#it makes the last line make even more sense

[welcometololaland]

apologies in advance for the extremely long rant but i woke up this morning with such mixed emotions. on the one hand, i feel so much satisfaction for the way these characters had their stories told. on the other, there is sadness that there's no more of that story to tell (at least, in canon. long live fanfiction!)

and i was thinking mostly about episode one and The First Meeting and That Honky Tonk Scene and how much tk and carlos have grown since that point. and even though canonically speaking, carlos was serious about tk from the very start, how could either of them possibly have known what their lives would become from that very first dance?

tk in the rain was lost and deeply hurt. he was guarded and pissed off about the world and distant and covering up the festering wound of loneliness with a prickly exterior and casual sex. but i think it's obvious that deep down, he craved acceptance and love and BELONGING and affection. this is the same man who proposed to save a relationship! he's always been an incurable romantic in my eyes. one thing i always ruminate on when it comes to tk is his passion for caring, and how that contrasts a little with the occasionally caustic attitude he has in season 1. i think in fic we often cast carlos in that caretaker role (which he is), but i think tk (through his career, his dedication to jonah, accompanying his dad (and later) tommy to their medical appointments, his love for random animals) also has a deep need to care for others and be cared for. i see tk in the pilot as someone who has all these aching, unrelenting and unfulfilled needs, who has decided that the world has shown him he isn't worthy of them. it's someone who has recently been on the precipice of giving up. it's someone who is so tired of being let down that he's decided the best thing to do is to simply stop caring. and he has NO IDEA how much his life is going to change, how committed his future husband is going to be, and how much meaning his life is going to have, both in a caretaker sense, as well as being cared for.

carlos also carries so much pain in the pilot, but i think the interesting thing about how carlos' story is told is that it's not obvious from that episode (whether by design or simply...that rafael silva was criminally under-utilised in season 1). slowly, through the seasons, we begin to unpack carlos' complicated feelings towards his upbringing and his father, his deep respect for, and loyalty to, his parents, his need to exceed everyones' expectations (highly relatable content). i think it eventually becomes obvious that carlos has so many ideas of the person HE NEEDS TO BE in a relationship, but so many times, he finds himself completely out of his depth (the loft purchase, the secret marriage) because tk never represents the picture-perfect love story that carlos perhaps envisaged but actually something tangible, real, messy and yet perfect in its own way that not only fulfils him but CHALLENGES him and leads him to this extraordinary personal growth. carlos, to me, represents the picture of what a supportive and loving relationship can represent - not only happiness and fulfilment and deep affection for someone else, but finding a new way to love yourself. i bet if carlos had a crystal ball in the pilot, he wouldn't have characterised all the challenges that he and tk will eventually face as the idealistic relationship, and maybe would be uncomfortable with the mistakes that both of them make in that journey, but i don't think carlos in the rain could ever have imagined how deeply fulfilled he will feel with the life he ends up having.

i know this isn't perfectly expressed but im in my feelings and this is my blog and you get my stupid word vomit. tarlos are the epitome to me of the greatest power of love - the love you CHOOSE, the love you commit to, and the love that irrevocably changes you.

did i use a twilight reference for the last line? you can't prove it.

x

[venustrvck]

MICHAEL KAISER x F!Reader

card: the hierophant; domestic life. wc: 0.7k

❥ Valentine's Event co-written with @saetiate

It's the morning after your last photoshoot in Munich. You're stretched out on the couch, coffee in hand, acrylic nails tapping periodically over your coffee mug. You've got your back against the armrest and your legs on Kaiser's lap, with his crown-hand over them. His other hand holds his own coffee mug, a plain white ceramic with The Gentleman's Dream by Antonio de Pereda printed on its front. it's a mug you got him for the painting's peculiarity and eerie look.

You're pleased to note that he's using it. The painting looked packed with symbolism, and with Kaiser's interest in philosophy, you thought that he might like it. It seems you were right.

(When you come from nothing, when you dig your nails into the walls to fight your way up, the material gains feel secondary to the feeling of winning. The fame, the gain, none of it is permanent. But the knowing of who you are, what you've done, what you've caused others to feel — that memory lives endlessly.)

Your own mug is also one you brought him, this one a sleek black except for its front, which is hand-painted with thorns. You take a delicate sip of your coffee. Your eyes track his face and… Kaiser is beautiful in the morning light, once his bed-hair has been combed into submission anyway, and you do love seeing him in the thin material of homewear. To think that once, you would've missed this.

Sunlight streaks through, highlighting the line of his cheekbone and shadowing his jaw. His eyes are trained up-front, so you're getting an eye-full of his side profile… balancing your mug on your lap, you take your phone out with your other hand and snap a shot. "You could've been a model."

It's high praise from you.

Kaiser turns to look at you, face angled high, sunlight catching his throat, "Maybe you should've been a photographer."

It's clearly a jibe at you taking his photo without permission, but you ignore it. Kaiser was always a bitch in the mornings. He was a bitch most of the time, really.

"No way, I wanted to be on screen."

You take another sip of your coffee. You remember being young, seeing him on the screen for the first time after he'd disappeared into god-knows-where, until the shape of a young boy on the streets of Berlin was nothing more than a faded memory to you. He was there on that shitty coffee house's TV, name plastered upon his back, off to the greener pastures of Germany's fields, running across them like he belonged there. You remember the way your stomach churned with resentment.

"I hated you back then, you know," you reminisce, and Kaiser's eyes bore into you. "When I saw you again on that flat screen. I burned. We were supposed to rot in these sewers together, so why were you there and why was I still rotting?"

Back then, you truly hated him. A knife lodging itself into the underside of your ribs with the heat of betrayal. It didn't make much sense. You didn't know Kaiser well-enough for the capacity for betrayal to exist at all — you only saw Kaiser from afar, gutter-rats on the same street. Yet, there was the understanding that you were the same, cast aside from this world, fated for the same death. Kaiser… betrayed that understanding.

It's what a merciless ocean must feel like, seeing a ship safely held together even after the storm.

It lit a fire in you. Years later, you came to be on the same stage, your name and face practically synonymous with German high fashion. You became a household name in the fashion capital of the world, having made yourself in Escada before contracting your modeling away to Dior.

Because if he, of all people, can make it out alive, you can too. Better than he can.

Kaiser's eyes watch you like the cutting edge of sapphires, and he's within reach again, the both of you sharing same world. Except now, you're closer than you'd ever been before. Now, he sits across from you, bathed in the kind morning light.

His eyes dissect you relentlessly, a scalpel slicing through your words to try and get at what's underneath. You decide to have mercy on him and throw him a bone, "I wanted that for myself," you say, picking up your conversation, "In hindsight I should thank you, you gave me the drive to claw myself back up."

Kaiser turns to his mug, at his next sip, the corner of his lip curls up into a smirk, "You've already paid me with your body."

You hit him with a pillow.

The coffee stains his white shirt, personally, you think he deserves it.

[sultrysparkles]

PATCH UP DUTY! ༉‧₊˚.

synopsis: your shinobi boyfriend got hurt on a mission, and luckily for them their trusty girlfriend is here to help! (mentions of wounds and blood, SFW) FT. Gaara, Naruto, Sasuke, and Shikamaru

a/n: finally im back!! missed writing more than I expected lol also sorry naruto fans I didn't know what to do with him really!! (⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)

☆ SILENCE. (FT. GAARA)☆

"You don't have to do this, (Y/N)." Gaara murmurs, resting his arm on the table. You ignore his comment, unraveling a roll of gauze. Sitting there patiently, he watches as you carefully formulate your supplies with precision.

Grabbing a chair next to him, you begin to treat his wound. A large slash down his forearm, yet shallow enough to not cause any substantial issues. But the bleeding alone was enough to make you pout.

Meticulously dabbing a cloth over his wound, not a single word escapes from either one of you. Steady breathing fills the empty silence, a comforting phenomenon that always came along with Gaara. He wasnt the type to speak unless he had to, even then his sentences remained short and meaningful.

Picking up a swab coated in sterile saline, then patting it along the gash, You glance up to check Gaara for any signs of discomfort, an instinct that came along with treating injuries.

Suddenly, your rhythmic movements halt abruptly.

Your eyes meet.

For a moment neither of you move. His cold teal eyes grasp yours, indecipherable but fierce. Almost like he was studying you, memorizing the way your eyebrows furrowed with concentration, the way your eyes squint slightly as you focus. There's no falter nor embarrassed look away—only fixed tranquility.

He still doesn't look away.

Gaara isn't the type of person to shy away when he's caught staring, especially if it's something he's infatuated by. Instead his gaze intensifies, as if he's trying to understand something—himself. Why does he feel this odd warmth in his chest every time he's around your vicinity? Why does his heart slow but his breathing quicken as soon as he feels your delicate touch? It's all so new to him.

You catch a glimpse of something that crosses his face. Although hard to catch, you still caught it. A rare tenderness he rarely allowed himself to show.

"...Does it hurt?" You ask gently.

Immediately, his lips part, like he wants to say something. But instead, he simply shakes his head "No. It's fine."

However, his eyes still haven't let you go. At least not yet. Not until you look away first, flustered by his silent potency. And even then, he's still watching, his thoughts unsolvable, his heart struggling to make sense of feelings he's never felt before.

☆ BIG BABY! (FT. NARUTO) ☆

"Ow, ow, OW— (Y/N), you're killing me!" Naruto whines throwing his head back like he's just been stabbed in the chest.

You glare at him, pressing the antiseptic soaked rag against the scrape on his cheek. "It's just a tiny scratch, you big baby."

"A tiny scratch?... Do you see the SIZE of this thing? I was fighting for my life out there!" He puffs, pointing at the scrape. You sigh loudly, muttering about how ridiculous he is, Naruto crossing his arms childishly at the comment.

Tossing the rag aside, you grab a glass bottle filled with ointment. "You literally get punched through walls, but this is where you draw the line?" You retort, leaning in closer to spread the ointment more precisely

But unknowingly, you closed in the last bit of space between you two, the lack of air making Naruto's brain go fuzzy. Actually, he was completely frozen. Too stunned to speak. His usual goofy demeanour falters for just a moment, his breath pausing as heat rises to his face. He's blinking rapidly, unsure of where to look. He's lost in the way your fingers gently grasp his jaw, tilting his head slightly backwards. And he's fixated on the pacing of your breathing too, feeling the warm air against his cheek.

Fuck. You were way too close. He swallows hard, "Uh..." He scrambles to find his words, for the first time, the Ultimate Knucklehead Ninja is speechless.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence as if the close proximity wasn't a part of your plan. "What? You were just talking a mile a minute, and now you're quiet?" You spit, lips curled slightly as you spread the thick medication across his cheek.

Naruto quickly averts his gaze, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "N-Nothing... Just... uh... you must be really focused, huh?" He lets out a nervous chuckle, trying to slow down the sudden pounding in his chest.

Rolling your eyes, you twist the cap back onto the bottle. Adjusting himself on the couch, Naruto tries to retrieve his cool, as if his face weren't a bright tomato red. You continue patching Naruto up, still bickering back and forth with him. Only this time, he seemed to be a bit more jittery and shaky with his responses.

But later, when you're finished and packing away your supplies, you swear you hear him mumble something under his breath. Something that makes you smile not matter how much you stifle it back.

"Man... I think I just feel for you even harder..."

☆ STUBBORNESS (FT. SASUKE) ☆

"I'm fine."

You exhale sharply, ignoring Sasuke's regular resistance. Placing a cloth over the gash and then applying mild pressure, you attempt to stop the bleeding from his neck. "You're bleeding, Sasuke."

He doesn't flinch, nor does he wince. Instead he's just sitting there, stuff but compliant. His arms are crossed, like this whole situation was just some minor inconvenience. Of course. It wasn't unusual for Sasuke to act so detached, always pretending to be unaffected yet his body always said the opposite.

You shake your head, "Just let me help, okay?"

Sasuke sighs through his nose, but doesn't dispute with you any further. That was the most compliance you'll ever get out of him.

The wound on his neck wasn't deep, simply messy. Dried blood strips near the opening, and despite his bluffed collectiveness, you could tell he's exhausted. It wasn't uncommon to see Sasuke injured, oftentimes training tirelessly, or engaging with enemies he underestimated way too much. But this time, you could tell he wasn't just worn out physically.

Too lost in your thoughts, you accidentally prod the cloth a bit too harshly, making him tense up for a moment. Not a flinch, but you swore you heard his breath quietly hitch.

"Sorry," you murmur.

Sasuke though, doesn't say anything. But as you continue, grabbing other materials, you treat his wounds with extra care. Fingers grazing his skin with gentleless, you begin to notice something. His breathing slows. His once taut shoulders are now relaxed under your touch.

He isn't just tolerating this, but he's allowing it.

There's something strangely intimate about this silence. Perhaps it's the way, you're the only one he lets close like this.

Then you feel it. His gaze locked on you.

Holding the gauze in your hand, you pause.

"Sasuke?"

But still, no answer.

You peek up at him, expecting his eyes to rush away like they always do, but he doesn't. His distant black eyes are now fixated on you, unreadable, steady, yet softer than usual. They lacked their usual sharpness, but instead grew of quiet observation.

The sight sends your heart into your throat.

"...What?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinks, laggard and calculated. His lips part ever so slightly, like he's about to speak but he doesn't. Instead, after a moment, he exhales and mutters, "Nothing."

Taking in his answer, you continue on with patching him up. But his gaze lingers, still focused on you. Even after you finish patching him up. Because as he stands to leave, his lips part open again, like there's something on his chest that's dying to come out.

And then, he turns away, his voice—low and nearly inaudible.

"...You don't have to worry about me so much."

☆ GENTLE (FT. SHIKAMARU) ☆

"This is such a drag..."

Shikamaru groans, resting his head against the wall as you kneel beside him, tending to the slash across his chest. He's always complaining and always acting like everything takes up so much of his precious energy. But he hasn't moved an inch since you've started.

"You say that like I'm the one who got you hurt," you mutter, blotting a rag over his wound.

A long and slow breathe escapes his lungs, "Tch. Guess that's fair."

His voice is low and sluggish, like sitting here was simply exhausting. Despite having a fresh injury, he seems to be half asleep. Typical. You should've expected him to act like this was more tiring than the actual fight.

"Hold still," you say, pressing a bandage against his skin tightly.

Shikamaru doesn't even flinch. Doesn't really react at all, really—except for the way his eyes flicker downwards watching the way your fingers dance over his chest, you brows knitting together in silent concentration.

You don't notice at first, only until the silence begins to grow way too suspicious.

You glance up, only for him to be looking back at you.

You waver, gripping the roll of bandage.

"What?"

But, he only blinks at you, hushed but calculated, unbothered at the fact you just caught him staring. In his eyes, there's no sign of embarrassment nor instant divergence. Just quiet deliberate eyes, like he's studying a foreign topic.

"You're being weird," you comment, focusing your attention to bandaging him up.

Shikamaru's lips twitch into a lazy smirk. "Nah. Just thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

He pauses, and so do you. His eyes dart towards something—not away but lower, to where your hands are still resting on his chest, rising up and down as he breathes.

"You're pretty gentle," he murmurs.

Your breath catches to the back of your throat. But before you can respond, he leans his head back again, shutting his eyes like he's done speaking.

Shaking off the unexpected heat in your cheeks, you huff "You say that like you expected me to be rough."

"Didn't say that," He mutters, eyes still shut.

"Then?"

He exhales a small tired sigh. And then without opening his eyes:

"I think I could get used to this"

Your hands still for half a second, but he doesn't say anything else. Instead he lets the silence between you two settle, as if it were meant to be there.

And when you finally pull back, he doesn't move right away.

Like he's in no rush to leave your touch.

[redbird-tf]

Sick

Sam x little sister

Synopsis; In your weakened state, Sam's care becomes the only comfort you need.

Word count: 630

Notes: short and sweet compared to my last post

Warnings: illness

You rolled over once more, had it been an hour or two? You drifted in and out of consciousness so many times that you started losing track. One moment, You would kick your sheets off desperate to cool down then the next pull them tight to soothe your shivers. Your breath was hot as you heaved. You brought your palm to smooth over your forehead, attempting to rub away your skull-splitting headache.

Just then, you heard soft footsteps padding past your room. “Sammy” you breathed out as if your weak voice could somehow reach past the door. A moment later, You heard the click of his bedroom door shut, and you let out a defeated sigh. With an aching arm, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and with trembling hands pressed the call button.

The phone barely rang once before Sam's voice answered “Too lazy to walk five feet?” He teased playfully. You groaned “Sam…” you stopped, one word draining the little strength you had. His tone quickly shifted. “What's wrong?” You could hear the rustling sheets on the other end. “I don't feel well,” you whispered. “I'll be right there, bug,” he said before the line dropped. You fell back on your bed and listened to the sound of his door shutting and his footsteps approaching, then faded. You furrowed your brows in confusion but remained sprawled out, too exhausted to investigate.

After what felt like forever, your door creaked open and the incoming light made you squint. “Hey,” Sam greeted, nudging the door closed with his heel as his hands were full. You watched silently while he set down a bowl and a few other items on the nightstand. The bed dipped under his weight when he sat at the edge. The back of his hand pressed lightly against your forehead. “Your warm” he mumbled, replacing his hand with a damp cloth. The cool sensation made you immediately relax.

“I brought you some soup. I tried to find Dean since he makes it better, but he isn't around…” his rambling was only making your headache worse. Slowly you raised your index finger and pressed it to your lip. he paused then softened his tone to a whisper. “sorry”. He held the bowl out for you, closely watching your reaction. You pursed your lips and shook your head. His shoulders slumped and set the bowl back down, now offering you water. You shook your head again. “You need to, bug. It’ll help with your head and fever” he tried to remain firm in his whisper. You sighed and weakly pushed yourself upwards, sams had come up to your head to keep the compress in place on your forehead. You took a few slow sips before passing the bottle back to him.

“Thanks, bug, you sure you don't want any soup?” He asked once more. You shook your head and weakly shifted under the covers. Sam adjusted your blanket, making sure it wasn’t too tight while he tucked you in. “I'll be right outside if you need me” he whispered. His fingers brush stray hair strands from your face. “Thanks, Sammy,” you said with a small tired smile. “anytime” he smiled back. On his way out he made sure to leave your door slightly ajar before disappearing down the dim hallway.

With the sound of Sam's fading footsteps, a sense of calm washed over you. Your body still ached and, your head still pounding, but the lingering warmth of Sam's presence eased the worst of it. You let your heavy eyelids shut. Even as your fever burned, knowing Sam was nearby made it bearable, letting sleep take over. Somewhere between the haze of wakefulness and dreaming, you heard his voice “Get some rest, bug, I've got you”

[cosmiclily]

For the writers block: I hope this is okay to request this kind of snippet but I think this idea is very cute. -🎸

It’s raining and Vi plus reader are coming out of a bakery with fresh strawberry muffins, a dog catches a whiff of the delicious muffin and chases them in the rain running away from said dog, Vi throws a muffin so far the dog leaves them alone and they run again not trying to find out if that dog will come back for them. The both of them find some sanctuary away from the rain and the dog. So out of breath laughing at their exhausted faces and taking a long look at each finally kissing. They sit somewhere dry and eat their muffins peacefully listening to drips that hit the ground.

“Thank Janna, for the rain” - I just realized I basically just wrote a lil mini story but like I feel like if you tweaked it, it could be better, it would be softer like the way you write the both of them is refreshing ✨

You don’t have to use this if you don’t want to at alll

“thank janna, for the rain.”

• vi x reader

wc: 1.4k

notes: i’m on a fluffy roll, this is the cutest thing i’ve ever written. thank you so much for the request!!! i loved writing this 💕

I met Vi through a mutual friend, and the first time we ever saw each other, I was helping that friend puke outside a frat party. Vi stepped in to help me get our friend home, and before parting ways, we exchanged numbers so she could check in on us later.

After that day, we started talking—constantly texting, sharing random thoughts, late-night confessions, and jokes that only made sense to us. It felt effortless, like we’d known each other for years. But every time we tried to go on an actual date, something went wrong. It was almost comical, like the universe had a twisted sense of humor.

The first time, we planned a simple outing to the park. The day we scheduled it, the skies decided to punish us for no reason, unleashing a torrential downpour that flooded half the city.

The second attempt was at a restaurant everyone was raving about. We were excited, certain nothing could go wrong with a reservation. But on the very day we were supposed to go, they suddenly announced a temporary closure due to “unforeseen circumstances.”

The third time, Vi got hurt—badly—during a hockey game. She took a nasty fall, ended up with a sprained wrist and a trip to the hospital.

Now, we were trying for the fourth time.

“I don’t care if it rains, if the café catches on fire, or if a piano falls on my head. We are going out!” Vi declared over the phone, determination radiating through her voice as we both got ready for our date.

“Don’t put those things out there; they might actually happen,” I replied, half-joking but also slightly paranoid. At this point, I didn’t want to take any chances.

Vi laughed on the other end of the line, that warm, effortless sound that always made me smile, even when I was trying to be serious.

“If a piano falls on my head, at least I’ll die knowing we tried,” she teased, her voice full of that stubborn charm I’d grown to adore.

“Yeah, well, if you die, that’s going to make date number five even more complicated,” I shot back, slipping on my jacket and checking my reflection one last time. My heart was racing—not just because of the string of bad luck, but because this time felt different. Like it might actually happen.

We hung up with promises to see each other soon, and as I stepped outside, I held my breath, half-expecting the sky to open up or a rogue piano to come crashing down from the heavens. But the air was calm, the streets dry, and for once, nothing catastrophic seemed to be on the horizon.

When I arrived at the café, I spotted Vi instantly. She was leaning against the doorframe, scrolling through her phone, her pink hair slightly messy from the wind and a soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She looked up, our eyes met, and just like that—everything felt right.

No storms. No sudden closures. No injuries. Just us.

“You made it,” she said with a grin, as if she didn’t quite believe it herself.

“We made it,” I corrected, walking up to her.

We stepped into the café, the warm scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. We ordered, found a small table by the window, and sat down. Everything felt calm, effortless—like the universe had finally decided to cut us some slack. The date was perfect, just the way I had imagined it.

Vi had this awkward sense of humor that never failed to make me laugh, the kind that sneaks up on you, catching you off guard in the best way. She’d say something completely ridiculous with a straight face, and it would hit me a second later, leaving me in stitches. And God, she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen—like she didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t just her looks; it was the way she carried herself, unapologetically real, with a spark in her eyes that made everything around her seem a little brighter.

After we’d finished our drinks, Vi leaned back in her chair, that familiar grin tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“We could get some muffins and coffees to go, then head to that park I was telling you about. I really think you’d like it,” she suggested, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

And that’s exactly what we did. We ordered a couple of strawberry muffins, grabbed our drinks of choice, and set off toward the park. The walk was perfect—easy conversation, hands brushing occasionally, stolen glances that made my heart race. It felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Until that stupid dog showed up.

Out of nowhere, this scrappy little thing came barreling toward us, barking like we’d personally wronged it in a past life. Its eyes locked onto me with what I can only describe as pure, unfiltered hatred. Like it had been waiting its whole dog life for this exact moment.

And as if that wasn’t enough, the universe—clearly bored with our happiness—decided to spice things up. Dark clouds rolled in out of nowhere, and within seconds, fat, cold raindrops started pelting us.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I yelled at the sky, my arms thrown up in frustration as the rain soaked through my clothes.

Vi burst out laughing. Not just a little giggle, but a full-on, doubled-over, can’t-catch-her-breath kind of laugh. She was drenched, her hair sticking to her face, mascara smudging just a little, and she’d never looked more beautiful.

Her laughter was infectious. I tried to stay mad—I really did—but it was impossible. Soon enough, I was laughing too, standing there in the middle of the downpour, trying to shield the box of muffins in one hand and my heart in the other.

“Here, let me take this,” Vi said, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she reached for the box. Without hesitation, she popped it open, grabbed one of our precious strawberry muffins, and chucked it toward the ugly little dog like it was some kind of sacrificial offering.

The dog’s attitude shifted instantly. It sprinted after the muffin with the kind of determination it had previously reserved for us, leaving us blessedly alone.

“My savior!” I exclaimed dramatically, throwing my arms around Vi’s neck and planting a wet, exaggerated kiss on her cheek. My lips met cold skin, damp from the rain, but her warmth still bled through, making me forget just how soaked we both were.

She laughed again, gripping my hands with a firm, playful squeeze before pulling me along. “Come on, Romeo. Before we melt.”

She led me toward a small gazebo nearby, tucked just at the edge of what I assumed was the park we were supposed to be going to. The rain hammered against the roof like it had something to prove, but under the shelter, it was just us—breathless, dripping, and still laughing.

Vi set the slightly damp muffin box on the bench and turned to me, her hair a mess of wet strands sticking to her face, her cheeks flushed from both the cold and the laughter. She didn’t bother to fix it, and honestly, I wouldn’t have wanted her to. She was perfect just like that.

“Well,” she said, brushing water from her forehead with the back of her hand, “this wasn’t exactly the plan.”

“Yeah, but when have our plans ever worked out?” I replied, stepping closer, our soaked shoes squeaking slightly against the wooden floor.

She smirked, tilting her head. “Fair point.”

The air between us shifted—still light, still filled with laughter, but underneath it was something else. My heart was racing again, but for a completely different reason this time. I reached up, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering just a second longer than they needed to.

She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she leaned in, her smile fading into something softer, something that made the world feel like it was holding its breath. And then she kissed me—soft at first, like she was testing the waters, then deeper, like she’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

The rain kept falling, the universe still doing its chaotic thing, but none of it mattered. In that moment, it was just us—messy, soaked, laughing—and somehow, perfectly right.

“Thank Janna, for the rain.”

──────────────────────

masterlist

[ematini]

I think a big portion of the issues with Caitlyn's dictator arc would've been fixed if her use of The Grey was pushed to AFTER she's manipulated by Ambessa.

Even with grief and guilt mixed in, she's goes from "this city needs healing" to war crimes way too quickly, because Cailtyn is not inherently a bad person. The incident at the memorial should be what pushed her into leading the Strike Team into Zaun, which already was a risky move with the chaos that the Undercity was in after Silco's death, but grief makes her recless. That, adding her fight with Jinx and her falling out with Vi was what made her spiral farther, and it still leads her into Ambessa's hands.

Using The Grey should've been more of a pivotal point in the story, not the first thing Cailtyn does. The show used it's big guns right off the bat, not only failing to portray the negative implications such an act would carry, but also not using it to it's full story potential. Let's say, just like in the show, the martial law caused riots in Zaun, which Cailtyn was struggling to control, while at the same time still keep up with her main priority of finding Jinx. And THAT'S when she spirals more and makes the decision to use The Grey as sort of a last resort, with Ambessa heavily feeding into it, similar to what she tries with Jayce in season 1. It would be more in line with this imagery from the intro.

It should be framed as a difficult decision that weighs heavily on Cailtyn and makes her question everything. After all, she's actively using what her mother built to help Zaun against it's citizens. The guilt, doubting if it's all worth it and on top of that feeling like she's destroying her mother's legacy should be what finally makes her break out of Ambessa's control and turn against her. THAT should be her breaking point.

With things being done this way, we solve at least a few of the biggest problems this season has. Caitlyn's arc becomes less rushed, her switch up makes more sense, her actions are addressed and treated with the weight they should be treated, and we get a good base to start a proper redemption arc, with Cailtyn seeing her faults and mistakes, and her realization she became part of a system she wanted to fight against not that long ago.

Just a rant because I needed to get my thoughts out, I think I'm just rewriting season 2 at this point, idk.

[yellowmagicalgirl]

Keep the Memories of Who I Was Before

Jayce and Viktor were found alive after the Machine Herald's defeat. Viktor doesn't remember anything of Hextech.

I recently participated in a writing challenge/gift exchange where we we got to choose the trope and relationship type but not the fandom that our gifters would write for us. I got assigned to write an M/M fic for the trope "Amnesia - A has lost memories of painful event; B fills in the blanks even though it hurts them both". I was still reeling from season 2 when I got my prompt, so naturally I filled it with jayvik.

If you want reading music for this, I suggest "The Line" by Twenty One Pilots, "Imperfection" by Evanescence, and "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths.

I'll post a preview here, and the rest is available on AO3!

~

Jayce preferred the hospital to his lab. Not in general, no, but waiting for Viktor to wake up was infinitely more preferable when he could hear the steady beep of the heart monitor. There was a heartbeat. Viktor was alive. He was alive and stable instead of being stuck in the goo cube, instead of a rapidly cooling corpse on the table of their lab as Jayce fused him with the Hexcore.

They were both in bad shape when Ekko had found them, but Jayce had woken up first. It had been in time to see Mel off. She had given him a gold bracelet with the instruction to break it if he was ever in danger. She would come racing back to him as fast as she could. Jayce wore it where he used to wear the runic bracelet. At first, he thought it would have hurt where the Rune had once been fused to his skin, but instead his wrist was mostly numb there. He still couldn't fully move the fingers on his left hand. The doctors weren't sure if he would ever fully regain mobility in his hand or still-healing broken leg. There was something wrong with his breathing as well.

It was a small price to pay for saving the world. It was a small price to pay to save Viktor.

(But it also didn’t quite make sense, not by science alone. “Were you caught in the Grey? Because this almost matches the damage sometimes caused by prolonged exposure.” one of the doctors had asked. And while the air hadn’t been pleasant in the Ruined Zaun, Jayce couldn’t say he had been. The damage to his lungs was inexplicable, not something he could dismiss as his body rebelling against the abuse he had put it through, fighting the Machine Herald instead of healing.)

Other than his wrist, Jayce didn’t see any scars from the Arcane on his own body. If Viktor had died, and somehow Jayce had found the strength to live, he would have been devastated by this, by how he didn’t bear scars in the last place where Viktor had touched him. Now, Jayce was sure that the lack of fingerprint scars on his forehead was why he was allowed near Viktor.

Mel hadn't given him a ring. Maybe she had known he would find another magical bracelet far more comforting than another thing to make his nerve-damaged fingers clumsy. Maybe it was because one of their last conversations.

“I don’t know when I’ll come back, assuming I don’t need to come save you,” she had said to him. It had gone unsaid that she didn’t know if she would come back. She had inherited all her family’s holdings in Noxus, and she had to manage them. And that wasn’t counting the danger that awaited her in Noxus. If Viktor was well enough to travel (not that he had ever been truly well for as long as Jayce had known him, but perhaps the fresh air of Noxus would have helped his breathing), if Jayce had the strength to fight and hold a hammer, he would have insisted on going with her. “But I want you to be happy, not waiting for me to return. Maybe, if you and your partner are up for it, we can pick things back up when you and I can stay together for good. And if not, I’ll still be glad to be your friend.”

The first day Jayce had spent at Viktor’s bedside, he had spent it sewing up the blanket from where it had been cut off of Viktor. Had it been medical expediency, or had it been an attempt to destroy the last bit of armor that Viktor had from the cold?

Afterwards, all he could do was sit and fiddle with Mel’s bracelet.

The heartbeat monitor changed its tempo, faster than it had been a minute ago, and Jayce glanced up from the bracelet. Viktor was just as still as he was however many minutes ago that Jayce had become distracted twisting the bracelet around his wrist. Just as still except for the movement behind his eyes, like he was having a dream.

As far as Jayce knew, Viktor hadn’t dreamt when he was in the cocoon that the Hexcore had made for him in their lab. Why would he have dreamt? The Hexcore lulled people into dreamless solitude.

Why wouldn’t Viktor have dreamt? Jayce hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on Viktor’s face at all moments, no matter how much he had wanted to. And the Hexcore hadn’t been controlling Viktor then, not yet. Not fully.

Jayce couldn’t remember if Viktor had dreamt during the long nights in the hospital. He should have paid more attention to him back then.

And Viktor gasped. He gasped down air like a drowning man. It took a moment for Jayce to realize that he had never heard Viktor breath so deeply before, not even when he had been hooked up to oxygen tanks with medicine for his lungs flowing through an IV drip feed. Jayce found himself grinning.

Viktor’s eyes opened. They were the same amber color that they had been before Viktor had died, not the washed-out cosmic yellow with iridescent streaks. Not the cold eyes of the Herald, nor the iridescent and exhausted eyes of the Mage.

Viktor’s gloriously amber eyes looked around the room, blinking. Those eyes turned to Jayce, and the confusion in them didn’t clear. “Do I know you?”

Jayce felt the grin slide from his face. “Viktor, it’s me, Jayce, your partner.”

“Oh. I must be having a reaction to whatever medication I’m on,” Viktor said. The doctors were kinder than Jayce had expected. Giving Viktor pain medication was the humane thing to do, but Jayce was still surprised that Piltover doctors really treat the man who had tried to transmute humane to arcane with compassion.

Viktor smiled softly at him. “While we wait for the medication to wear off, could you remind me how I managed to get such a handsome husband?”

Jayce tamped down on the fluttering feeling in his chest. Like Viktor had said, the medication was really doing a number on him. “We’re not married.”

Viktor looked away from him, embarrassment clear on his face. “Well, don’t expect me to plan the wedding until after I can think clearly again.”

“We’re lab partners. What, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Viktor’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. “I had received news of an explosion set off during a break-in. I had been asked to check it out since it appeared to be some sort of research lab. At least, that’s what the enforcers told me. I didn’t see it. Was there another explosion?”

“No, there wasn’t.” Not thanks to the break-in, anyways. Not directly, even if it had been Jinx – Powder – setting it off just like she had sent her bomb to the Council. “You came to the lab, and, Viktor, that was almost eight years ago.”

“Eight years?” Viktor began to move his hands, like he was going to check his face for wrinkles or – no, he wouldn’t be checking his hair. Jayce had resisted the urge to run his hands through Viktor’s hair, to see if the white steaks were at all a different texture than the brown since they were lasting scars from the Hexcore’s transformation. But if Viktor didn’t remember the last eight years, then why would he remember his transformation? “That doesn’t sound right, how could I have forgotten –”

Viktor was cut off by the sound of his handcuffs pulling taught against the hospital bed. Confusion, no, fear, filled his eyes. He tugged again as if to confirm, more forcefully this time.

“Why am I in handcuffs?” Viktor looked down and began to tremble. “What’s wrong with my hand?”

His right hand was flesh once more, but there was an iridescent, sinuous pattern cast upon it, fading as it traveled up his arm. The same scars were strewn across his cheekbones and jaw, where his flesh had connected to the purple metal of his body. Jayce suspected that his leg was covered in the same scars, though he hadn’t lifted the blanket to check, nor had he asked the doctors who had transferred Viktor out of Jayce’s blanket and into a proper hospital gown.

“Don’t worry,” Jayce said, feeling useless. “It’ll…”

The door opened and one of the orderlies walked in. “You’re awake. I’ll let the enforcers know you’re awake. Mr. Talis, I’ll need you to leave the room while I examine the patient.”

Jayce would fight everyone who dared lay a cruel finger on Viktor, but he also knew he had to conserve his strength. “Promise me you won’t hurt him.”

“Doctor’s oath I won’t,” the orderly said. “You’ll have to talk to the enforcers for the rest.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[lostintransist]

Hell's Spawn | Back Again?

Part 1 | AO3

Stretching side to side all your focus is on the pull on your neck muscles. When the bell dings, signaling entry you ignore the trained urge to open your eyes. Blended scents of cigarettes and deadly choices told you who had come back for a visit. If anyone had the ability to exist in a changeless state it would be these men. They looked nearly the same as when you had seen them last, imposing and wearing nearly the same damn outfits.

You didn’t glare when you opened your eyes, but it was a near thing. Layers kept you safe from the demons your mother seeded your mind with from crawling from your pool of self-hate. Easier to ignore the glances at your chest when you wore a band tee that begged to be looked at. The one who hadn’t spoken to you last time stepped forward. The sense you got is that you had been a topic of discussion, and this would be another test.

‘Welcome in, what can I get you?”

The one who stepped forward, fuck you really needed to figure out what to call each of them to keep them clear in your head. Maybe you would text your boss. She had met them before or at least one of her boyfriends would be able to help you match masks to names.

“Four large hot coffees, please.” He tacked on the last word as if only remembering polite interactions required it.

“Milk and sugar for the table again?” You ask as you tap away at the screen.

He had an accent from east of here. A long way east. How far can one go east before you start calling it west? You snort lightly as you think of the answer, it only becomes west if you run into a colonizer.

“Also reserved the conference room again?” you finish up the transaction on your end and flip the screen to them to confirm if they want to pay a tip.

The tallest one, with blue eyes and a loud voice, tapped his card without discussion. Once the payment cleared you pulled the key from a small drawer below the counter.

“You remember where it is?”

“Ja, we know where it is.” Cocky. That is what you refer to this one as. The tallest one that acted like his stature could win him the world.

The shortest one, whose startling blue eyes haunted your nightmares some nights, took the key from you. He took care not to let even the stitching of his glove touch your hand. Turning from the counter you ignore their gazes scorching across your shoulders. When you had the four cups filled and the bowl and carafe ready you set them all in a line on the counter. Large hands with oval, well-trimmed nails grab the coffees two per hand and then he catches your gaze.

“Sorry about them. They are all uncouth and require a sharp bite to make them back off. Though,” he looked down at you, his brown eyes so dark you nearly couldn’t tell them from his pupils with his irises, “They might need more of a muzzle pointed their direction to truly get the message.”

You weren’t what anyone would call pretty. With your gaze too sharp and your disdain for stupidity leaking from every pore, you were eye-catching.

It was the fucking tits. It had to be. Between the fat sacks that caused a constant ache in your back and your bitch face, because let’s be real it didn’t only come out when you were resting, men were always in your space. Your friends often said you needed to fix your face; sometimes it came in handy in running off fuckers that didn’t get a hint the first time.

Your hair could be the only thing called beautiful about you without the addition of fancy clothes or a hefty slathering of makeup.

“Good for everyone I have a partner then huh?” You arched a brow in his direction. Sugar and milk in hand you step from behind the counter.

“It wouldn’t stop them from trying. I’m Horangi.”

“Tell me their names? Let’s start tallest to shortest.”

“Tallest? König. Then me, followed by Nikto and finally Kreuger.”

You start up the stairs to the conference room.

“Got it, König is the cocky one, Nikto is the creepy one, Krueger can’t keep his hands to himself. What about you?” You glance at him over your shoulder as you top the stairs to the conference room.

“Me? My kink is I like women to be nice to me.” The seriousness on his face has you falling into laughter.

When the door to the conference room pops open, Krueger again with not a lick of skin visible, holds it open for you. Setting down the extras for the coffee you fight back the laughter, wiping away the tears collecting in the corner of your eyes. König sat next to Nikto, the large space between their chairs eaten up with their impressive, combined manspreading.

You pat Horangi on the shoulder, still chuckling.

“Good luck with that one man. Could never be me.”

Tension flooded the room, a crowd watching a wick burn down on dynamite while they stood inside the blast zone.

“Well, Horangi,” you pat his shoulder again before returning your hand to your side. “And everyone else I suppose,” you let disdain drip from your teeth as you speak, “reminder we are closing at one tonight instead of two. I’ll come and kick you out if you aren’t gone already at 12:45. If you need something, please hesitate.”

Leaving the room, you click the door shut behind you. Three sharp voices explode beyond the door. You can’t help but grin as you bounce down the stairs.

They kept coming back; three of them were met with glares that must fuel fantasies and Horangi with a smirk—no real schedule and never in the daylight. You start referring to them to your friends as “the vampires”. König and Krueger always tried to talk to you, getting rebuffed with stares or a sharp smile and a customer service stare. Nikto watches. Horangi makes you laugh and then gets yelled at when you leave them to their business. The interactions work until they change it up on you.

Hell Masterlist | Masterlist

@demothers-empty-blog

[jeanie-in-a-bottle]

I was making an edit for 94’s IWTV (as I typically am) and I noticed something about how Lestat appears to the audience. In other words, here’s me fangirling over how lestat looks at Louis and how it makes me feel.

When we are first introduced to Lestat he is stalking and watching Louis like some kind of predator to his prey, and he attackes him like one.

Especially in the scene in Louis’ bedroom, the way he stalks around him, circling him…

…but after/during Louis’ turning, you get to see Lestat’s, I suppose, fondness or love for Louis. Lestat is a huge asshole still, yes due to him being lestat and the fact that this is Louis’ perspective as a bitter ex, but Lestat has a certain gentle manner to him. I think when he’s whispering in Louis ear especially it’s clear Lestat has that lover’s fondness. & his soft look at Louis while he’s putting him into the coffin has a very dear place in my dead vampiric heart.

Now don’t be confused, Lestat is still a hunter, killer, and overall an ass. Plus he routinely gets annoyed with Louis, due to his sensitivity and humanity. He is very annoyed with Louis during the scene where Louis doesn’t laugh at his “eating the whole colony” joke, due to Louis’ melancholy and ever-lingering respect for life. He yells at Louis during the fire, and of course the iconic apprentice scene, where Louis straight out refuses him.

But Lestat’s anger while bright and fire, dies quickly and he is able to laugh and annoy Louis right back, with his confidence still intact as “life would be even more unbearable with him“, typically. Though one of my favorite scenes, and perhaps my favorite line is when after the apprentice scene Lestat says,

“In the old world Louie…they called it “the dark gift” and I gave it to you, it’s a sense of softness and retrospectiveness that we haven’t seen from lestat. It’s a line that truly shows the story as the horror romance it is, the gift may be dark; sinful and murderous, but it’s a gift of love.

Claudia is another, “gift” so to speak, or bargaining tool in the form of a daughter. Still, she brings domestic happiness, one of the rare times Louis admits to happiness with Lestat. While they still have their faults and arguments, but now they are as simple as to need a slap on the wrist, or a harsh word. Louis is now happy, and chained to Lestat forever, the perfect solution in Lestat’s mind. For now, anyways.

Eventually resentment builds, from all sides but especially that of Claudia and Lestat. This puts Louis in an interesting and complex position, one that has no peaceful exit. This is a loustat post so I’ll try my best to refrain from talking about Claudia’s relationship with her parents, but rest assured you’ll get that post one day lol. Anyways, when Claudia “kills” lestat, I think it’s Louis’ betrayal that hurts him the most, the culmination of all those years going down the drain, what was meant to be his forever companion, leaving him for what he had given him to make him stay. His eyes are full of grief, resentment, anger, and betrayal.

and lastly, the last of the loustat interaction in this movie. And while they say a picture is worth a thousand words, I think Lestat’s own words some up this scene’s feelings perfectly.

Reminiscing on the past; full of regrets, and hope turned disappointment in what the future may be.

So to sum up, Lestat may be an asshole, but he’s also a romantic at heart, I promise…and so that’s all I have! If you read this whole thing, I do hope you enjoyed! <3

[darl-ingfics]

Feveruary Day 9: ALT - "I don't get sick."

Fandom: Seventeen

Sickie: Jeonghan (cold)

Caregiver(s): Vernon

Word Count: 862

“What are you doing?” Hansol asked, watching Jeonghan warily from the kitchen doorway. 

The older man paused, turned around, looked at Hansol like he’d said something incredibly stupid. He held out his arms. “I’m making breakfast. What does it look like I’m doing?” But the audible congestion in his voice thwarted the patronizing tone he’d been going for. 

It had been bitterly cold in Seoul the past week, so cold in fact that all of Seventeen’s extraneous schedules had been cancelled to keep the artists and staff out of the weather. The extra time off had been lovely; sure, they still had their regularly scheduled practices, but they also had more time at home together in the mornings and evenings. Time they usually didn’t get to spend just enjoying each other’s company. 

The extra rest had a second motivator, though. While the team’s schedules had been relaxed, it appeared that their collective immune system decided to take a break as well. Which wasn’t helped by their appearance on a music show last Friday, cramped into tight quarters with several other overworked, exhausted idols. Especially because, during this time of year, ’exhausted’ often meant ‘sick, but pumped up on meds to hide it.’ So it wasn’t surprising but unfortunate when several members had gone down with a rather nasty cold, not bad enough to keep them from practice, but certainly not something anyone wanted to worsen.

Hansol had been one of the first hit with the virus, and had fully kicked it in less than a week, (as had Soonyoung and Minghao, a hopeful sign for the rest of them.) He was still, however, having difficulty staying asleep, his body still sending mixed signals that something was wrong, even though it wasn’t. Which was how he’d heard Jeonghan (he admittedly hadn’t known who it was when he’d first heard the movement, but still), get up and leave his room, and stumble downstairs. Intrigued, Hansol had gotten himself up to investigate. 

And one day, Jeonghan would thank him for it, because it was very obvious that the older man had finally been struck down with the cold himself, and needed someone to knock some sense into him. 

Assuming his role as ‘the one to convince Jeonghan to lay down,’ Hansol arched an eyebrow. “Really? Cause it sounds to me like you’re just making a racket.” In fact, the slamming of cabinets and clinking of pots had been what woke Hansol in the first place. 

“Well, sometimes cooking is noisy.” His statement was punctuated with a chesty cough, similarly as noisy as his banging around. 

“What’re you making?” 

“What’s it to you?” Jeonghan turned back to his task, swiping at his nose with his hoodie sleeve. 

“Well, I’m just a little confused why you’re making breakfast at three in the morning, so I just wanted to understand what food is incredible that you couldn’t wait until morning.”

Jeonghan froze, back going stiff. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Why the third degree, Nonie?”

Hansol set his lips in a thin line. “Hyung. You’re obviously sick.”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “I don’t get sick.” His face instantly crumpled, and one hand grasped for the counter as the other bent over his face as he collapsed forward. “H’arrchu! Atcshu! Hratschoo!” He sniffled thickly, moaning in pain as he brought his other hand against the counter, stretching his back out like a cat. 

“You’re right, hyung,” Hansol said, nodding to himself. “You don’t get sick. You fully succumb to illness.”

Jeonghan glanced up at him, eyes watery and unamused. “Smug bastard,” he muttered just loud enough for Hansol to hear before coughing into his sleeve. “Ugh.” He pushed himself up off the counter, rubbing at his pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“What were you really doing, hyung?” Hansol asked gently. 

“Looking for the good tea. I know Hao hid it earlier this week so people wouldn’t make it by mistake.” Hansol chuckled to himself, pushing off of the doorframe. He stepped over to the counter right behind Jeonghan, reaching behind a stack of plates and pulling out the desired teabag. Jeonghan frowned, sniffling indignantly. “How did you find it so fast?”

“Chan found it yesterday. He thought it was funny, but he only told me and Kwannie about it cause he didn’t want to anger whoever had actually hidden it there,” Hansol answered, turning on the electric kettle. “Pretty sure he’s going to try to hide something too, just for the fun of it.”

Jeonghan pouted, his hands hung limply by his sides. “It isn’t nice to hide things from your group members.”

Hansol snorted. “Can I get you to say that again on camera?”

Jeonghan did not look amused. He sniffled again, coughing lightly. “Be nice to me. I’m ill.”

“What happened to ‘I don’t get sick?’”

Jeonghan closed his eyes, sighed like a heavy weight had been placed on his shoulders. “I am a dramatic man, Hansollie. I like to live my life in absolutes. And right now, I absolutely need a cup of the good tea and an entire bottle of Nyquil.” 

Hansol smiled just as the kettle whistled. “We can make that happen.”

[love-byers]

Hi, I first want to say that I absolutely enjoy reading all your analysis! About Mike's monologue, I'm kinda playing the devil's advocate here, the actual line in the script is: "And I knew somehow then -- in that moment -- that I loved you." That's definitely better than "I knew right there and then", this was actually Finn paraphrasing, and yes they chose to keep it, but I don't think we should analyze that line that much when it's not even what the writers initially wrote.

I'm a Byler who believes Mike truly loved El, but this is a story of learning to let go of your first love. And Finn kinda confirmed that to me in his recent answers. It's a first love vs right love story.

Also, another interesting thing I found. The script says "But I am scared…that one day, you'll realize -- you don’t really need me." He says it like it's a fact: El doesn't really need him, that's not even a question. Mike is not scared of the eventuality of El not needing him, he's scared of her realizing that she doesn't. He knows deep down this love isn't right. Just like he said in the initial van scene script: "She's already beginning to understand she doesn't need me. I saw it -- I saw it in her eyes, that last time we talked."

To me, Mike has to learn to let go of his first love, El, in order to let in the right love, Will.

thank you!! :)

i don't rlly see how those lines are any different, the wording and addition of "somehow" doesn't change anything or make it better. it's still a statement, not a hyperbole, and a lie. the "in that moment" is the nail in the coffin. it pin points his realization on that moment specifically, so there is no way around it being untrue. if anything, the "somehow' makes it come off more like mike is acknowledging how outlandish it would be to know he loves her 2 seconds after seeing her for the first time in the woods in a rain storm, but claiming its the truth anyways. removing "somehow" makes it more so that mike is really leaning into it and pushing that its the truth, desperately wanting her to believe him. it would make sense that he wouldn't preface that with acknowledgement of how crazy it is, because he wants to seem assured and confident that its the truth, giving el no reason to doubt him.

i definitely think mike had romantic feelings for el, but i just don't think that ever crossed the line into true romantic love. he definitely grew to love el and appreciate her and care for her, but that was never tied to his romantic feelings for her. his true love for her is just not romantic. their relationship is built off of insecurity and attachment, which is why they stayed together for so long. i just don't think he was ever in love with her, nor was she in love with him. i don't argue with ppl who say it was a first love situation, because thats accurate enough. but i think a better description is puppy love. just like stancy vs jancy. stancy was immature, teenage puppy love built on physicality and a desire to feel normal. jancy was true love, built on natural chemistry, trust, respect, and emotional connection.

i just cant get behind saying mike fell out of love with el, cause i really don't think thats the case. i think they rlly highlight this in s3 with the mlvn breakup and byler fight. mike says el is the "most important thing to him in the world'. but, after she breaks up with him he does nothing. he goofs off with his friends in his basement and complains. he doesn't go after her or try to stop her, he doesn't go to her house to apologize, nothing. he does, however, do all those things when he and will fight and will leaves. i think its clearly implying who is more important to mike, just in the sense that one is true love and one is not. mike can't stand the idea of will being upset with him and potentially losing him because of it, it eats at him and he wants to make things right immediately. meanwhile he doesn't take his breakup wth el seriously at all. there is just no way mike is in love with her in these scenarios. and im sorry, but there's no way you can be in love with someone after knowing them for five days. i really just think he never was, he only thought he was.

and yesssss about the script!! mike states it as fact, like he has not a shadow of a doubt that its true. and we never see el soothe this insecurity of his after she finds out. we don't even see them speak. will is the only one who has ever addressed mikes insecurities and made him feel better. he is the only one who considers mike's feelings and stands up for him (And he doesn't deserve that.)

[legalandnotease]

One claim I often see Tony fans making is that Steve was being selfish for not "considering children born during the Snap" in the team's desire to bring everybody back.

This is obviously a form of emotional blackmail After all- how could *anybody* want to erase *billions* of children?

Well, this claim is wrong for a number of reasons

1: There is no evidence of large-scale births or an increasing birth rate during the Snap. Tony fans often say that there must have been millions and milions of children born during the Snap, but this makes no sense because, as a general rule humans do not simply "get over" losing their entire family an "move on".

Even losing one child can be an emotional blow that person never recovers from. Clint Barton lost all 3 of his children, and we know he did not simply "move on" and start a new family.

People do not simply recover from such things in a few years and create new families. It almost never happens.

Furthermore, population dynamics come to play: some planets lost as much as 3/4 of their population due to Thanos pre-Snap genocides.

Even for those who lost "only" half though this would mean half of all birthing females and existing children snapped.

Fewer birthing females means..... a lower birth rate. Also take account of things like infertility and the fact that some women who lost thier children would have been beyond childbearing age: notable case - Queen Ramonda.

Even assuming people were interested in relationships and reproduction (and most were not) the birth rate during the Snap would have been expontentially lower then it was before.

Real life disasters and catastrophes also reveal that it takes a long time for the population to recover. The Black Death killed 1/3 to 1/2 of the population of Europe in the Middle Ages- and it took something along the lines of 3 to 4 centuries for the population to reach the level that it had been before the plague struck.

Literally: it can take HUNDREDS of years for the population to recover. The idea that the world would have returned to normal after only 5 years is ludicrous.

2: The children killed by the Snap.

Half of the human race were snapped. This would have included children. Potentially hundeds of millions of children were killed by the Snap. This is far more than the number who who have been born during the Snap.

There's another issue however: many children would have died after the Snap.

Sick children whose parents or doctors were snapped and were unable to get the medical treatment they needed

Young children whose parents were snapped would have died within a few days if nobody found them.

Children in poorer countries would have been the first to succumb to things like famines and food shortages caused by the Snap.

However, children in rich countries would have followed. Food shortages and the breakdown of intractructure would have caused problems witht the availability of food and medical supplies. Diseases would have become more common without the medicines to keep them in check, and poor sanitation.

In other words, potentiallly hundreds of millions more children would have died after the Snap in addition to those who had been Snappped.

None of those children would have been bought back by Bruce's Snap in Endgame. They would have stayed dead. All because of Tony's selfish insistence that he "didn't change anything from the last 5 years".

So, no matter how Tony fans want to try and twist things: Tony Stark was quite prepared to sacrifice *hundreds of millions* if not billions of children for the sake of his desire to preserve his personal paradise.

He did not, in fact, "save everybody" at all. He saved only those bought back after the Snap and ... not really even them as they had to contend with years of social and economic problems.

You know what the most interesting irony of it all is though? Tony fucked over all those people for nothing. Pepper was already pregnant before the Snap, so reversing it would not have erased Morgan anyway.

[holy3cake]

Hello, Trouble

Chapters: 2/2

Fandom: Boarders

Rating: Explicit (only part 2)

Pairing: Rupert x Male Reader

Summary: After attending St Gilbert's on a scholarship, you start to reminisce on your time away from home. It's the Spring Ball, and Carol has just given you your final marching orders. Is it too late to admit that you have a massive crush on the dumbest boy in school? Is your deviant roommate going to even care that you're being expelled? Perhaps Rupert cares about you more than you think, but there's only one way to find out.

"Sure, Rupert was possibly the worst roommate you’d ever had, but you would miss the chase. It was thrilling, not knowing whether the arrogant Aphrodite would ruin your life or fall into a soft caress."

Chapter 1: Repression

As the ugly coach pulled up, you tried not to roll your eyes at the students milling about at your side. Most of them had leafy-green faces, matching the hideous lining of the so-called school bus. It was due to binge drinking of course, which despite your course leader constantly lecturing on the subject, was falling on deaf ears. Even though you never really liked the taste of cheap cider or stupidly expensive whisky, you always joined in. It was a ritual of sorts, and you knew better than to dob Abby in if she popped the pills out again. Of course, the distraction never worked for you. Not even as you boarded the bus and bumped into the class harlot, flicking her unsightly fair hair from her face. Florence was poison, but you’d never tell her why you hated her so much. You’d laugh, and pretend every word out of her whorish mouth was hilarious. Which is what you chose to do at that moment, chugging down a swig of your luxurious yet foul Scotch. 

“Oh, Florence! Gorgeous heels, darling.” You drawled, knowing full well that she was wearing last season Prada. She simpered, blowing an egregious kiss full of Tiffany and stark perfume back in your direction. 

“Thank you! It’s our Spring ball, have to make an effort you know?” Florence looked you up and down, as if she was sneering at your outfit choice. Possibly as she wasn’t used to seeing such bare skin in public, or she had no taste whatsoever. You knew it was the latter, when her tongue was so far down Jahiem’s throat. With a forced smile you giggled back, straightening your striped jacket. 

“I completely agree. Enjoy your night, Flo.” It was difficult to stay civil with her, but you forced down your disdain to move further along the bus. Florence wasn’t worth a minute of your time, and you didn’t want to look at her powered face any longer. You swore that she scoffed behind your back, but again, it wasn’t worth a sneeze let alone an acknowledgement. Instead you decided to locate your friends, a genuine smile spreading across your face when you discovered Toby and Abby canoodling at the back of the bus. They leapt apart at your arrival, blushing madly as though nothing had ever happened. Toby patted the space beside them, and you clinked his bottle of vodka with your own glass as you plonked down. 

“‘Sup rude boy? You got beef with Flo again?” Toby grinned, throwing his arm around his sweet girlfriend. Unlike Florence, you’d been friends with Abby for years, and you knew she wasn’t the enemy. Even if she would report back to the blonde witch, you didn’t exactly hide your feelings regarding said cow. 

“She’s playing J. You know that.” You jogged your knee, hoping Toby would be pacified with that response. 

“Nah, bro. Ain't our business, is it? You sure it’s not because she dissed your man?” Toby smirked, sensing the oncoming jab that you delivered to his ribs. 

“He’s not my man, he’s a fucked-up mummy’s boy that thinks he’s God’s gift. Just because he’s my roommate, I don’t have to give a shit about him, Tobes.” At the mention of the deviant living in your shared dorm, your anger flared. Toby seemed to have some delusional idea that you cared about him, even though you despised him more than Florence. But as you stewed, you didn’t realize Abby and Toby quietly cackling at your outrage. 

“Oh, you’ve got it bad, baby. So what if you have a thing for him? It’s not like anyone else does.” Abby shrugged, kicking her feet up. 

“How about the fact that he’d beat the shit out of me? I don’t need that drama.” You didn’t resist the urge to roll your eyes this time, gulping down throatfuls of heated alcohol to match the fury on the outside. 

Rupert Watlington-Geese was a menace to society. You’d seen the videos of him pouring champagne on homeless people before you’d even joined the school, and the real man was worse than the internet fiend. On your first meeting he’d hidden your boxers and claimed it was an initiation ritual, forcing you to go commando against itchy school trousers in the first period. Childish pranks would’ve been fine, but his behaviour had started to get rowdy from your second glance. From the rumours that the little shit had spread, you’d had more sexual experience than most B-list celebrities. You didn’t hide the fact that you were gay, but somehow you’d had a threesome with two teachers and sucked off four boys behind the bike sheds. But you knew Rupert’s game, and somehow had grown used to the inane stunts that he’d pull in an attempt for attention. 

In other instances, you would’ve grown tired and ignored him from the get go. However, if you had, you wouldn’t have seen when Rupert’s mischievous eyes grew sad, and he’d cried dismally into his pillow. You’d never tell Abby or Toby in a million years, but you knew how warm Rupert felt when he’d melted against you in a depressive episode. If his dad had promised to visit but stood him at the last minute, Rupert would always come to you for comfort. Florence was useless in those moments, she’d never understand how fragile Rupert was under all the ego and false cockiness. So perhaps you were a little more susceptible to Rupert’s fragility than you thought, but he didn’t make it easy on you. One day he’d be flashing you his trademark smirk, pretending that he enjoyed his empty existence of pranks and hurting people. On another day, he’d be breaking down in your arms and blinking back tears through those beautiful chestnut eyes. That was another thing that irritated you. Rupert was fucking gorgeous, and a combination that you’d never encountered before. He was ethereal, pale skin glowing in the darkness like some mystical creature. His hazel eyes were always looking at you, whether they were earnest or scheming. And those curls. God, you wanted to tug those magical curls until he cried. Okay, maybe you were lying a little to yourself. There was a definite attraction there, but you were 90% certain that he’d smash your face in if you told him. 

As you were daydreaming, it was as though your thoughts could summon fiction into reality. The man in question bounded up the bus steps, and Abby took the opportunity to torture you further. She sent you a cheeky smile before making her intentions clear, and you turned in horror to the spare seat beside you. 

“Rupert! Join us!” Abby’s voice perforated your ears like a megaphone, and you knew you had to move quickly. But to your dismay, the coach had filled up in record time, and you couldn’t move without leaving the bus entirely. Instead, you downed the remains of your Dalmore single malt and smiled with too much teeth as Rupert sat beside you. His outfit could’ve given you a cardiac arrest, but you remained calm. His rumpled curls were slicked back behind his ears, exposing far too much of his neck. Rupert’s black silk shirt (if you could call it that) cut down into a sharp v-shape, exposing a little bit of his chest. The scent of Lynx Africa infiltrated the bus, and you wanted to gag, or gag him. He looked like a ridiculous rich boy that had been dressed by Carol, yet your jeans grew tighter at his appearance. You wanted to strip him bare, to rip away whatever hideous designer clothes that his mum had chosen for him and pin him against the faded bus seats. The Scotch was making you reckless, and you had to relax, lest actually find out what Rupert’s tongue tasted like. 

“Hi, dickhead.” Rupert greeted you, which didn’t help in the slightest. Today he was wearing his snarkiest grin, which made you want to bite the arrogance away. But then you felt the pang of empathy, causing you to look away and grip your arm. Honestly, you knew why you were feeling such a whirlwind of emotions. Carol had delivered the final blow to your confidence earlier that day, and you had to tell Rupert the truth. 

What was the truth? That you’d lost your scholarship, of course. That’s why you were scrambling to answer a sarcastic salutation from your nemesis, because you had to tell him that you’d never see him again. You wondered if he’d even blink at your news, or if he’d just tell you it was a valiant effort and you didn’t belong there. Sure, Rupert was possibly the worst roommate you’d ever had, but you would miss the chase. It was thrilling, not knowing whether the arrogant aphrodite would ruin your life or fall into a soft caress. Yes, you had stroked his wet cheeks before. But as Abby had declared weeks ago, the Spring ball was certainly the time to tie up loose ends and live the night like it was your last. So, what was on your agenda as the bus pulled away from the school and headed to one of the rascal’s ridiculously large estates? You turned to Rupert, flicking your fringe from your eyes as you beamed at him. 

“Hello, Trouble.” You beamed, eyes sparkling as you gazed into those cat-like eyes. 

Tonight, you were going to break a preposterously ugly bed, donated by the National Trust. Or two. And a thousand year-old table, when Rupert suggested it. 

Chapter 2: Liberty (NSFW WARNING HERE)

It was hard to remember how you ended up in this situation, with Rupert’s hands down your pants and your dick ready to burst with his rough onslaught. But you definitely weren’t complaining, you just wished you had a clearer head when your tip started to throb. Rupert’s hot breath was on your neck, and with one hand kneading your balls and one expertly caressing your cock, you tried to withhold the gasps escaping your throat. It wasn’t until you gripped the rich boy’s shoulders that you halted him, cursing yourself for delaying such a strong orgasm. 

“Rupert! Wait, wait. My head is spinning.” The Scotch had been brutal on you, and you definitely didn’t want to ruin the mood by passing out or throwing up. Rupert raised one eyebrow elegantly, but obediently pulled his hands away. What you didn’t expect was for him to hold your hand, steering you to sit on the creaky bed in whichever bedroom you’d decided to argue in. He left for a moment, returning with a glass of water that he’d seemingly produced from nowhere. As you took the glass, your hands met again and you tried not to let the soft feeling linger. It was so out of character for him to be kind to you, but you drank the cool water regardless. He sat almost tentatively beside you, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Beatrix wasn’t trying to hurt you, you know. She was trying to stop a fight.” Rupert suddenly announced, staring up at the four-poster bed. 

“What?” You sat up, finishing the water. 

“You called her a nosy cow. You called Florence a lot worse but…” Rupert shrugged, trying to hide the grin on his face. 

Hearing the word cow suddenly brought a drunken flashback into perspective. You’d arrived at the party in good spirits, clinging to Toby and Abby like a third arm. But the underlying tension was still gnawing at you, and you tried to dance as though nothing was wrong. You’d danced with Jahiem and Femi, which didn’t cause any problems, not until Jahiem had sought out Florence on the dancefloor. Pretending as though you were on top of the world, you’d gritted your teeth again and offered to spin Florence around. Except when she’d slipped conveniently into Jahiem’s arms, you’d called her a cheap slut that opened her doors more frequently than a lift. That was until Bea had gently tapped you on the back with gentle eyes and pure intentions, which had only aggravated you further. 

“Oh, Bea. I should find her and apologise.” But as you tried to stand, your head whirled and Rupert sniggered at your attempt to walk. 

“Might be a bit hard, considering you can’t use your feet. Sit down, you cock.” Rupert tutted at you, but there was a curious look in his eyes. 

“What?” You glared, crossing your arms. 

“You’re concerned about Beatrix, but you won’t apologise to Florence?” Rupert frowned, but you weren’t sure if he was annoyed about that. 

“No. Why should I? Because she’s your precious little girlfriend? Please.” You managed to laugh, leaning back against the ugly bed sheets. 

“Don’t take the piss. She’s not a slag.” Rupert growled, making you jump. You were unsure of his feelings before, but he seemed content to play second best to his ex-girlfriend again. There was a protective spark in his tone, and even though you should’ve yielded, you couldn’t care less. If he wanted to get back with his girlfriend whilst simultaneously wanking off another guy, it wasn’t your problem. That was his prerogative, and you had nothing left to lose anyway. With a bitter laugh, you nudged his shoulder and rolled your eyes. 

“I really don’t care what she is. Go and waste your time chasing after her, Rupert. I’m sick of your constant bullshit.” Finally regaining feeling in your legs, you rose from the bed and stumbled to the door, fumbling for the handle. To your surprise, the deviant was back at your side, blocking the exit. 

“I mean it! Get out of my fucking way.” You squared up to him, ready to fight. You were pretty sure that was what caused Rupert to touch your cock originally, but that wasn’t your main focus anymore. His moping and whining had set your veins alight, and there was no point at all listening to him defend his “true love”. 

“You’re sick of my bullshit?! What a joke! What about you, huh?” Rupert cornered you, and you held up your fists defensively. Whilst you weren’t sure if he’d actually hit you, you couldn’t tell his mood right now. The strutting peacock had shown his feathers, but the arrogance wasn’t the same as usual. Rupert seemed to be lashing out because he was hurt, it was written across his face in petty insolence. As you took a step back he followed you, glowering with those frighteningly beautiful eyes. 

“Hanging around the popular kids like a little stalker, hoping that someone will notice you? Do you think you’re fucking special, hm? You’re nothing.” Rupert spat insidiously, physically showering you with his spit. Even as the tiny glob landed on your cheek, you made no attempt to move. Whilst you burned on the inside, you fought the urge to bite your lip. Hearing him insult you shouldn’t have been hot, but Rupert was a different breed when he was angry. Perhaps because you’d never seen him show such genuine fury, it made you want to poke the bear. So that’s what you did. 

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t need to be noticed. At least my mummy and daddy loved me.” You took the higher ground, watching conflict flash across startled hazel orbs. 

“How does it feel, Rupert? Knowing that your mummy prefers your brother? Laying awake at night whilst your girlfriend takes Jahiem’s cock up her-” You reeled at the taste of blood, eyes widening as you gently dabbed your lip with your thumb. Your cheek was starting to sting, and you were bewildered that Rupert had actually slapped you. Through the hurt, your cock started to stand to attention again. Fuck. You weren’t sure what was worse, the fact that you were ragingly hard, or that Rupert would see the bulge in your jeans soon enough. The slap brought back your senses, and you held both hands up. 

“Alright, enough! I don’t want to fight with you.” You thought that would be enough to soothe the enraged egomaniac, but he was still heading straight for you. You braced yourself for a punch this time, but a frosty finger rested gently against your lip instead. Rupert watched you wince slightly as he ran his nail over your open wound, eyes flickering down towards your belt. The gentle action made you tremble, goosebumps littering your arms and tugging the tiny hairs on the back of your neck. Rupert stepped closer, allowing you to see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. Perhaps the panting was from anger, but you wanted to make him breathless in other ways. 

“Why not, hm? I thought you loved the chase.” Rupert outright purred, pressing you into the bedpost. You gasped, equally shocked at his accusation and the close proximity of his body. If you moved your hands, you’d feel the outline of his hips through his stupid silk shirt. This pitiful plush boy had you sussed, but you couldn't fault his observation. You did love the chase, and the prospect of leaving the school without even kissing this idiot was unthinkable. Without worrying about the consequences anymore, you gripped hideous material and kissed his imbecilic, impeccable lips. 

Whether or not he wanted to protest that he wasn’t gay, Rupert lost himself when you attacked his lips. He didn’t seem stunned at all by your advance, instead biting at the little cut on your lower lip. You groaned, meeting the aggressive swipes of his tongue with the edge of your own. God he was such a good kisser, using his hips to grind against you as your tongues played for dominance. You ran one hand up his back, snaking your fingers into his slick curls as his own digits threaded into your belt loops. A glorious moan left his lips as you wrenched his head back, gripping fistfuls of his curls as you licked down his throat. 

“No more wisecracks for me, Trouble?” You uttered softly, drawing a map of his shoulders with your tongue. Each bite and nip made him gasp, but you felt a particularly deep rasp when you reached his nipples. It was a little sad really, wondering if Florence had ever worshipped him thoroughly like this. Judging by the way he tensed and bucked against you when you pinched those gorgeous rose-pink nipples, you doubted anyone had ever explored him properly. You wanted to rectify that immediately, popping the buttons on his shirt as you reached his waist. Rupert’s hands were tangled in your floppy hair, and you were grateful for such thick locks at last. He suddenly tugged on your scalp, forcing your head upwards. 

“Will…Will you…” Rupert panted lightly, looking uncharacteristically shy. There was that slight vulnerability again, so you wanted to reassure him. Moving from your crouched position, you cupped his face and pressed your lips together again. It was a little softer, a little kinder, yet still full of heat and desperation. Rupert pawed at you, dry-humping your thigh in search of friction. 

“Will you fuck me? Make me cry…please…” Rupert rasped, hand dropping to your zipper. Your throat vibrated in response, creating a somewhat animalistic rumble. Not only did he want you to fuck him, but his warm whisper shook something deep within you. This demon would certainly be your undoing, but you welcomed Hell with open arms. To begin your descent you nodded furiously, stripping as though your clothes were offensive. 

“You want me to fuck you, sweetheart? How badly?” You couldn’t resist teasing him, slowly easing your hand under his boxers. If he wasn’t so flustered and breathless, you would’ve yanked his trousers and boxers down immediately. But he looked so pretty painted with pink, you decided to draw out his little gasps further. Your hand circled his ass, squeezing one cheek as he urged you closer. 

“Badly. Hard. Until I break.” Rupert groaned back to you, seemingly impatient. Taking a little pity on him you melded your lips together, intoxicated with his rich taste. How someone could taste luxurious was beyond you, but he did. You savoured his spit, panting harder when he smeared it against your mouth. At the same time your finger reached his hole, startling him into a long drawn-out gasp. The muscle was so tense, constantly puckering as you gently played with him. You couldn’t see it, but there was a little puddle forming at the front of his trousers, spreading whenever you caressed his hole. Touching it clearly wasn’t enough for either of you, and Rupert wrapped his arms around you in an effort to tempt you further. Your cock pressed painfully against his abs, begging you to devour this brat the way you wanted to. Rupert touched your weeping head, gesturing at the ancient bed with a flick of his curls. He led you to the mattress, throwing the remains of his shirt away as he detached from you for a moment. The distance seemed to physically hurt him, but his signature smirk returned when he tossed his trousers and boxers in one sweep. You swore that your dick somehow grew at the sight, but you reached optimum hardness from the moment he kissed you. You watched as he climbed onto the bed, trying to keep your jaw from dropping as he got down on all fours. 

“Are you going to just stand there and stare all day?” Rupert grinned, usual cockiness returning in time just to make you smile. 

“It is a very nice view, after all.” You smiled back, moving to join him on the bed. A light amusement had broken through the tension slightly, and you felt warm all over when you stroked down his bare back. Rupert was biting his lip, eyes bright and full of mischief when he stared back at you. You held his gaze, bringing both hands down to rest against his plump butt. Unspoken emotions stirred in the pit of your belly, but you focused on bringing Rupert pleasure instead. Massaging each round mound in your hands, you slotted yourself between his legs, running a thumb over the furled muscle again. 

“Do you have any lube, Trouble?” You asked, noticing a slight blush creep down Rupert’s back. 

“N-Not here. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this, you know!” Rupert scowled, looking a little annoyed yet disappointed. 

“It’ll have to be the old fashioned way then. But I’ll take care of you.” You leaned forward, licking the shell of Rupert’s ear. “Do you want to stop, baby?” 

“No. Please, please don’t go..” Rupert begged, the tinge of fright outweighing the irritance in his tone. Your heart thudded painfully, he sounded so small and scared at the possibility of you leaving him. Planting firm but soft kisses down his spine, you felt him relaxing at the affirmation of your touch. You spread his legs, rubbing his hole slowly until his head fell forward in exhilaration. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Rupert. Forget everything else, I’m here.” You mumbled softly, threading your free hand through his fingers. He held onto you, closing his eyes as he enjoyed anything you gave him. Your lips dipped lower, and you kissed each cheek before burying yourself between them. It felt as though your cock was screaming at you, knowing that you’d soon be fucking such a gorgeous brat. But your dick could wait, you did not care about him at the moment. No, you wanted to make Rupert cry after all, and you could scarcely wait to see him shuddering in pleasure. Your tongue darted out, and you dragged it down the base of his spine, flattening it against his entrance. Rupert was trembling slightly, and you decided not to torture him for too long. Holding onto his thighs, you lapped at his hole, dipping slightly inside whenever he whined. His cock was dripping, you could hear it between each smear of your spit. It caused you to speed up, one of your hands creeping underneath to stroke his leaking head. 

“Hasn’t anyone ever fucked you with their tongue before?” You wondered aloud, switching to sucking on his rim whilst you waited for an answer. 

“What do you think, smartass?!” Rupert retorted, covering his face with his arm. His back was arching, cock slipping further into your grip. You grinned, spitting onto his asshole as he panted. 

“Then I’m glad to be the first.” You replied, slathering all of the wetness into his opening. Even though he was glistening already, you needed to be sure that he was sticky enough to feel good. If you ended up hurting him this way, you didn’t think you could ever forgive yourself. Your tongue gravitated back inside him, pressing your thumb against the sensitive nerves on the outside. Rupert clawed the sheets and your hand, blunt nails digging against your palm. 

“Put…put your finger inside me.” He demanded, scraping his lower lip with his teeth. His curls stuck to his forehead, sweaty with desire. 

“Promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much?” You withdrew your lips, still caressing his butt as he struggled to speak. 

“I will. But I don’t think I could be any wetter if I were a girl…” Rupert chuckled weakly, pressing a soft kiss to the back of your palm. You definitely weren’t expecting him to say something like that, but woe betide you to refuse his wishes. One hand still firmly gripping Rupert’s, you released a breath and slid a finger inside him. It was just your finger, yet he thrust his ass back against you and seemed ecstatic. 

“Shit! Another, please!” Rupert whimpered, and it suddenly dawned on you that he’d probably had something up his ass before. Perhaps not a cock, but he’d certainly done this with his own fingers. You shared a moan with him, scissoring another finger alongside the first as he took you easily. 

“How..how are you not taking me right now? Don’t you like it, hmm?” Rupert started to tease you again, but you felt that same thrill wrack through your body at his words. You rewarded him by curling your fingers upwards, pulling them out before jamming them back in. He yelled out, reaching for his cock but failing to grab it before you pinned his hand down. 

“Rupert…you know I want you…” You whined back, thrusting faster as Rupert writhed under your touch. 

“Then don’t wait anymore. Fuck me!” Rupert shoved his ass against you, pouting at your words. It made sense that he’d be demanding in bed, but you felt the same wave of sadness wash over you from earlier. You loved Rupert’s cheeky insolence, but maybe he’d never been able to fully embrace it with Florence. You wondered if their intimacy had always been rushed, with Florence retreating to her phone afterwards. You would never ask of course, but everyone gossiped. Shaking your head slightly to the intrusive thoughts, you pulled your fingers out and allowed Rupert to rub against your cock. He was the one you wanted, not the others. 

“I’ll fuck you, you little brat. It’s hot to see you beg.” You smirked, nudging the tip of your cock over his hole, feeling every flex of his muscles. 

“You’re all talk and no-oh! Mm…mm…Oh God, yes!” Rupert was ready to retort again, but you stunted him in his arrogance by gliding your solid cockhead into his weeping hole. He sucked you in, barely giving you time to register how hot and tight he was. You even had to hold his hips back, stopping him from completely bottoming out. If he did that immediately, you’d cum in seconds. No, you wanted to go slowly, feeling every inch of his fervid walls dripping with your saliva. But you had to be careful thinking about that too, your sensitivity was soaring. 

“Rupert…oh fuck..” You lost your composure for a second, finally letting Rupert engulf the rest of your length inside him. There was a slight mound just above your cock, and grazing it left both of you breathless. Rupert didn’t seem to care about his temperament anymore, fiercely fisting his cock whenever you pushed against that tight space. Your balls were starting to tighten, but you ignored them smacking against Rupert’s ass as you started to plunge your cock inside him. His walls were contracting already, and the harsh squeeze set your body on fire. 

“Ah…Ah…no, not yet!” Rupert cursed quietly to himself, confirming your suspicions when his hand came away wet. 

“Oh baby, you came already? Aww.” You decided to make fun of him a little, but it was done in good spirit. Rupert grumbled and pulled away from you, rolling over to face you. He was gorgeous, curls completely ruined and body covered in handprints. Even though he was spent, he looked at your solid cock curiously. 

“Have me again. But I want to see you this time.” Rupert mumbled grumpily, refusing to meet your eyes. You felt your eyebrow quirk at his statement, but you absolutely wanted to be inside him again. Throwing his legs over your shoulders he beckoned you back, throwing his head back in ecstasy when you found home again. Your hands found his, pressing him down into the bed as you thrust into him for the second time. Rupert made no attempt to hide his moans, almost goading you to go faster. You obeyed, hitting his prostate repeatedly until the bed creaked with your efforts. At a particularly rough thrust you reached down, needing to feel Rupert’s lips as you pounded him. Shockingly he kissed you back, wrapping his legs around your back. Your cock was straining now, desperate for a little more but chasing the need for release. Rupert cupped your face, licking the cut on your lip as you started to clench. 

“Why…why are you afraid to cum?” He asked, teasing your top lip. 

“Because…” Why were you afraid to cum? Was it because you knew you’d never see Rupert again? Because this was the best night of your life, and you’d be leaving at the end of the week? Because Rupert would never love you back, and he’d beat you up if you dared to tell anyone? It was all too much, and you were at risk of slowing down or even stopping. But the arrogant brat kissed you, and eased your worries with unusual tenderness. 

“Let yourself go. It’s you and me, right?” Rupert paused, feeling the beginning of your orgasm. As you shuddered and tensed through it, he helped you through the nerves, keeping you inside him. 

“It’s always been you. I know I’m stupid, but I…I can’t imagine life without you. I’m sorry.” Rupert sniffled, mouthing along your neck as you filled him with your essence. It took a while for your breathing to calm, but when it did, you pulled out and crushed your arms against him. You were both shaking, but you knew without a shred of doubt that you couldn’t leave him. His caresses were so soft now, all the bravado and ego shattering in a moment to hold you close. You absorbed him into your body, warm skin lightly brushing together in harmony as you shared the moment. But you experienced a moment of clarity, and in that, you knew exactly what you needed to do. 

Fuck Carol. I’m here to stay, bitch. 

Tagging in case you'd like to read: @grinningkatz (for the pretty pics ehehe), @lancedoncrimsonwings (I thought you'd like my British quips at the end for NT haha), @lord-aldhelm (would love your opinion) and obviously my usual amazing moots if you find this go wild <3

[the-stove-is-divorced]

there will never be 0 tabs. the tabs are forever. the tabs know all.

Platonic relationships get seriously side-lined and it's honestly maddening. They make a point to have hero teams, long standing and assumingly incredibly tight knit, and then have ZERO elaboration for any of those dynamics! We get a Kate & Immortal, Rudy & Monster Girl which are both weird as best, but no actual exploration into what TT was like! It's so odd? Like they're teams! TT is arguably family-like. AND DON'T GET ME STARTED ON MARK AND EVE, OMG. Like, they incited Mark's interest in her, not from Mark just admiring her, naturally crushing on her over time, bonding, or even her flirting first, it's guilt. Like, actual guilt? It's not even her her, it's another verison of her that actively rescued him at such a horrible low, Mark probably feels like he owes her! It feels like they're checking it off the last quickly than natural development? It's so bizarre??? We already discussed Kate, too, but it's all so odd. What are the priorities???? (」＞＜)」 I loathe their ship because of it, istg.

Kate and Mark need to hang out and just chill, please. Literally they both need it.

Yeah, and if they're test subjects, or anything like Rex, this normally would be an insanely fucked up thing to do, but especially fucked up thing to do! Where's the rage at feeling like a lab rat all over again? If Robot got them all together, where's the accusations that he was just testing them, seeing which one made the best to copy? AND RIGHT? Why doesn't it affect how Rex sees Amanda? How Amanda sees Rex?Where's any commentary about this impacting dynamics permanently? Why are they just cool with it? Where's the arc to gain trust back? Why haven't the dynamics shifted for a season, mistrust? Missions gone wrong because they don't believe him? Leaving rooms because he's in there, even. Outright refusing to even go on the field with him. Go dramatic and have him kicked out the team! SOMETHING! What GDA doesn't and do know about the Mauler twins will never not be funny to me like they're casually pushing the boundaries of technological accomplishments when blackmailed, and even not, they could single-handedly end wait lists for organ transplants.

I'd love more look at Art as a way to explore the hero ecosystem, like him being outright, stubbornly neutral. Does he have discounts for non-indestructible supers? How does he keep from being pressured to spill anything about villains if GDA/GoG knows/figures out what he may know about dangerous villains? Does he kinda just know everybody by proxy? Like does he refuse to know any details about what people do, or does he just get close to some clientele like Nolan? Does that make an unintentional informant, if he wanted to be? Do registered supes have their suits paid automatically? I'd love if villains/heroes referenced him randomly, like "damnit, I just saw Art," like randomly.

The Immortal and Mark comment is actually insane, when have they ever? Immortal actively distrusted him???? Like, there is potential for Mark somewhat projecting into Immortal and trying desperately to prove himself to him specifically, because if someone who KNEW Nolan AND hates Mark changed their mind about him, then it could really prove he's not his Father's Son...and dammit I want a fic on this now. That's so compelling. Dammit. But in canon, it's just like one-sided mistrust that dies after one mission and they're like distant coworkers. Though, kinda crazy Mark isn't trying to have some mentor, I'd think he'd want to model himself after anybody else. He wanted to be just like his Dad so bad, it'd make sense to me if he tried find a new role model. Idk gimme desperate asf Mark.

AND YES. Please give us SOMETHING to work with 'cause why is no other nation even mentioned? How is there NO throwaway lines about that? Shadow gov't type comment would work so perfectly, it's so fitting??? [[ Also still baffled that Immortal cared so much to yell at Shapesmith about AMERICANS getting left behind on Mars and not just, y'know, HUMANS. ]] <- This is such a good fucking point cause why does this show ffr not mention ANYONE ELSE. And why is Immortal (incidentally???) such a patriot??? I'm too tired to add on my own questions, but it's such a head scratcher. This is needed world building here. AND INCENTIVE for hero kids is so interesting. Like hero recruiters trying to snatch up needed heroes, or even flex how many they have in case of anything. Is having more heroes like having more nukes/weaponry, or something adjacent? Like is it a threat if one nation has more loyal heroes than others considering how potentially destructive they can be?

NO FR! WHAT WAS THE CECIL INCIDENT AND WHY IS DEBBIE NEVER LETTING IT GO. I would fucking laugh my ass off if it was because while babysitting, Cecil stopped paying attention while his precious teleporter was still in production and he just fucking lost Mark. Like they were running tests and Mark got hit by a stray beam of light, or sneaking somewhere and they lost him. I'd never forgive that either. What do you mean you lost my CHILD? AND HE COULD BE ANYWHERE ON EARTH OR EVEN FUCKING BEYOND? Please, let this be the reason I'd die laughing. It'd be typical of a kid POV if for Mark he had this grand adventure one day but after his Mom HATED Cecil and he never babysat again.

ALSO YES? This is what I'm talking about like the impact of a Hero Family, because yes Debbie shouldn't be afraid of her own husband but also like,,,, he could kill you in seconds, I'd be wary, personally. Like her sense of danger should be skewed? Maybe even desensitized to violence, death, threats, dangers. At what point does the vaguely dangerous stuff your husband does become mundane? Like, at what point does it become kinda meaningless??? Or, has she always been a Take No Shit kinda person?

I feel like this is what I mean but how it's ODD that Invincible tries to have the "normal family for YEARS" dynamic that ONLY changes when Mark gets his powers, but refuses to elaborate on how average they can possibly be with their shown dynamics, or possible implications considering who they are? I get why, it's a classic comic setup, average teen until POWERS, but also... it is so much more fascinated and makes more sense if they're fucking unhinged in weirdly specific areas by proxy. Debbie has a completely warped sense of danger + unimpressed by most heroic activities b/c they've become mundane, Mark, subconsciously, views heroic work as ultimately superior if it's more important than his Dad being home, Nolan thinks is fine to be majority hands off for his own child, etc, etc.

While I'm not too familiar with the DCU- your batfam meta posts are intiguing- so in transfering some of the broader strokes from them- I think you tackling a 'Mark isn't Nolan's biological son' fic would be fascinating. Sort of a step to the side of the 'what if Mark never got his powers' fic that sometimes pop up in the fandom

OOOOOO chewing on this currently, hm, the much a distinct flavor of exactly what you’re talking about, but the potential for more family drama depending on WHO knows. Does Mark know?? Is he waiting every day only to be crushed? Does he confused non-Debbie features with Nolan’s? I suppose I’m not the most enthusiastic about non-power AUs, but I think there’s something very fun to explore about Mark having to settle with, if he knows all his life, he will never have powers? I think the trajectory of his dreams will obviously shift, I can see him still having that distinct fatherly idolization, but perhaps embraces being useful to the GDA? Cecil’s number one intern—only intern—curtesy of nepotism, ha! There is something tickling me about Mark taking the Robin Route/Role for the Teen Team in terms of having no powers, just insane skills, BUT there’s something way more delicious about intern Mark when s1e01 happens and Mark tries snooping around to find out the truth about what happened to his Dad.

I wonder if, with Mark having a whole another father, if they’re more or less distant relationship, depending on WHEN Nolan entered Mark’s life? Like if Debbie met Nolan later for this, or just for fun, they dated once, separated (Mark being born during then), then they happened to stumble into each others lives again and Mark’s already been born, anywhere from tween to teenager so there’s a gap in how close they are. I feel like one important aspect of the whole Family Drama is how close they’re supposed to be, a functional, loving family turned upside down? So I wonder what more distance does. I wonder how Nolan copes when his family is entirely human and he can’t project onto Mark.

I love thinking about these, omg.

[crookedfivefingers]

Doctor Who | S3E2 | The Shakespeare Code

[charafansmile]

Trying to do hw but my mind solely wants to think about how charas motivations only make sense if you look at it from the eyes of a child and that ignoring them being a kid is how the fandom got stupid ideas in it's head of them being a mass manipulator who's entirely evil even though the game beats it into our head they made the plan BECAUSE they loved the dreemurrs. Like obviously their plan was never going to work it was a bad fucking plan from the getgo and little kids are 1) stubborn and 2) not known for thinking things through????? People saw asriel call them not the greatest person and a say he wished frisk was his friend (which fair!! Charas plan did get him killed and was the catalyst for things going wrong!) And immediately jumped to making them abusive ignoring all of the evidence that chara did care about and loved monsterkind.