, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. You can tell something’s shifted. You don’t know what triggered it this time—maybe it was the waiter who smiled a little too warmly at you or the couple at the next table who didn"t acknowledge him quickly enough.

“Do you think they’re staring at me or you?” he asks suddenly, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

“I mean, they’re obviously looking at me,” he continues, his voice low and dangerous. “But you’re the one soaking it up, aren"t you? Sitting there like some fucking… princess.”

The words hit like a slap. “John, what are you talking about?”

He leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “You love this, don’t you? The attention. The glamour. The fucking dress. You think it’s all for you.”

“Of course, I don’t,” you say quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. “I came here because you wanted to. I’m here for you.”

“For me,” he repeats mockingly, his lips curling into a sneer. “That’s rich. You think I don’t see the way you look at them? Like you’re just waiting for someone better to come along. Someone who doesn"t scare you.”

“That"s not true,” you whisper, but your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears. You glance around nervously, hoping no one is listening. Of course, they are. Even if they can’t hear the words, they can feel the tension radiating off him like a live wire.

Somewhere, you blame yourself for enabling this behavior. Your timidness… your eagerness to please… your avoidance of conflict… it feeds him. If it were Starlight or Stormfront or anybody else, they would stand up to him and draw a boundary. And that’s what he needs - not a timid, sniveling fool who would bend over backward to play into his fantasies. 

He laughs bitterly, almost as if he agrees with your thoughts, and leans back in his chair. “You know what"s funny? You’re so scared of me, but you’re the real monster here. You just sit there, pretending to be this sweet, innocent thing, and you judge me for every little fucking thing I do or say.”

“I don’t judge you,” you protest weakly, your hands trembling in your lap. “I—”

“Save it,” he snaps, his voice rising just enough to make heads turn. “You’re just like everyone else. You love me when I’m the hero, but the second I let my guard down, you look at me like I’m some kind of freak.”

“John, please,” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can we not do this here?”

“Why not?” he says, his smile cold and cruel. “You embarrassed me at the premiere, didn’t you? Couldn’t even be bothered to show up. Do you know how pathetic that made me look?”

“I was just respecting what you asked of me. And I thought you said you missed me,” you say softly, tears stinging your eyes. 

“Yeah, well,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “What do I know, right?.”

The rest of the dinner passes in a blur. He doesn"t apologize. He doesn"t even look at you. You pick at your food, your appetite long gone, and force yourself to smile when the waiter comes by to clear the plates. You feel like you’re suffocating, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest like a boulder.

When the bill comes, he doesn"t even glance at it. He tosses his card onto the table and leans back in his chair, looking more like a king about to call for an execution. 

“Ready to go?” he asks casually, as if nothing happened.

You nod, your face carefully blank. “Of course.”

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

He flies you back to the penthouse in silence. The city lights blur beneath you, but you barely notice. Your mind is racing, your heart pounding. You know what you have to do. You’ve known for a while now, but tonight was the final straw.

When you land, he kisses your cheek and tells you he’s going to shower. “Don’t wait up,” he says with a wink, and then he disappears down the hall.

You wait until you hear the water running before you move. You slip out of the dress and back into your sweats, your hands trembling as you pack a small bag with just the essentials. You don’t know where you’re going yet—maybe a hotel, maybe a friend"s place—but you know you can’t stay here.

As you zip up the bag, you glance around the penthouse one last time. It feels empty, like a stage set after the actors have gone home. You think of all the times you convinced yourself this was enough. That he was enough. That you could fix him if you just loved him hard enough. And he would love once you fixed whatever was wrong with you. 

But you can’t. You know that now. He needs someone stronger. 

Braver. 

You leave the dress draped over the back of the couch, a silent goodbye. Then you slip out the door, the sound of the water still echoing in the distance.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you don’t look back.

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

It happens on the fourth night. 

You"re staying at a hotel under an alias, the type of place he wouldn"t normally stoop to visiting. You"ve been trying to keep your head down, trying to breathe for the first time in what feels like years. But deep down, you knew it wouldn"t last.

When the knock comes at the door—sharp, insistent—you freeze. Your heart hammers in your chest. You don’t have to check; you already know it’s him. You’ve been bracing for this moment since the night you left. And honestly, he took longer than you expected. 

Still, when you open the door and see him standing there, you’re not prepared. He looks almost unhinged, his hair slightly mussed, his eyes blazing with something between fury and heartbreak. His red cape is gone, but the suit clings to him like a second skin. 

“I found you,” he says, his voice soft, almost tender, but there’s a dangerous edge underneath it. “Of course I did.”

You step back instinctively, your hands gripping the edge of the door. “How did you—”

“Don’t.” He pushes the door open with ease, stepping inside like he owns the place. “Don’t ask me stupid questions. You really thought you could hide from me? Me?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Come on, sweetheart. Give me more credit than that.”

“John…” you start, but he cuts you off, pacing the room like a caged animal.

“You left,” he says, his voice rising. “You just walked out. No note, no call, nothing. Do you know what that did to me? Do you have any idea?”

Your chest tightens. “I needed to.”

“Bullshit.” He spins to face you, his expression twisting with anger. “You didn"t need to do anything. You chose this. You chose to hurt me. After I rescued you from a pitiful existence and made something of you. Little Y/N wanted to be a writer but had no time. I rescued you from your shabby little apartment and gave you everything. Time. Money. Luxury. And this is what I get.” 

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” you say quietly, but your words only seem to inflame him further.

“No?” He stalks closer, his voice dripping with venom. “Then what do you call this? Running off in the middle of the night like a fucking coward? Hiding in some fucking run-down rat-shit hotel like you’re afraid of me?”

“I AM afraid of you,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. His face freezes, a flicker of something almost like pain crossing his features before the anger returns.

“You’re afraid of me?” he repeats, his tone incredulous. “I’ve protected you. I’ve given you everything. Everything you asked and didn’t ask for. You sound so fucking ungrateful. I loved you.” 

The words hit like a slap. You take a step back, shaking your head. “That's not love, John. That's control.”

“Don’t,” he snarls, his voice trembling with fury. “Don’t you fucking psychoanalyze me right now. I loved you. I still love you. And you—” he can’t stop his maniacal laughter. He wags his finger at you. “You!” 

Tears well in your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. “I just think this isn’t meant to be.”

“Oh, you’re a fortune teller now?”

“John…” 

“Such a fucking saint, aren't you, saving us all from unhappiness. Or…” he smiles. A dangerous smile. “There’s someone else!”

The question knocks the breath out of you. “What?”

“You heard me,” he says, his voice low and deadly. “There’s someone else, isn’t there? Is that why you left? Did you find someone who makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Someone who doesn"t scare you?”

“No,” you say, your voice breaking. “There’s no one else.”

“Then why?” he demands, his voice rising again. “Why did you leave me? Why did you—”

“Because it’s not love!” you scream. The first real, raw emotion you allow yourself to feel in forever. 

Homelander almost looks proud of you for it. 

“You keep being cruel to me. You keep saying horrible things, and I get it; I'm not intelligent or gorgeous or fucking V'd up like your other girlfriends, but GOD. Why are you with me if you hate me so much?” 

For the first time, you see Homelander shocked. “What? I don’t… I don’t hate you; what the fuck are you talking about?” 

You laugh in resignation and wipe your tears with the neck of your sweater. “Homelander, I’m not the one for you. I’m done.”

“You’re done? YOU are leaving ME?” 

He stares at you, his chest heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is deafening. He’s confused that you think he hates you and cannot fathom why you would believe that. He gave you everything. In what universe is that hate? 

“I gave you everything,” he says, more to convince himself now, his voice raw. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again. Part of you wants to desperately say you want to be back together when things are better. When you are stronger, and he is kinder. You want to believe that once you fix you, he will miss you. He will return and be so much nicer. Softer. 

But you know that time may never come. 

Just at this moment, Homelander wishes his powers had allowed him to read minds, too. Your face inscrutable, he has nothing to latch on to. He looks at you like you’ve just plunged a knife into his chest. For a moment, you think he might lash out, that he might destroy the entire block in a fit of rage. 

But instead, he takes a step back, his expression crumbling.

“You’ll regret this,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll miss me. You’ll see.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Maybe I will.”

He stands there for a moment longer, his fists clenching and unclenching, his jaw tight. Then, without another word, he turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him.

You collapse onto the bed, your entire body shaking. The weight of the confrontation crashes over you. Hot tears finally gush out as you clutch your pillow and sob quietly, knowing Homelander can still hear you. 

This isn’t over. Not yet. He will forever stalk the edges of your life, watching. Waiting for you to need him. 

You know Homelander well enough to know he doesn't let go of his toys without a fight.

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

[puck-luck]

this was born out of a text exchange between me and cappy where i rewatched the "coming home" youtube video and quinn had the audacity to bend over the edge of the table like a SLUT. my message about that moment was "I HATE him for putting his leg up on the edge like this (and you know what? Bea would fuck him on the pool table fs)". Cappy replied: "also - circling back to the fucking on the pool table. yes i do think that should be included in bea’s book. love that both girls fuck their men on the pool table". then I discussed how Bea is going to ask how it was for Honey because position-wise, she wasn't super comfy "And then honey’s going to be like “bruh” and then bea will be like “aw that’s so cute of us, we fucked our guys in the same place ���� we’re basically semen sisters” and honey is going to be so affronted". So that's what inspired this. I started having visions when I was supposed to work on my grad school essay, so I needed to write it down to get it out of my mind.

HERE! is the beaquinn pool table sex. if you want to know what's happening with honeytrev at the same time as this, you can reread days 30-33 in Chapter 5 of stg. LOVE YOU! say it back. ENJOY!

[5.1K WORDS]

Bea almost doesn’t want to leave Quinn’s bed when she hears the front door creak open, signaling the brothers’s return from Las Vegas. It’s warm in here and the pillow smells like Quinn. Her t-shirt will have to do. It’s Quinn’s old yellow Michigan t-shirt, which falls big on her but not big enough to cover her behind. The hardwood floor is cold as she makes her way out of bed and throws the sheets back into place, tiptoeing down the hall and the stairs without making the floor creak too much. Bea undoes the messy braid on the back of her head, knowing how Quinn likes it when her hair is loose for him to play with. She shakes out her hair as she creeps down the stairs, the whispers of the brothers getting louder with each step.

“Jack, the door–” Luke hisses just before the front door bangs shut.

Bea stifles a giggle by pressing her fingers over her lips, still hiding in the shadows of the staircase. 

The boys stand in almost identical poses, shoulders tense and heads ducked. They’re waiting for one of their housemates to wake up and get mad at them for making so much noise. They’re lucky– Cole’s been dead to the world since about 10:30 and Trevor went to bed around 11 after he talked with Honey. Bea doesn’t know exactly what happened, since Honey is still so unsure about this Trevor thing, with good reason, but she knows that Honey had to remind him to think before he speaks. Bea is so glad she doesn’t have that problem– Quinn loves to think before he speaks. The other boys are less thoughtful, but she’s never had to chew them out for saying something stupid.

“Close one, eh?” Jack whispers, although he’s bad at whispering, so his voice just seems softer than normal.

Bea steps out of the shadows, staying close to the wall like it’ll camouflage her bright yellow shirt. 

“Bea,” Quinn breathes out, noticing her immediately. He sets his suitcase down next to him, a smile growing on his face when he recognizes her outfit.

“You’re late,” Bea whispers, matching his grin. “You said 1:30.”

“Sorry,” Quinn says, but he doesn’t seem all that sorry.

“There was a crash on 77,” Luke adds. “Pretty bad. Probably better that it happened in the middle of the night, since there weren’t as many cars on the road.”

Bea hums. “That’s sad.”

“Have you been up this whole time?” Jack asks. “It’s late.”

Bea shakes her head. “Slept a little bit.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack grins. “Whose bed?”

Stupid. Bea snorts, taking a few more steps until she’s in front of him. She lifts her hand and squishes his cheeks between her fingers. “Not yours,” she says. “G’night, Jacky.”

He makes a kissing noise at her, then steps back and bumps into the table in the hall. “Oops,” he mumbles. “Night, Bea.”

Luke echoes a goodnight and pats Bea on the back, holding both his and Quinn’s suitcases in his hands. The brothers squeeze past her, leaving Quinn and Bea in the dark alone.

She grins at him, bouncing a little bit on her tiptoes out of excitement. She’s missed him. Quinn smiles back, his eyes glinting in the darkness. He’s the first to step forward, sweeping her up into his arms in a tight hug. He buries his face in her neck, letting his arms push her shirt up so that he can touch the smooth expanse of her back. Bea wraps her arms over his shoulders and plays with his hair, breathing him in. He smells a little bit like airport, but the scent of his sandalwood shampoo is stronger than ever. 

“You shower this morning?” Bea asks, pinching the close-cut strands on the back of his head between her fingers. 

“God, I knew you were going to comment on that,” Quinn groans, pulling away from her. His hands rest on Bea’s waist, pinkies brushing the band of her cheeky underwear. “I was on a plane for like five hours, babe.”

Bea’s stomach twists at the pet name, her cheeks turning a little red and her mouth widening somehow further. She admires Quinn for a moment, eyes cataloging how his face looks sharper with his stubble only just growing back. Her eyes pass over the scar on his cheek. Honey only just noticed it the other night. It’s one of Bea’s favorite things about his face– tied for first with, well, everything else. 

She realizes that she’s gone too long without replying, mostly because the edges of Quinn’s lips are tilting upward in an amused way.

“Hey, winner,” Bea greets, tilting her head to kiss him hello. “Missed you.”

Quinn breathes out a tiny laugh, kissing her again like a reply. “I missed you, too. Was thinking about you the whole time.”

Bea faux-gasps. “You were thinking about me, but you didn’t even thank me in your speech?”

Quinn chuckles, a little louder this time. His thumb runs along her hip, petting the skin there. It makes Bea’s sides feel warm, like the friction is sending shocks through her body. “Oh, come on. How would that have sounded?”

“‘And thank you to Bea McLean, the best person I’ve ever met’...?” Bea teases, blinking at Quinn. “Obviously. Sounds pretty good to me.”

Quinn shakes his head, still smiling fondly. He rolls his eyes a little bit, but he concedes. “I’ll work it in next time.”

“I’m expecting it. First back-to-back Norris winner since Nicklas Lindstrom, yeah?”

“Lidstrom, baby,” Quinn corrects. He pulls Bea close again, hugging her for the second time. His hands rub up and down her back again and Bea swears that she can feel his fingerprints as he moves. “You tired?”

“I slept a little. Are you tired?”

“Had a coffee at the airport ‘cause I’m stupid,” Quinn replies. His voice turns sarcastic, overly dramatic and trying to get her sympathy. “And the boys were draining me, they’re so annoying.”

Bea pats his chest. “You love them,” she reminds him.

Quinn’s easy to break. “Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re pretty great.” He pauses, eyes flickering over her face akin to how she surveyed him earlier. “Wanna go watch a movie?”

“Movie will put me to sleep. We can play a round of pool, if you want. Keep your winning streak going,” Bea teases. 

“You just want to bend over in front of me,” Quinn bites back, laughing. His hands go to her behind, covering Bea’s cheeks with his palms. “Distract me with your panties.”

“It would be more distracting if I wasn’t wearing them,” Bea points out, wiggling back into Quinn’s touch. 

“I think you’re already distracting enough in my Michigan shirt,” Quinn says. “C’mon. Let’s go downstairs. You can fill me in on the past couple days while you lose.”

He’s got that playful tone in his voice again, the one that Bea loves. It’s so domestic, the way that she and Quinn talk to each other. They’ve got a vibe about them, something that fits like a puzzle piece, but Bea is getting too far ahead of herself. It’s not even July. They’re just having fun, by her own design. So what if he calls her ‘baby’ and it makes her stomach flip-flop every time?

They’re still trying to be quiet as they head down to the basement, making sure to close the door behind them. Quinn racks the balls and Bea chooses her usual stick– she only knows which one it is because it’s got a chip about ⅓ of the way down the shaft– and starts to tell him what he missed. 

“Honey tried to ban Trevor from the store because he’s bad at being a person,” Bea starts. “I don’t know the drama, but apparently he doesn’t think.”

“Have they fucked yet?” Quinn asks, rounding the table and stationing himself to break the rack. Bea never breaks when they play. She’s not very good at hitting one ball, much less strategically breaking up a group of fifteen. “Or are they still stuck on him fingering her in the back room?”

“They’re still stuck. She likes him so much, though, she just won’t admit it,” Bea continues. She looks at the table. Quinn made one of the stripes in off of his break– 14 maybe– so he’s trying to pick his second ball now.

“She’ll get there. It’s kind of like a tree falling, isn’t it,” Quinn says. He lines up the 11-ball with the pocket and knocks it in, then purposefully bumps off the wall in a meaningless shot so that Bea has a chance. “Takes a while, but once she’s down, she’s down.”

Hmm. “I’ve never thought of it like that,” Bea tells him. “That’s smart, Q. You’re right.” She eyes the 5-ball, since it’s kind of in the way of all of the ones she wants to get to. Might as well move it. Bea crosses the table and shoots it off to the other side of the table. A problem for later.

“You can’t try to lose on purpose,” Quinn chides.

“I’m not trying to lose on purpose, I just wanted to get that one out of the way,” Bea argues back. 

Quinn rolls his eyes and sighs. “You should’ve shot at the 7.”

Bea side eyes him. “Don’t tell me what I should’ve done. Mansplainer.”

Quinn shrugs. “Just trying to help.” He focuses on his next shot. “What’d you do after we left?”

“Worked. I dragged Honey here to watch the Awards, we played Uno– I won, by the way, and I’ll school you next time we play–” Quinn interrupts her with a laugh, narrowly missing a pocket when the ball bounces off the corner edge. “I called you after you won, and then we broke out the hot tub earlier today.”

That catches Quinn’s interest. “Oh, yeah?” He asks. “You took a dip? Did Cole try anything stupid?”

Bea hears the insinuation immediately. “No, Cole and I didn’t hook up while you were gone,” she says with a tinge of fake exasperation in her voice. “I told you over the phone on Thursday, I only have sex with men who have won the James Norris trophy.”

Quinn laughs aloud, throwing his head back. “How long is that going to last?” He teases. “Just so I can know when I’m back to graciously sharing you with the other boys.”

Bea groans. When they’re alone, Quinn always flaunts how he was the first and how he’s her favorite. He gets a kick out of acting like he’s special and Bea pretends to hate it. He is special, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I can still go up to Jack’s bed now, you know.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Bea leans over to shoot at one of her solids. It bounces off a wall and changes directions. “That’s all that happened this weekend, really. Tell me about Vegas. Lose any money?”

“Tons,” Quinn confirms, but the cheeky grin on his face tells her that he’s stretching the truth. He starts to talk about how he and his brothers snuck Luke into the casino with a well-placed bribe to the doorman and autographs for his kids. The stories from the weekend pile up as Quinn and Bea mill around the table, taking shots and sinking them in Quinn’s case, missing them in Bea’s. He tells her about the people he saw, the things he did, the interviews he had, that he got an offer to be on the cover of NHL 25 but he’s going to hold out until they let him bring Jack and Luke with him, and that he’s happy he got to see his mom and dad. He officially tells Bea that they’re coming for Fourth of July, although that surprise had already been spoiled by Trevor on Thursday. 

Quinn wins– of course. Bea wasn’t going to win this game unless he intentionally threw it, like her first time playing him. They’re past the intentional throws now. Bea goes to update the board– honor code is highly valued in this house– and Quinn pockets the rest of the balls so that everything is nice and clean for tomorrow. There’s no sense in leaving them out. She can hear Quinn sneaking up behind her.

“You look good in my shirt, sweetheart,” Quinn murmurs, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind and kissing Bea’s shoulder. “I gotta get you in Michigan gear more often.”

“You know, if they ever play Carolina again, you’ll have to pry my UNC gear from my cold, dead body,” Bea says, reaching a hand around and threading her fingers through Quinn’s hair again.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I pried the clothes off this body,” Quinn says, self-satisfied smirk evident in his voice. He turns Bea in his grip so that she’s facing him. He kisses her, more than a greeting peck this time. “You tired yet?”

Once again, Bea can see right through his question. “Not a chance. I’ve been waiting for my winner to get home.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Quinn praises, voice low. He captures Bea’s lips again, moving against her in the comfortable way that they’ve adopted in the weeks since they’ve been seeing each other. 

Bea lets Quinn lead this time, his hands guiding her closer. He’s got a palm under her shirt, resting on the small of her back, and the other cradles her face gently, like something precious. Bea knows that it’s a casual thing, but she likes to lose herself in moments like this. Quinn is just so… all-consuming. He’s like a really loud and unexpected clap of thunder, one that rumbles on for longer than you expect. His touch makes Bea jump, sometimes.

Her hands explore him a bit, like she doesn’t get to touch him all the time. The difference is that Bea finds something new every time and she never tires of getting her hands on Quinn. She knows that he tends to be insecure when it comes to his build, which comes from years of being an awkward teen with a nose that seemed too big for his face and acne that riddled his forehead, but Bea can’t imagine Quinn as anything other than perfect.

He’d be slightly more perfect if he had a bedroom to himself. 

“I feel bad kicking Luke out,” Bea whispers to Quinn when they break for air. “You guys got in so late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Quinn replies. He brings his hands to the backs of Bea’s thighs and lifts her up, guiding her legs around his waist. “We don’t need a bed.”

Bea makes a face. “We stay fuckin’ in the bed, Q.” Lord knows she’s not against having sex in an odd place– the back of Griffin’s patrol car, for one– but she and Quinn haven’t really branched out yet. “I didn’t know you were so adventurous.”

“What can I say,” Quinn teases. “You bring something out in me. Let’s try something new.” He nips at her bottom lip, then drags his tongue against the area he bit. “It’ll be fun.”

Bea giggles. He gets so flirty and touchy, sometimes. “What are you thinking, Crazy?” She teases him right back with the nickname, bringing her index finger to the curve of his nose. It really is the perfect size and shape– so appealing. 

She’s distracted by a memory, from the second time they hooked up. Quinn had told her that he didn’t get to do everything he wanted the first time, and when she asked what he meant, he’d licked his first two fingers and slid the wet digits against the fabric of her underwear. She’d gotten much more wet when he made his way between her legs with his mouth, kissing and licking over her folds and entrance as the fabric molded to her anatomy. It was only then that he’d removed the panties and gotten his mouth on her properly– the vision often comes to her when she’s trying to sleep at home, alone. His nose had been so nice then, bumping against her clit as he’d ravished her.

Bea’s stomach grows a little warmer at the reminder. 

“I want you right here,” Quinn says, breaking her from the spell. He sits Bea down on the edge of the pool table, the cool wood of the edges pressing against her thighs while the felt of the table scrapes against the hem of her shirt. He stands between her legs and places a hand behind her head, kissing her and leaning forward so that she’ll lay back. Once Bea is laying down, flat underneath Quinn, he pushes her shirt up and takes it off. 

The felt of the table feels weird under her bare skin, but it’s not bad. The bite of the ridge of the table is worse against her thighs, but Bea doesn’t speak up about it because Quinn’s removing his shirt.

The moonlight from outside makes him seem paler than he is, but it creates a beautiful series of shadows across his body that emphasize his muscles. His arms seem like they’re bulging more, his chest has more definition, and his jawline– oh, his jawline. Bea didn’t realize just how much his long hair hid that from her.

“I like your haircut,” Bea says, not realizing how silly and belated it sounds when she’s almost entirely naked on the pool table below him. 

Quinn chuckles, smiling at her. One side of his lips lifts higher than the other, which is how she knows that he’s blushing, even when the moonlight hides it. “Thanks, baby,” he says softly, leaning down again to find her lips. His cock, still trapped by his pants, fits perfectly against the place where she wants him most. 

She grinds up against him, drawing a low moan from the back of Quinn’s throat. He placates her with kiss after kiss down her neck and between her tits, as far down as he can go while he keeps his pelvis in line with her own. He’s fiddling with his zipper with one hand, kneading Bea’s right breast with his left hand. The skin of his fingertips is a little dry, but his thumb catches her nipple just right and Bea keens, her vision getting a little darker.

“Missed me that much, hm?” Quinn teases in his low voice. “Two days I’m gone, baby, and you’re this needy? What am I going to do with you when I’m gone for a week, or two?”

Bea reaches to his hair and brings his lips to hers, to silence him. She’s beyond talking and beyond teasing. She wants him inside, like, yesterday. 

“Relax, I’m coming,” Quinn assures Bea, mumbling his words against her lips. He finally takes his hand from her breast to shove his pants and underwear down, stepping out of them so he can move better. He drags his tip through her folds, her wetness gathering along his skin. “Did you mean it?” He asks. “What you said on the phone?”

Bea pauses, wracking her brain. She said a lot of things on the phone to Quinn. She meant them all. She’s about to say yes, just so he can get on with it, but then she spots the way he’s biting his lower lip and his eyes have turned hungry. They’re trained on the place where he’s nudging his tip against her clit, slit bubbling out precum and dripping on the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“What part?” Bea asks, captivated by the look on Quinn’s face. 

His eyes rise to hers and he looks positively intoxicated by whatever he’s thinking. Bea’s skin crawls a little, but not in a bad way. In an excited way– whatever Quinn’s referring to, he wants badly. Bea wants to see him give into that.

“That you’d reward me for winning,” he prompts, eyes darting from her gaze to her lips, which have parted in recognition. “By letting me fuck you bare.” His jaw clenches a bit once he says it, but Bea reads him. He’s not sure what she’ll say and he seems cautious to show his deeper thoughts on that, but his caution is betraying him anyway. Bea knows Quinn. She speaks his language, reads his tics, and understands him. He wants this.

“Norris winners get to come inside me,” Bea says, repeating the exact words that she whispered into the speaker while he stroked himself in the Las Vegas hotel bathroom. It was his tipping point, and now she understands why. “Since you won, you get to feel all of me.” Her throat seems drier than before when she swallows. Bea’s never had that before– she’s thought about it, hence why she brought it up to Quinn in the first place. It’s why she gets the shot every three months instead of relying on condoms– in case, one day, there was a man that she wanted in the most intimate way. That day is today. “Fuck me, Quinn.”

His mouth is insistent when it joins hers, tongue dragging over her own and filling the space between her lips. “Baby,” Quinn groans. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Preferably not right now,” Bea jokes, lifting her hips to remind him of the task at hand. 

Quinn laughs at the joke, smiling into his next kiss. “You’re so perfect,” he says. “Can’t believe I met you.”

Bea feels his words on her heart like a prick of a rose’s thorn. A little bit of herself seeps out, flooding her chest and making her eyebrows furrow with the sudden rush of emotion. “Quinn,” Bea says, feeling like she’s whining a little bit.

“Okay, okay, I won’t say it anymore,” he says, returning his focus to the space between her legs. He wastes another few seconds, entranced by his tip going through her folds, before he lines himself up and starts to shift forward. He moans quietly at the feeling, just expelling the breath from his lungs.

Bea’s surprised by the feeling too– at least, she thinks Quinn’s feeling some sort of surprise. He’s certainly relishing in the experience, trying to catalog how she feels around him with the way his eyes have drifted shut and his mouth has fallen open. She closes her eyes to do the same– and finds that it’s not that different, all in all. She just feels closer to him.

“Please, move,” Bea whispers, resting her hand on Quinn’s bicep, giving it a squeeze to prompt him. Well, that, and she wanted to feel the muscle beneath it. The moonlight had her wondering if it was really that much more defined. 

“Gimme a sec,” Quinn grits out, taking a breath. “You just feel so–” He exhales a sharp breath. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Another thorn to the chest– Bea has to breathe in deep to steel herself. This doesn’t feel like just fucking anymore.

She’s able to put that aside when Quinn starts to drag himself out of her heat, then push back in. His hair is tickling her nose with the way that his head has fallen forward in pleasure, so Bea pushes it out of the way with her palm. Quinn’s forehead has started to bead with sweat, but only barely. His eyes catch hers.

His eye contact has always made the hair on her arms stand up, increasing her pleasure tenfold. He’s so attentive to her needs, crowding into her space and touching her tits and sides in the way that makes her feel like a lighting rod gearing up for a strike. 

Quinn breaks first. “Bea,” he murmurs, dipping his head to mouth against her neck. He leaves a wet spot there, which dries in the cool, early morning air. His hand moves from her side to her thigh, spreading her legs further so that he can inch closer. He seems determined to be as close to her as he can, touching her in every way. 

“I know,” Bea replies. “Harder, Quinn. Take it. Make me come. Need you to feel my pussy when it comes on your bare cock.”

His moan is choked but loud when she says that. Quinn’s hips start to move the way she’s used to– harder, faster, determined. He’s louder like this, or maybe it’s the silence of the basement and the night that surrounds them playing tricks on Bea’s mind. It’s just– his breath is warmer and she feels like she can feel him moving in her bones. This is more.

Quinn brings his thumb to her mouth, which Bea takes greedily. She knows his moves– he wants her to get him all wet so that he can touch her somewhere she needs. She swirls her tongue around the digit, leaving as much saliva as she can on his thumb before he pulls it from her mouth with a pop. 

His hand drifts to her boobs again, finding one of her nipples and pinching it with his slick finger. He tugs a little, which prompts Bea’s spine to arch like her body is begging him to do it again. Quinn does, but he switches nipples, wiggling his hand between their bodies and taking hold of her. He kisses her again, distracting her from the mixture of pain and pleasure. All the while, he’s bucking into her desperately, displacing her on the pool table. 

Her thigh starts to spasm under his hand, twitching because she’s close. Bea wraps her arms around Quinn’s shoulders, a mirror image of the hug she gave him at the beginning of their night. He’s not the only one who wants to be close.

“Fuck, Quinn, keep going,” Bea pleads, shifting as best she can to remove the pressure of the edge of the pool table from her body. It’s a dull ache, distracting her from Quinn’s cock and the way it moves in her cunt. His tip meets the cartilage of her cervix relentlessly, turning her vision spotty with the sensation. It feels so wet with him unprotected inside of her, leaking and mixing with her own slick. 

He shifts so that he’s hovering just a few inches above her body, hands going from her thigh and her breast to both of her hips. He grips her skin, biting his lower lip to stifle his grunts. His eyes have grown focused, narrowing the way they do when he evaluates a shot on this very table or when he tries to dance between the boys on the hockey rink outside to score. He pulls her back into him, all while thrusting his hips forward, and Bea’s falling into an unfamiliar space where only Quinn has ever placed her. 

“Fuck,” Bea whines, reaching for Quinn and coming up with nothing, so she clutches at the pocket of the pool table instead. She holds the wood between her fingers, sure that she’ll either warp the table or break her fingers from the force of her grip. “‘M coming, Q.”

“Good girl,” Quinn says through his teeth, his voice gravelly. “Let me feel it.”

Bea lets out a short cry, legs still shaking beneath Quinn. The bruising pain of the edge of the table is nothing now, not when there’s a chill making its way from the depths of her stomach to the tight coil in her stomach. 

“So perfect,” Quinn says again, praising Bea as she starts to come undone on his cock.

“You,” Bea corrects, breathless and reaching for Quinn again. She finds his forearm this time, circling her fingers around his wrist. She squeezes, trying to get her point across. He can say it all he wants, but she’s going to make sure she says it back, because he is. 

Her touch sends Quinn over the edge, which only intensifies the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Bea keens lowly in the back of her throat as Quinn’s jaw drops once again, eyes falling shut as his seed flows from his cock and paints her walls. The sensation surprises Bea, much like her original reaction to his raw form, and she constricts against him by accident. That spurs Quinn on, making him choke and plaster himself against her body as his cock releases the last of his cum.

His hips twitch inside of her after he’s done and Quinn has to clear his throat and shake his head to come back to himself. Bea pets his hair through it, focused on the feeling of his freshly cut ends between her fingers. 

“You should know that I really liked that,” Quinn says first.

Bea giggles, tugging his hair. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

Quinn bites the side of Bea’s neck to chastise her for teasing him. “You think you’re so funny.”

“I think I’m about to leak all over the pool table in your rented house if you don’t get me to a bathroom soon,” Bea replies. “Chop chop, babydoll.”

Quinn groans with the effort, but he lifts Bea from the pool table and awkwardly walks toward the basement’s bathroom, settling her on the already-lifted toilet seat– perks of living with a bunch of fucking boys, Bea thinks– and then he starts to wash his hands.

“Tired yet?” Quinn asks for a third time, looking over at Bea and grinning as he continues to rub the suds all over his hands and wrists. “Wanna watch a movie?”

Bea makes a face. “Are you trying to wash me off or something? Damn, Q, it’s been twenty seconds,” she replies instead, pretending to be offended and hurt. She doesn’t actually want to start watching a movie at 3 a.m. and Quinn should feel similarly. She wants to go to bed with him.

Quinn looks down at her vagina, very obviously, and quirks an eyebrow. “I mean, I just came in you, so I feel like that’s hard to wash away.” He rinses his hands and towels them off. “So no movie?”

“Oh my God, get out of the bathroom so I can pee,” Bea exclaims, starting to laugh a bit. “You’re so weird. No movie.”

“Episode of Love Island?” Quinn asks. “Any drama I missed between Leah and Rob?”

Bea points an accusing finger at him. “I knew you enjoyed my trashy shows,” she says. “And all this time you’ve been grumbling about them.”

Quinn shrugs. “No one will believe you,” he whispers conspiratorially. 

Bea purses her lips at him. “Well, good, because that’s my thing with Cole.” Quinn acts like he’s wounded, so Bea sticks her tongue out at him. “Not everything can be about you, Q.”

“I’ll get over it,” Quinn says. “You still like me best.”

Bea matches his previous whisper. “And no one will ever believe you.”

Quinn leaves the bathroom laughing. Bea hopes he goes upstairs to get one of the good blankets for them to share when they inevitably fall asleep on the couch after Quinn turns on a movie that Bea does not see the point in watching.

The background noise does help her sleep, though, and she thinks Quinn knows that.

sigh i love beaquinn they're so dreamy best couple ever can't believe they break up at the end of the summer OOPS SORRY SPOILERS (y'all already know that, i haven't been keeping that under wraps)

[sunatsubu]

Jayvik and time paradoxes

I can't stop thinking about Jayce/Viktor. They're driving me insane, absolutely INSANE. Because everything about them is a time paradox??

This is pretty rambly, I'm just trying to get my thoughts down in my attempt to stop going crazy over them and also just figure out what the heck happened because I'm still kind of confused about some stuff, also I am not very familiar with game lore, mainly just the show.

They circle each other and are so intrinsically linked in so many ways, being both cause and effect to each other's fates. Starting at a random point that ends up circling all the way back:

Jayce and Viktor invent Hextech

Jayce gets drawn into politics as a result, away from Viktor

Viktor gets desperate, experiments with hextech on himself, with Consequences (Sky)

Viktor asks Jayce to destroy hextech

Jayce, unable to let Viktor die after Jinx's attack, fuses him with it instead

This leads to Machine Herald viktor, but not quite; like Pre-herald I guess? Where Viktor still retains some humanity

Jayce gets told by alternate Viktor to stop him from becoming the Herald

In his attempt to do so, he kind of causes/hastens it instead?! (more thoughts on this below*)

alternate Herald Viktor regrets everything and saves baby Jayce/gives him the runestone**

Jayce grows up wanting to research magic thanks to mage Viktor, and cue s1 events that end up circling back to the first point**

*I can't stop thinking about how kind and gentle Viktor seemed when he was trying to help Vander. It really seemed like he was on a path to using his new powers for good, without any sinister effects (though maybe I missed some hints, need to rewatch). It wasn't until after Jayce blew his heart to smithereens that he seemed to start on that path of deeming emotions and humanity unnecessary, solidified when Jayce rejected him to join him as partners again.

**Still trying to wrap my brain around these last two. The existence of alternate Herald Viktor that brings our Jayce to his destroyed world in order to ask him to stop our Viktor - does this imply that Viktor would have still become Machine Herald even if Jayce hadn't tried to kill him? Was it an inevitable thing? Or is this still more time paradox shenanigans, where Viktor asking Jayce to stop/kill his younger self, is both the cause and effect of Herald Viktor? And yet another paradox, Viktor inspired baby Jayce to research magic and ultimately invent Hextech, which is what was needed for Machine Herald Viktor to come to pass. So it seems like there are actually 2 paradoxes related to the creation of Herald Viktor/apocalypse post Viktor's revolution.

These time paradoxes defining their existences makes me think they weren't supposed to exist. Or at least, the ways they so significantly affected the world, weren't supposed to come to pass; Hextech, Viktor's Revolution, apocalypse. So while their ending breaks my heart into a million pieces, it makes a lot of sense. In order to cancel out what they'd do to the world (or just Piltover? this is another point I'm curious about, did viktor's revolution affect ALL of humanity?), they had to erase themselves from existence. It's so. romantic and tragic, but not really on both those counts? Like somehow deeper, too deep, to put such simple labels on. Honestly I don't even really know how to describe what their story makes me feel.

Bit of a tangent, but one interesting anomaly is the alt timeline Ekko was in. So Jinx would always be an important factor in Jayvik's fates since her attack almost killing Victor is the catalyst for a lot of things. Mage Victor says Jayce is the one thing across all timelines that could stop him, implying there are MANY timelines where Herald Viktor comes to be. Which thus means in all those timelines, Jinx is the unstable mess we know and love, the one who would attack the council. So that makes it interesting (and kinda gutting because its like Jinx is destined to suffer in most timelines) that Ekko's alt timeline was most likely rare in its stability, where despite Vi being gone, Powder is relatively happy and the world (Piltover/Zaun) is quite peaceful.

This is a seemingly random segueway, but Jayvik very strongly reminded me of the german show Dark. (WARNING FOLLOWING IS MAJOR SPOILER FOR THAT SHOW)

A completely different genre and story, but both are about two people whose destinies are so linked together throughout time and alternate universes, but weren't supposed to exist. And they could only save the world, allow it to go on untouched from the devastating effects they would have on it, by taking themselves out of the equation.

[dykedvonte]

I was rewatching mouthwashing, and I ended up thinking of the different reactions that Curly and Jimmy had in doing their tasks. How during the scene of Anya evaluating Jimmy and showing dread towards the idea of doing his evaluation, Curly was the one that offered to take it off her hands. He had no issue with adding more to his plate, because he knew - or well, thought, he knew that Jimmy wasn't going to "bullshit" with him since he's known him for a long time. When Anya hands Curly a note from Swansea, Curly goes to check out what the issue is and he takes care of it without a complaint, the only "complaint" he has is how this incident could have damaged the pods. Which is reasonable, those pods are their only way to be saved if anything tragic happens on the ship. However, in comparison to Jimmy being asked to do things, he's passive-aggressive about it. When Anya asks Jimmy if he could help her out with Curly's painkillers, he tells her that people should be worth their titles, specifically using her title as a nurse when she asked him for help and then when she says forget it, since he made her feel insecure, he still goes "Oh no, I'LL take care of it" as if he was doing a chore, a favor for her. Then, there's that part where he blows up at her for things that she didn't even ask him to do - more so the others asked him about it, like the code scanner, him deciding he needed to find the axe for the foam, and then, there's the medicine part (which when she does ask, and she reconsiders - going to do it herself, he takes that away from her). Jimmy complains about the tasks he has to do and he treats it like a big issue, a "woes me" that he has to do this and that - wanting the praise of the capital without actually doing any work. While Curly doesn't complain about it, in fact, he even mentions that he's aware of how well he is doing at his job as a Captain during that cockpit scene with him and Jimmy. If Jimmy only had to do a small amount of tasks to get irritated and annoyed at being captain, while Curly didn't which I feel like encapsulates their personalities. Curly understands what he's doing is a job, it's a responsibility, why would he complain at any point for doing what he's suppose too? Why would he be upset at people asking him to do tasks? While Jimmy on the other hand, isn't used to it at all and it's different to what he's had before and he's realizing that he doesn't actually like doing the work he has too. I just wanted to ramble about it even if it seemed kind of obvious xd

It’s obvious but it is a thing people miss or understate when trying to find parallels in Curly’s and Jimmy’s relationship/personalities.

Like the way people portray it as neither taking responsibility when it is almost split down the middle of Curly taking responsibilities and faults that shouldn’t be his and making himself unequipped to handle the ones that are while Jimmy refuses to handle the responsibilities he has because he wasn’t expecting the work that comes with them.

Not a lot to say but people forget that another thing the game comments on is prioritization of issues and responsibilities and how the guys fail at it in one way or another in the situation.

[sooyaumvm]

MC thought it was going to be a calm day

Grim for some heavenly reason decided not to trow a tatrum when he had to woke up, Ace hadn't done any "joke" to make Deuce go deliquent mode, Epel wasn't complaining about Vil, Sebek was screaming less then usually, it was obvious something was going to happen, but they decided to have fate, it was lunch time and they were trying to make Ruggie admit he did infact stole Grim's lunch "Oh, hey, Headmage. Did you get the paper work i did for you?" they said when Crowley appeared in the cafeteria "Yeah, I looked it over. Nice work." it wasn't unsual for Crowley to complimeant MC work but everytime he did was weird "Good. Thanks, dad." with one word the cafeteria went silent, not a comfortable silent, a mocking and unconfortable one, "Why is everyone staring at me?" MC said breaking the silence "You just called Captain Holt "dad."" ace said in a mocking way "You said, "thanks, dad." "What? No, I didn't. I said, "thanks, man." the prefect tried to cover the small mistake they made "Do you see me as a father figure, prefect?" now it was Crowley turn to talk, or mock "No. If anything, I see you as a "bother" figure, 'cause you're always bothering me." "Hey, show your father some respect." Lilia said with a small grin on his face while hanging on the ceiling "I didn't call him dad." this couldn't be happening "No, no, no, no, MC." Crowley interrupted "I take it as a compliment." "It's not a big deal." Epel said trying to help "I called Vil "mom" once, and he's my Housewarden." "Guys, jump on that! Epel has some unsolved mommy issues." "Old news. But you calling Holt "daddy"..." Ace retorted "Hey, "daddy" is not on the table here." MC said in return "But you did call him "dad," dude.' Ruggie said "You shut up. You've done nothing but lie since you got here." "All right, all right," he started "I was lying about the holdup. But the dad thing, that happened." "Aha! He admitted that his alibi was a lie." MC jumped from they're sit "It was a trap, all part of my crazy, devious plan." they said trying to recover from the embarrasing mistake "I believe you." Crowley said "Thank you." "Son/Daughther" MC sighed "Do you want to talk about it later over a game of catch?" Crowley offered "I'd like that, yes....."

i was rewatching BB99 and when i saw this scene all i could think was Twst so i had to do a mini drabble abou this, and while were on it, sorry about the bad english its not my first language, and i couldnt find any neutral way of adressing son without being "kid" and i dont think it would be on context for this scene....

[mayonesamitch]

Why I Resonate With Ninjago So Much As a Trans Person

Contains spoilers

So Lego Ninjago. Honestly, the whole show is about accepting yourself and accepting others for their differences. Which is why as someone who's a trans person I resonate so much with it. I'm also an overthinker and a weirdo who spends time doing stuff like this!

First let's start off with Zane. He find out he's a robot, or nindroid, as Jay says, early on in the series and has a difficult time accepting that. When the ninja (Jay, Cole, Kai) find out, they accept him pretty easily. Even though they accept his differences he has a difficult time accepting himself, refusing to believe it at first actually. This is something that trans people and I struggle with. Even though we're accepted by everyone else we can't accept ourselves. Most trans people most likely went through a phase where they refused to believe that they were trans. Which is why when I rewatched the series and I saw this episode I felt connected to it. Later on in the episode he accepts who he really is, and actually hides it a lot less often. In fact, after season 3 (which we won't talk about today...) he rebuilds himself and looks a lot more robotic.

The way he rebuild himself makes him look a lot more like a robot, or in his case, a nindroid. (I'm just gonna call him a nindroid for the rest of this) He is also rather proud of being a nindroid. This is a journey of self acceptance that a lot of trans people and I can connect with. We often start out in disbelief and in denial of being trans. However, after we come to terms with our identity, we express ourselves the way we want. We're proud and aren't too bothered about it anymore.

Now Jay and Nya. I'm gonna talk about them both at the same time since they go together pretty closely and also cause they're a really cute couple. (We don't talk about Dragons Rising season 2 part 2...)

Anyways, they both deal with the same thing. Hiding who you are so people can have a different view on you.

For Jay, he changed himself to look better in front on Nya when he first started to love her. He also had to hide the fact that he some of the venom in his veins so she doesn't view him differently. Most trans people and relate to this feeling. Hiding yourself to look different in front of someone. You don't want to be viewed differently so you don't mention your identity at all. Of course, later in in the episode, Nya finds out that he got the venom in him and is slowly turning into a snake and tells him and he doesn't have to lie about who he is. This is something that also happens to some trans people. People find out that they've been hiding themselves. Some will react negatively and some will be like a Nya!

Speaking of Nya, it's her turn! She was Samurai X the whole time. She hid that fact because she didn't want to be viewed differently by her friends, brother, and everyone else. Again, similar to Jay, a lot of trans people hide who they really are so they don't get viewed as differently. Now, when they find out, they're all surprised and make a promised to not hide anything else from eachother.

While we're at it, I also want to mention P.I.X.A.L (I'll just call Pixal for the duration of this) had a very similar thing with her journey of being Samurai X. Hiding who she was so she want viewed differently. She's also a nindroid like Zane which shows the acceptance of the ninja team of different types of people. (Nindroids are people, right?) This acceptance really connected with me as a trans person. The way they show acceptance to each other no matter what is amazing and touching to me. They even were rather accepting of Cole being of ghost.

Speaking of Cole, I'm now gonna talk about the infamous coming out episode. Okay, its not really a coming out episode but depending on the way you take it, it can. Let me explain.

The whole just of the episode is showing how Cole isn't what his father wants him to be. His father wanted him to be a singer and dancer. However, Cole didn't want to take that career choice and became a ninja instead. He lied to his father about going to a performing arts school and tried to continue the lie when he was visiting him. Of course, the truth comes out later on whole the ninja (Kai, Jay, Zane, Cole) are backstage and are discussing stealing the Blade Cup (it's one of the fangblades that they need to stop Pythor, the main villain) When Cole explains how he's a ninja his father refuses to accept him. Of course after the big performance and winning his father finally sees that maybe it will be good for Cole to be a ninja. He accepts his son's decisions and happy ending yay fireworks pew pew pew.

Now doesn't this sound like a coming out experience? Hiding who you truly are out of fear that your parents/guardian will judge you? Yeah it definitely does. I believe the episode is the perfect allegory for a coming out experience. Whether it was intentional or not, it definitely was the perfect allegory. Which is why i connect to the episode so much. I'm sure many others can. We're afraid of not being accepted so we hide who we are. Now whether or not you'll be accepted or not when the truth eventually comes out is different for everyone. Some will be accepted and some won't. Which is why I believe this episode shows how it feels like to not be accepted by the person you should trust the most, your parents/guardian. Which is why this episode I can connect to as a trans person. I'm sure many other can too.

I also want to touch on ghost Cole. The change was very difficult to accept for Cole and everyone else since he's a whole different species! However, they still accepted him and treated him like Cole. Similar to Zane, when he accepts himself, he's rather proud of it. When he learns how to control his body and his new powers he's rather appreciative of being a ghost. Again, same thing, trans people have difficulty accepting themselves most of the time. However, when they accept themselves, they're proud.

Also I feel like I should mention this here but I won't be looking into the gay Cole theory today. That's for a different day. XD

Now I want to talk about Sally. She plays a big role in season 15 episode 10. Her main thing was running away from home to play her songs in Ninjago City. She later on regrets her actions and want so go back, but can't in fear that her parents will be upset at her for destroying their van and attempting to run away. Later on in the episode, Zane reminds her that her parents love her very much and will probably be relieved that she decided to come home. She ultimately decided to go home and when she arrives her parents are relived. Zane also turned on his emotion meter but that's besides the point.

This episode can be taken as another allegory for coming out. She runs away from her come so she can pursue her dream that she's afraid that her parents won't approve on. I know some trans people run away from their parents, guardians, friends, or people in general, cause they're afraid that they won't accept them. When Sally arrives home, her parents are relieved and glad she's home. Some trans people decide to go back and the people/person they ran away from accept them. I know this ain't the case for all trans people sadly, however, in the allegory in this episode, it is the case.

I'd also like to mention that I think she's canonically part of the LGBTQ+ community since the progress pride flag appears on her guitar and ln the back of her dad's van. Just thought that was cool.

I'm sure there are plenty of more instances of self acceptance and acceptance of other but I find that these ones I feel the most connected to. Ninjago is filled with it, which is why, as a trans person, I really resonate with this show. It really holds a special place in my heart.

I'd also like to mention that this can apply to the LGBTQ+ community in general, not just trans people. The whole community deals with self acceptance and acceptance of others. I also make a lot of generalizations about trans people, not all trans people are the same. They all have different experiences.

Anyways, I need to stop overthinking over LEGO Ninja. I think this is my hyperfixation of the year. I also might make a Ninjago edit today if I feel good. Apologies to everyone who followed me for Project Sekai and Bandori. I'll make a Bandori edit after that Ninjago edit I swear.

[brainrotcharacters]

"I walked away. They called after me and I walked away. I always do."

[langernameohnebedeutung]

gonna say, something or someone being misogynistic is on its own a good enough reason not to like it or not to spend time with that person. It's not just that misogyny is so normalised that not watching a show or not spending with someone just because of misogyny is treated as not enough of a reason - it's also that as a woman, you are under constant scrutiny and constantly thrown tests to show that you are 'not one of the difficult ones', that you can 'take a joke'.

But 'your friend keeps saying degrading things about women' is a good enough reason not to hang out with that person or not to go to a gathering. 'i read the last book by his author and it was deeply misogynistic' is a good enough reason why you don't want to read things by that author anymore. 'This comedian specifically makes a lot of mean-spirited jokes about women' reason enogh not to watch that or see that show, even if your friends want to go. 'This content creator keeps going on weird tangents about women' reason enough not to watch their stuff or support them.

and it is especially a very good reason not to date someone.

[pa-pa-plasma]

hey i feel like we're really sleeping on that time Danny possessed Vlad & framed him for assaulting a minor

Editing with the clip because people don't believe me. Episode is 41: Eye for an Eye.

[only-lonely-www]

So basically ATLA brain rot has hit me like a truck

[magicaldragons]

the promise.

deva knew exactly what he was doing when he made that promise to Varadha.

Only for you, when you call me, I'll come back.

That promise, even though it was made for Varadha, was Deva's selfish desire to tie Varadha to him – to make sure Varadha wouldn't be able to leave him within the past.

Deva knew that Varadha was the realistic one of the both of them, the kind of person to put his head down, understand a situation, and accept the constraints he had to live within.

Even as a child, Deva understood so well that, if he didn't leave a life line for Varadha to hold onto, Varadha would force himself to accept their separation, and wouldn't strive for more, especially with how self-sacrificing Varadha was.

Deva's mother asked Deva to forget Khansaar – asked him to let go of everything associated with the place – and Deva knew that the situation they were in would require Varadha to forget Deva's existence too, for Deva's sake and his own.

Deva offering Varadha that promise was his only way of saying, 'I won't let you forget me.' and it worked.

The seed Deva planted within Varadha functioned exactly as Deva knew it would, and it definitely tempted Varadha countless times to call for Deva. It kept the idea of Deva being a part of Varadha's future alive in Varadha's mind.

Of course, Deva didn't count on Varadha holding himself back for twenty-five years, but it's why Deva was so confident Varadha would definitely call for him at some point.

[nikolas-ghostbusters-fixation]

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is how everyone thought Egon had gone insane. What Happened that made them think that. They've fought a gigantic Stay Puft Marshmellow Man TWICE (counting the 2009 video game because iirc it's canon? Correct me if I'm wrong), fought an interdimensional god, fought a blood thirsty ruler that killed thousands and was hated by all that was trapped in a painting (and managed to get in to beat him by making THE STATUE OF LIBERTY start walking down the street with slime that reacted purely based on vibes), found an underground abandoned transit system full of the moodslime, had a bathtub try to eat Dana and her baby, fought a giant murderous black widow lady, fought the fisherman ghost who turned an entire hotel floor into the bottom of a ocean, and that's not even mentioning them getting trapped on an island that randomly raised up from underwater that had been abandoned for decades created by Ivor Shandor who worshipped Gozer. So what did he do or say that made everyone else think he'd gone insane?? All I can think is maybe he was acting strange / eratic before, but he's always been like that to some degree.

I don't know. It's something that I've been thinking about. The correct answer is 'it's not that deep and they needed a reason that the others weren't together anymore and weren't aware of Egons death or know what was going on,' but also. What Was He Saying that prompted everyone, including Ray, to think he lost his mind when he'd been right almost every time before that.

I'm genuinely so curious as to what he was up to before this. What was he doing. What insane idea was working on prior to this or was he even working on anything at all??

Also want to clarify this post isn't negative 😭 I really love the newer movies and their lore / the newer storyline / characters, I just like thinking about small stupid things like this. Gives me something to think about / speculate about / figure out an answer to.

[invinciblerodent]

an entirely expected side effect of me whipping out my old external HDD is that now I AM going to rewatch basically the entirety of my canon game of Inquisition that I had mostly recorded back in like '15-'16, and get my heart torn right out again by this damn guy making this damn face

he deadass goes "😢" doesn't he

[rhymaes]

The Untamed, Ep. 11 // The Untamed, Ep. 48

[vamprlestat]

design for the track ‘fall for me’ by sleep token | whale fall | from here to eternity, caitlin doughty | midtnight mass, mike flanagan | the amber spyglass, philip pullman

[beaulesbian]

Trigun Stampede s01 || Vash + the reflection on his glasses

(edit: added one i missed)

( @crazymadredfox​ thank you for the mention of this part!)