#it's been a questionable time with questionable thoughts and questionable actions and it is what it is. i do not care how cliche i am

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

big question. i'm cis (afab) and my gf is trans (amab) and i'm sorta having a hard time reconciling something. i've been a hard line feminist since i was about 8, by 12 i was a practical library on everything and anything womens lib. i'm spending a lot more time around trans people especially my gf now and i'm sorta struggling to reconcile the trans experience with my feminism. like- i'll see trans women being like "i hate my body :(" "my voice is awful" "i need [x thing to try to pass] ugh" and like my first thought is always "NO! THATS HOW THEY FUCKING GET YOU!!! THE PATRIARCHY WANTS YOU TO HATE YOURSELF SO YOU ENSLAVE YOURSELF TO CAPITALISM AND LIVE IN A CONSTANT STATE OF NEED FOR NEW PRODUCTS TO WARD OFF THE EVER PRESENT SELF HATRED BROUGHT ON YOU BY SOCIETY" and they go "well then how do i pass/transition?" and i honestly don't know and i also don't know how far it goes before its no longer dysphoria but instead the intentional subjugation of women by patriarchy for profit. i wanna help my fellow ladies but i honestly don't know how to like- apply the feminism i was taught as a child to trans women and i want to learn as soon as possible so that i can start doing it like yesterday

hi there,

I'll be honest: if it feels hard to apply the feminism you learned as a kid to your trans friends, that's probably because the feminism you were taught didn't have trans woman in mind.

luckily, the answer to this is something that I consider to be feminism 101: what a woman does with her body is, ultimately, her fucking business.

listen: I agree with you that the beauty industry(TM) is evil. it's misogynistic, it's exploitative, it thrives by making women feel bad enough about themselves to make them spend money on shit they don't need, etc. we all know this.

now, having said that: women who like makeup or wear heels or get laser hair removal or whatever other asinine thing are not my oppressor, nor are they my enemy. dare I say, we have bigger problems.

we also need to consider that many trans women are coming to these choices from a VERY different place than many cis women are. while I think my fellow cis women really benefit from reminders that they're allowed to stop shaving or wearing eyeliner or dieting or whatever, that's because most of us have had those actions forced on us from very young ages and may genuinely need a hand to feel secure breaking out of those behaviors.

the majority of trans women are not coming from a background where they were encouraged to partake in the same personal grooming habits and modes of presentation as cis women; many of them have, in fact, been ostracized, bullied, threatened, and otherwise hurt because of forays into forms of presentation that are considered feminine. no matter how good your intentions may be, approaching your advice indelicately can, unfortunately, make you come across as no different than any transphobe on the street trying to enforce cisnormative societal expectations. it also must be said that, for many trans women, the ability to "pass" is a matter of security - for having their status as women recognized at all, and to avoid harassment and abuse in public spaces. if you live in America, like I do, politicians in power currently have an extremely explicit anti-trans agenda that can make it harrowing to be visible as a trans person, and trans women in particular are frequently targeted for violence.

there are absolutely critiques to be made the way the many trans women are expected to perform hyperfemininity. the notion that someone is duty bound to drastically change their appearance in order to transition at all is itself extremely rooted in cisnormativity, and "passing" is often contingent on being young, thin, able-bodied, reasonably wealthy, and hewing as closely to Eurocentric standards of beauty as possible. that's not awesome! but that's also not the fault of any individual; no trans person asked to be born into a world where gender norms are so narrow and failing to pass can come with a very real risk of physical danger.

also, if I can circle back to this: again, women who participate in aspects of the beauty industry are not our enemies. there are always going to be some number of women who enjoy doing their makeup or like spending time fussing over their little outfits or want breast implants or whatever. some of those women are going to be trans. my official feminist stance on this is that I don't give a shit, because I believe in bodily autonomy even when it involves things I would not do personally and the choices that individual women make about how they want to style their little meat body don't even crack the top 100 things that I'm worried about right now. it's actually kind of vitally important, politically, that trans people be able to safely pursue their preferred gender expression; while it's not particularly revolutionary for a cis woman to go outside all dolled up, whether a trans woman can do that safely is a pretty basic litmus test for how safe a given space is for queer people. it's a ridiculously low bar, and many places will still fail to clear it.

so, yeah, I don't know, dude. be there to talk to your trans girlies if they want to start unpacking some of the pressure they feel to conform to a very rigid idea of womanhood, but whether or not they can walk down the street in your neighborhood safely is a WAY bigger issue than whether they decide to do voice training or not.

if you really want to cut to the root of the insecurity and vulnerability that the beauty industry thrives on exploiting, your time is much better spent working to ensure the trans women in your life feel safe and supported and have a community where they can find support regardless of how they look.

necessary disclaimer I'm a cis girl, any transfemme folks please share your voice here and feel free to clap my ass if I've said something out of line.

[ahqkas]

BRUCE WAYNE never thought something as simple as a walk through the park could undo him so completely. he had been passing through on his way to a wayne foundation meeting, a brief moment of peace in his usually packed schedule, when his eyes caught the scene.

a toddler—no more than two, maybe three years old—stumbled through the snow, mittened hands clutching tightly to her father’s pant leg. she was bundled in a too-big scarf and a pink hat, hear head tilted to gaze at the snowflakes around her, her cheeks red from the cold.

he froze, mid-step, completely caught off guard by the wave of baby fever that crashed over him. it wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about children before. he already had a house full of them—though they came to him much older, with the weight of trauma already etched into their young faces. but this was different. she was different. he imagined a tiny girl like that in his life, her small hand slipping into his with absolute trust, her laughter filling the empty corners of wayne manor.

by the time he returned home, the manor blanketed in snow, his gloves still clutched in his hands, his thoughts had become a single drumbeat: i want that.

he found you in the library, a fleece blanket draped over your legs, a book in hand as you sat in your favorite chair by the window. the firelight flickered over your face, softening your features, making you look like you belonged in one of the stories you loved so much.

“you’re back early,” you said, voice breaking the stillness. you glanced up from the book and your lips quirked into a smile that stopped him in his tracks. “everything okay?”

he didn’t answer right away, his gaze tracing your features like he was committing them to memory. finally, he crossed the room, shedding his coat as he went, draping it across the back of the chair opposite yours.

“i saw something today,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. bruce knelt before you, one hand resting on the arm of the chair as the other gently took the book from your hands. you let him, brow furrowing slightly as you tilted your head at his actions.

“what did you see?”

“a little girl,” his eyes locking onto yours. “she couldn’t have been more than two. she was holding onto her father’s leg, bundled up in a scarf that practically swallowed her whole. she was laughing.”

his words lingered in the space between the two of you, thick with unspoken meaning. your expression softened as you realized where this was heading, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on your chair.

“she reminded me of something,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “or maybe she made me realize something. i want that, with you. i want us to have a child—a little girl, a boy, i don’t care. i just . . . want it to be ours.”

your breath hitched in the back of your throat as your cheeks flushed—not just from the fire, but from the intensity of his words, of the way his eyes burned into yours like he could see every part of you—the future and the past. “bruce . . .” you began, voice barely above a whisper, but he leaned closer, cutting off whatever protest or question lingered on your lips.

“it’s all i could think about on the way home,” he murmured, his forehead brushing against yours, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate tone. “how much i want to see you holding our baby, to watch them grow up with you. to give them everything we didn’t have.”

you swallowed hard at his words, your soft hand sliding up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing over the faint stubble there.

“well, it’s a good thing we’re snowed in tonight.”

bruce froze for a moment, then a slow, knowing smile curved his lips. he rose to his full height, pulling you gently to your feet, the book forgotten as it tumbled to the floor.

“is that so?” he asked, his voice like velvet, rough and warm all at once.

you didn’t answer with words, just slipped your hand into his, your gaze steady despite the flush painting your cheeks. your husband pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, then your lips, before guiding you from the library, the firelight casting long, flickering shadows in your wake.

and as snow continued to fall outside, the world quiet and still, the manor felt a little less cold that night.

[deathbxnny]

Helloo!! Arcane is ending soon, so I was wondering if I could request the Arcane cast reacting to a reader who suspiciously seems to know everything that’s gonna happen in the plot? They always appear where the action is, and they warn about dangers before they happen, trying to ”subtly” change the outcomes of horrible events. Tragedies are a core element of the story, so I feel that the narrative would create another disaster if one event got prevented, but the thought of these characters being safe and happy after all they’ve been through would be so healing :3 It’s up to you which way you want to take it 🐁💖 I’m fine with both platonic and romantic, but I’d love to see Vi, Jinx and Caitlyn if that’s ok :)

I love love love your writing, reading your HC’s before bed has become an important part of my day and it’s always a joy to see your work pop up in the tags <3 Thank you for letting us read your creations 💖 I can’t wait to read the second part of your Caitlyn fic!!

The Timekeeper. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx x Gn!Reader

I absolutely LOVE this idea, Anon, and I appreciate your request so much!! Also, thank you for your kind words. It really means the world to me reading something so sweet!<33

Content: Angst, can be read as either platonic or romantic tbh, time traveling, fluff, bitter sweet, cursing, spoilers for season 2?, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

You were always a mysterious figure to them. One that appeared at the right time in the right place whenever they needed you the most.

You never revealed a thing about yourself. You never even told them your name. But one thing they did know was that you had always looked out for them, like a guardian angel in a way.

And on one fateful day, after another evaded tragedy, they finally caught up to you just before you could leave again.

》VI

"Who the hell are you?" She asked completely out of breath after having practically chased you down through the dense crowd of the undercity. She had seen you so many times before. So, so many times. And every time she did, you were somehow able to save her from certain death by subtly showing her the right way to survive.

It took her a while to piece together that you must've known the outcome of every situation she had ever been in beforehand. That was the only logical answer to the many questions around your existence she could come up with, but it wasn't enough to satiate her desperate curiosity. There were times she had chosen against your signs, and the consequences ended up being almost grave. So whoever you were, you must've had otherworldly knowledge about everything and everyone.

Because whilst she didn't know a thing about you, you certainly knew everything about her.

Raising your hooded head, you idly played with the pocket watch in your hand, piercing eyes meeting her own. "Does that matter?" You ask, and truthfully, it shouldn't. Who cared about your identity when she knew she could trust you? But that wasn't enough. "Yeah, it does to me. Now tell me who you are already. I... I've been seeing you everywhere for years now. You have always been there and I..." She trailed off, suddenly losing her confidence.

She had thought of this moment for years now, imagined exactly what she would say to you. And yet, ultimately, she found herself speechless in your presence that seemed to drown out everyone else around you two. "I see... but my apologies, we were not supposed to meet yet." You said calmly, seemingly undisturbed by her appearance. "Time and fate... they both are so tightly intertwined and yet also so far apart from each other... how odd that the timeline changed so suddenly again, no?" Your words made zero sense in her mind, but that just added to your mystery.

"What-" "-Are you happy with the way your life is going?" You ask, and that made the woman pause in thought. The answer was positive, of course, but only because you had a strong hand in it once she accepted your help. She thought of Powder back home, who was probably happily tinkering away with the young girl Isha they recently took in, and that made her finally nod. "Yes. All thanks to you." "Not at all. It was you who chose your fate. I only showed you the alternative paths."

You two stood there in silence for a moment before she shoved her hands into her pockets and looked over to a nearby bar she liked to frequent in-between missions. "Let's go grab a drink and talk. It's on me." Deciding to accept this new path the timelines had given you, you accept her invitation with a smile.

》JINX

"You're terrible at your job." "Am I? I like to pride myself in my good work ethic, actually." Jinx was idly swinging her gun back and forth on her index finger whilst she rested up in the ceiling above you, clearly having followed you around secretly. But she knew that you already knew that from the start.

Scoffing at your words, she jumped down and landed in front of your indifferent figure as she pointed the gun right at you. "Pah! You're a funny one... so what are you? A time traveler?" "Ah, I like the title Timekeeper more." You were aggravating but at the same time a familiar face she had grown to appreciate deeply. You were the reason she was doing well in life now, even if she ignored you for a very, very long time. She thought she knew better despite all the odds pointing against her, especially you. Ultimately, she learned her lesson when she finally just listened to you.

"Ugh... whatever. Can't ya at least tell me your name?" "No." "Man, you're such a pain in the butt!" "Likewise." Rolling her eyes, she lowered her gun and lazily leaned against a wall, arms crossed tightly as she observed the crowds passing by from outside the abandoned building you were in. An admittedly comfortable silence fell between you two, one that relaxed her shoulders and made her sigh in defeat after a while. Your presence was always so comforting.

"So, you let me catch up to you this time. Finally tired of the cat and mouse game we've been playing?" You lowered your head at her question, a sly smile on your face that made her narrow her eyes in interest. "Perhaps. Or maybe I just wanted to ask you how you're doing?" What an odd question, considering the context of your meet-up. And yet, it was somehow fitting coming from you specifically. Wasn't your whole mysterious mission revolving around her well-being anyway?

"Shouldn't you know the answer to that, oh so esteemed 'Timekeeper'?" You found no offense in the mockery of your title. Just pure amusement. "I'm afraid that mind reading was not in the initial job listing." Jinx took a moment to think about your question carefully then, deciding to indulge you despite her better judgment. Things were good now, after all. She, Isha, and Vi were together again as a family, including Vander, even if they had yet to find a way to turn him back properly. But everything was happy otherwise... because you made sure that the end to her story wouldn't be a painfully tragic one.

"... I'm fine. Everything's fine." She muttered, and your smile widened at that answer. "So... I'm not terrible at my job, after all?" Pressing a playful hand to her chin, Jinx acted as though she was in deep thought. "Hmmm... I guess I'll need more convincing than all of this to decide." "Of course... then how about we start with running away before the Enforcers show up to raid this place in approximately... 2 minutes?"

Jinx rolled her eyes again with a grin but agreed to follow you, very much glad to have learned her lesson at your side throughout the years.

》CAITLYN

She was ignorant towards your judgment from the start, especially as she was able to analyze very quickly that you weren't all you claimed you were. You were too smart, too fast, too aware of everything. It was clear that you already knew how her life story especially would come to an end. But that didn't mean that she'd always listen to you.

Caitlyn believed to know better, even going as far as to protest against your word, which she had learned to be fate itself. And sometimes she'd nearly get away with her life, and on others, you'd be the one to show up just in time to save her. It was embarrassing and at times even near humiliating, but you never judged her, just silently left every time she attempted to confront you.

And this time she had finally succeeded.

Now dressed in a formal uniform, she watched your still form stare out of a window in her estate, as though you weren't practically trespassing. But Caitlyn was used to that. "It's going to rain soon. I wonder if the construction workers will get done with the restoration on time today before the first drops fall." The navy haired woman came to stand next to you, ears finely tuned to your calming voice she had heard in her dreams and mind for so many years. It felt surreal to stand next to you at last.

"You already know the answer... but I think Mother will send out guards soon to retrieve them." Her mother, who had only narrowly escaped her death, if it wasn't for you. She had only gotten a little injured from falling debris, but that was all that happened. All of the councilors and people in the building had survived the Jinx attack. No grave injuries. All because you prevented it by throwing Jinx slightly off balance enough to make her shot not as precise.

"... Thank you." "For what?" The right answer would be absolutely everything, but she refrained, noting that you didn't seem keen on praise. You saw it as your job. As your duty to her for a reason unknown. "For saving my mother." That should do.

You nodded at her words in acknowledgment as your eyes spied Ambessa retreating with her troops in defeat. They were practicing chased away by the council since their help was unwelcome. Served them right for meddling with the business of other nations. You had exposed their ulterior motives in secret, and that's all it took for the tide to turn against them. "Just my duty." "I knew you'd say that... but I want to reward you for all you've done. If it wasn't for you... then I... I don't want to know what I would have become."

You glanced at her with an unreadable look in your eye, and that reconfirmed her suspicions regarding how deep she would have fallen otherwise. It's best not to think of it.

Humming to yourself in thought, you gave her a small smile. "Very well, if you insist... you can treat me to some fine tea and cookies." Caitlyn weakly mirrored your grin, relief filling her senses at you accepting her offer. She was worried you wouldn't. "Of course. Follow me." Linking your arms together carefully, you made your way through the dim halls.

A chuckle left your lips when it indeed began to rain.

[varpusvaras]

If someone ever asked Roy what Jason reminded him of, he would've said a cat.

A big, black, fluffy cat that would pretend to not even notice you for half a day, but would then proceed to flop right on top of you when you least expected it and leave you coated in fur.

A very cute, big, black, fluffy cat, of course, if Roy was being precise.

Yeah, that was his boyfriend.

His boyfriend, who was currently curled up on the bed like he truly was the cat he so reminded Roy about, his face pressed against Roy's thigh. Combined with the dimness of the room, it was almost enough to hide the fact that there was a large, nasty bruise covering half of Jason's face at the moment.

Almost.

"How did you even manage to get this?" Roy asked. It was mostly a rhetorical question at that point, just whispered out loud, because it was in the middle of the night and Jason was definitely ninety percent asleep already and was not going to give Roy a coherent answer. That was what one got after finishing up a two-days long mission and then deciding to instantly drive to the other side of the country, instead of staying put and resting after said two-days mission.

To be fair, if Roy was being completely honest, he did like Jason being home sooner than later. It wasn't a particularly big secret that Roy didn't hold much love for Gotham, after all, even if Jason still called the city home as much as he called their house home. He just...felt better when Jason was with him, especially after more grueling missions, and he was pretty sure that Jason knew it, even if they had never outright discussed it out loud.

Jason made a noise under his breath that quite honestly sounded like a kitten whining, and Roy had to bite his lip a little to not laugh at it. It would've been an affectionate laugh, of course, but better not risk it.

"Yeah, yeah." Roy ran his fingers through Jason's hair. "Mister always wearing a helmet. I'm gonna fix it up for you."

Jason made another noise, a softer one this time, and he settled further into the mattress as Roy continued to stroke his hair. Roy waited for a moment, then two, and when he was positive that Jason had fallen asleep, he slowly got up and made his way to the garage.

Despite being probably already bone-tired by arrival, Jason had still meticulously gone through their agreed homecoming routine. Lian knew about their identities, of course, and she was a smart girl, but all of the gear still belonged outside the main house. It had been Jason making most of the rules when it came to his own gear. He hated the thought of others touching it without his permission, and he especially hated even the idea of Lian touching it and somehow getting hurt. Sometimes it was like Jason was convinced that even looking towards any part of his gear would hurt Lian, which was something Roy felt like needed a licenced therapist to fully unpack. He did appreciate the care Jason displayed towards Lian, though, so he wasn't going to complain about it to Jason's face.

Thinking about Lian and Jason's face made Roy grimace. Jason didn't like letting Lian see him hurt, no matter how big or small. A bruise that was covering half of Jason's face was going to be hard to hide, though Roy knew that Jason would somehow be able to manage it. Painfully and by gritting his teeth, but he would.

Roy knew what it was all about. He wasn't stupid.

Roy flicked the lights on in the garage, before making his way to the cabinet Jason had claimed for himself. By this point, Roy had an open invitation to Jason's armor and weapons, as he was the only other person who knew how everything worked precisely. Roy was also pretty sure that Jason knew that Roy liked fixing things up for him, and he let him do it because it was an easier way to accept a display of affection than having to listen someone promise him everything, once again, while holding all the power to take their words back without a warning.

Roy went through the plan of action in his head while he unlocked the cabinet. He would need to fire up the workbench and get the electrical tools out in order to get the helmet fixed. Maybe he could draw up some plans how to make the front more durable while keeping it absorbant enough that it would still be the helmet taking the brunt of the hits and not Jason's head underneath it. It would take some time to figure out, but Jason would probably let him make him a new one if Roy just managed it. It would mean that the times of Jason having hard to hide-injuries would be lessened, after all.

Maybe he could manage to adjust the color, too, just to make it a little less vibrant. Roy was starting to seriously think that the helmet was beginning to act like the red capes in bullfighting, inviting more and more hits directly towards it simply because it was there. He wouldn't have been surprised if it really was so. Gotham was messed up, and the rogues playing a game of "who manages to break in the Red Hood's helmet and face first" sounded entirely plausible. This wasn't the first time Jason had come back sporting similar injuries, though usually they were either a little smaller, or Jason had had to stay in Gotham for longer and they were already fading by the time he got back.

Jason would most likely say no, though. The red was part of his brand at this point, it was meant to make an impression to anyone seeing it. Just Roy's luck that he had fallen for the theather kid who had not yet left the phase behind.

Not that Roy was ever going to say that to Jason. He was fully aware of the fact that he was the one running around with a bow, after all.

What a pair they made.

Roy smiled. What a pair, indeed, he thought, as he pulled the cabinet door open and proceeded to have Jason's helmet stare right at him from the upper shelf.

The helmet, which was very much not broken.

Roy stared at it for a good while. It was definitely the same helmet Jason had left with to Gotham. There was a small scratch on the paint, just unde the left lense, that Jason had meant to paint over but had not had the time yet. Roy had watched him pack it up with his own two eyes.

If Roy was anyone else, he would've been able to convince himself that there was probably a perfectly simple and harmless explanation. But Roy wasn't anyone else. Roy was who he was, and that was someone who had been fighting increasingly dangerous fights since he was a teenager, and who had seen harm being inflected over and over again and the marks it would leave behind.

Roy stared at the helmet. The helmet seemed to stare back at him, silently daring him to say it out loud.

Roy didn't say it. He closed the door and locked it back up, while something cold settled firmly at the bottom of his stomach.

He stood there for just a little longer, gathering himself, before he silently made his way out of the garage the exact same path he had walked in mere moments ago.

Lian was still asleep when Roy checked on her, and so was Jason when he slipped back into the bedroom. He stirred a bit when Roy laid down as well, not enough to wake up, but enough to turn towards Roy. Roy could see the bruise now in all of its glory, stretching across Jason's skin like a shadow.

Jason's hand was laying between them on the bed, and Roy laced their fingers together, gently and carefully.

Jason's hand was warm. It was enough to chase away some of the cold inside Roy, and he held onto it tightly.

[szqnxi]

Your number 1 fan (Part 3)

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

<<previous

It's Wednesday, and here you are, currently getting dolled up in the makeup room for your upcoming interview with the renowned Tv personality, Uwabami.

Your makeup artist withdraws the make-up brush from your face, offering you a warm smile, gesturing for you to look at your reflection in the mirror in front of you.

"Do you like it?" she inquired, gently moving your hair away from your face, allowing you to admire your reflection in the mirror.

"I do! You definitely need do this look for my upcoming tour" you exclaimed, utterly captivated by your reflection in the mirror. The make up artistry - the perfect eyebrows, the blush - perfect.

You swear you have never felt the prettiest in your entire life.

Right on time, your manager entered the room, looking visibly exhausted, with prominent dark bags under his eyes visible even from a mile away. He looked like he hadn't gotten a decent sleep in days.

"You look like shit"

"I'm aware" Shawn dismissibly replied, making his way towards the empty chair next to yours, collapsing into it with a heavy sigh before proceeding to open his tablet, resuming his work.

You picked up the untouched takeaway coffee on the vanity, and offered it to him. "Here. I think you need this more than me" you said.

He simply nodded and took a sip of the coffee. Time passed by, and before long, one of the production crew members called out to you, signaling that the interview was about to begin.

You patiently waited backstage, engaging in lighthearted conversations with a member of the production crew, passing time until the show started.

As the lights dimmed and the director shouted "action", Uwabami introduced herself, leading into the scripted lines, and as the cue was given, you confidently strode onto the set, ready to take your place on camera.

Talking with Uwabami has been nothing but pleasant. There was a natural, effortless chemistry between you both, as though you were just old friends catching up. There was no pressure or forced interactions, unlike other TV interviews you had experienced. It felt natural and comfortable.

You couldn't help but recall a particularly unpleasant interview where a famous TV host had the audacity to ask you an incredibly insensitive question, forcing you to put on a strained smile and sit there silently, as if he hadn't asked you the most offending question in your life.

"So, for my final question" your thoughts snapped back to reality, focusing on the host in front of you, who's wearing a grin on her face.

"When you were composing the song "Juno", did you perhaps have someone or anyone in mind while writing it?" she asked.

"Ooh, I like that one" you chuckled "I did" you grinned, mirroring hers "though I'll keep his identity a secret" you added with a cheeky giggle.

"What about a clue?"

"Hmm...let me see... Let's just say he's a pro hero"

"Ooh, but there are lots of pro heroes out there!" she laughed, turning towards the camera as though addressing the audience "How about we let them all guess?" She winked at the camera before continuing with the closing lines, bidding farewell to both the viewers and you, signaling the end of the set.

You stayed for a little while, engaging in a lighthearted conversation with Uwabami and other production staff, including the director, before retreating backstage to your make up room. There, both of Kim and Shawn were ready to leave, all packed up and set to go.

"So, who's driving? I don't see Mr. Smith anywhere" you questioned as the three of you reached the parking lot, noticing his absence. It was unusual for him not to accompany your makeup artist in the backstage while waiting for you to finish your shoot, especially as they typically engaged in their casual chatter while drinking take out coffee together.

"I'll be driving. Mr. Smith's daughter was in an accident, so I dismissed him for the day and gave him a whole week's paid leave" Shawn stated as he held open the car door for you.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow before getting in.

"What?" He asked, looking at you as you make yourself comfortable at the front passenger seat.

"Because I'm currently in a car with a sleep-deprived driver... I just want to get home in one piece" you teased , causing him to groan in surrender before starting the car.

During the ride, you talked about your forthcoming tour with your manager, while Kim informed you that she will be sleeping for the time being.

Thanks to him, all the necessary arrangements had been made, leaving only the security to be handled. While the venue had already provided security, the HPSC requirement was for at least one or two pro heroes to serve as additional guards for enhanced safety.

"I'm just waiting for them to call back and confirm. And don't worry, I specifically asked for him" he said, his gaze fixed on the road.

Shawn's phone rang. He swiftly pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to you, implying that you should answer the call as he was driving. You looked at the screen and it was as if the situation had called for it, the caller ID displayed the hero agency.

"Hello, this is Y/n speaking. My manager passed me the phone since he cannot answer the call at the moment. I presume this is the Hero Agency hired for the upcoming tour, correct?" you asked, awaiting a response from the other end of the line.

Speaking of the devil

You were only met with a long silence from the other line.

"Hello?" you repeated, only to be met with another silence followed by a brief hitch in the callers breathing before they suddenly ended the call.

What the hell?

Main Masterlist

Number 1 fan Masterlist

Note: Guess who answered the phone 🤭

Taglist: @v3n7s @yjploum @pikachuzhc @sirenitym @ghostswhoretbh @d1orhaz3 @sachikomwahxx

[rxqueenotd]

damnatio memoriae:

In the Roman world, damnatio memoriae was used to describe a range of actions taken against former leaders and their reputations. These actions included: defacing visual depictions, removing heads from public statues, chiseling names off inscriptions, and destroying coins.

summary: reader, who goes by ‘Prima,’ was raised by a powerful Roman consul, under the reign of Imperator Septimius Severus. When it comes time for his eldest son, Caracalla, to marry again, a chain of events is set off, changing the course of Prima’s life and the lives around her.

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

warnings: mentions of parental death, mentions of war, ancient rome as a warning all in itself.

notes: there’s a lot of backstory here but I promise it is all pertinent to the story! I really did my best to research and make sure to write something I’m proud of. The dates are 100% not correct and I also pulled characters from the show “Barbarians” on Netflix. Some of this is not historically accurate (for instance, their mother didn’t die till years later.) This idea, however, was born from A. Me being insane and B. Many sleepless nights. The events of this fic begin before Gladiator II and will not exclusively follow the movie’s timeline or chain of events (aka Caracalla’s brain isn’t fried in the beginning and no one important is dead… yet) also, big thanks to @trashmouth-richie for listening to me scream about this for months and @londonfog-chan for beta’ing and becoming a fast friend.

⟡ Imperator- Septimius Severus

⟡ Augustus- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus “Caracalla”

⟡ Caesar- Publius Septimius Geta “Geta”

I

Rome, Fall AD 205

“You have his favor, Prima,”

Varus had said, his words echoing in your mind like the toll of a distant bell. He spoke casually, the sun casting long shadows across the marble courtyard while the Imperator was being formally welcomed home by a group of high-born Romans, the elite nobility of the court.

“Mother, what did Varus mean by that?” you asked later that night, your voice muffled as you chewed a piece of bread at dinner. The flickering candlelight danced in the air, illuminating the empty chair across the table where your father should have been—his absence a perpetual reminder that Rome was his first wife, his first love, his everything.

“The Imperator favors you,” your mother began, her tone measured yet distant. “It is obvious that he has taken a special interest in you.”

Her words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken truths.

“Do you think the Augustus had his wife killed?” you questioned, your innocence shining through like pure snow under the midday sun.

Visibly annoyed, your mother sipped her wine, the deep red liquid swirling in the glass like her thoughts. She paused, searching for the right words to quell your endless questioning.

“Plautilla and her brother were exiled after their father’s death, which followed the confirmation of his treachery,” she said, her voice carrying an air of finality, as if she were divulging information that should be inherently understood, “No one is dead except the traitor.”

It was all she would give you, a riddle wrapped in a mystery, until you would later stumble upon the truth.

__________________________________________________________________

“Ari,” you whispered, pulling back the sheer curtain to reveal his figure, his back turned to you.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, joining him at the balustrade, looking out into the distance.

He shook his head, his expression somber.

“I’m being made prefect.”

He stood gazing longingly over the view of Palatine Hill, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his breastplate. As he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, holding a depth that mirrored the ocean on a sunny day. To call Ari German would only be half true. When Varus had taken him from the Cherusci tribe as a child, a mere eight years old, he was intended as a token of their submission to Rome. Raised in the image of Rome under the guardianship of a renowned general, Ari had found himself instead in the care of your mother, surrounded by slaves, servants, tutors, and nursemaids. An unmarried Roman general had neither the place nor the time to be a father. Ironically, despite these circumstances, Ari had molded himself into your life as naturally as the turning of the tides. His hair, dark as the endless night sky, was flecked with subtle highlights, and his muscles tensed beneath the fabric of his tunic. For all intents and purposes, Ari was the epitome of a Roman citizen, a Roman officer—tall, broad, with a face chiseled from marble. It only made sense that he stood guard of your household when your father was away, which, admittedly, was frequent.

“Wow,” you replied sarcastically, “shall I pretend to be shocked?” Your gaze lifted to meet his, a rueful smile playing on your lips.

“It is the natural order of things, is it not?”

Ari nodded, his silence a heavy cloak around him.

“Tell me,” you pressed on, “do you believe the young Augustus had his wife killed?”

“Why?” Ari’s eyes sparkled with a playful smile, “Are you afraid you’re next?”

You sighed, the weight of the world seeming to press down upon you. “What are our fathers planning?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted honestly, his voice low, “But I’m not sure either of us have a choice in the parts we must play.”

__________________________________________________________________

Babylon/Parthia, Spring AD 206

When the moment for travel arrived, a goat was sacrificed on the altar in honor of Neptune, its blood soaking the ancient stones. You, alongside Ari, your father, Varus, and two of your most trusted servants, then embarked on a ship bound for Parthia.

“I understand why you’re here,” you said, peering at Ari through the blur of his swaying figure as the ship rocked on a particularly rough set of waves, “But I don't understand why your father is involved.”

“Germania,” Ari began, leaning in to make himself heard over the sound of the sea, “He has been appointed governor.”

You shook your head, a mix of surprise and concern flickering across your face.

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

Ari nodded solemnly. “We’re leading three legions.”

Varus, despite his strengths, had always struggled with acknowledging his faults. When he had taken Ari from his home—where he was born to their leader, the Reik—he viewed it as a rescue. However, his decision to revoke the agreement that exempted the tribes from paying tributes to Rome had sparked rebellions.

“I assume you’ll accompany him once this brief meeting concludes?”

“No,” Ari replied, shaking his head. “Father will present his plans to the Imperator and update him on recent events. Afterward, he and I will journey to meet with the nearest legion.”

“What?” You couldn’t hide your astonishment, “You’re leaving me?”

“You’ll be assigned a new set of guards soon,” Ari reassured, though his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

You eyed Ari suspiciously just as Varus and your father descended the small set of steps, their gazes meeting yours expectantly.

Together, the two men had always been a force of nature. Varus, at the peak of his military career, had aligned with Septimius Severus when he seized power, claiming new territories in the name of the Imperator. A power vacuum had emerged following Commodus’s death, which your father exploited, advancing from the senate to being elected consul by the people—an office he maintained through each subsequent election. Where Varus led, your father inevitably followed, the bonds of their shared childhood—reared by the same nurses and tutors—unbreakably strong. It was only natural that the two of them would undertake this journey together—the culmination of their ongoing efforts to please the Imperator.

Upon your arrival in Parthia, the chaos unfolded before you, its impact muting your entrance. The once majestic city was a shadow of its former glory, stripped of its power and reduced to ruins.

Parthia had been devastated, its lands desecrated by the advance of the Roman army. Although your four-day voyage was free from conflict, your nerves raged, mirroring the tides after a fierce storm. Most of the Roman forces had moved northward, heavy with the spoils of war. This included hundreds of slaves and treasures beyond all imagination. Every village in their path had been ruthlessly flattened and set aflame. Every well poisoned, livestock slaughtered, the surviving Parthians–few and unfortunate– were mercilessly sent to meet their gods.

Formal greetings were promptly exchanged among the men. Nearby, two boys observed you intently. They were presumably the young Augustus, Caracalla, and his younger brother, Geta, who had not yet achieved the rank of his elder sibling, having only had the title of ‘Caesar’ bestowed upon him. You recalled meeting them years ago when their father had briefly governed Sicilia. All of you were mere children then, no older than six. Your father counseled as needed, allowing you to run freely with the two boys within the confines of the governor's villa under the strict eye of the nastiest nurse you had ever met. You had crossed the threshold of eighteen now, the elder brother barely a year your senior.

They stood an arm's length apart, arms crossed over their chests, eyes squinting as they scrutinized you from head to toe. You wondered how they hadn’t melted under the sun, their skin milk-white despite the unforgiving heat searing down.

As you approached the Imperator, you were taken aback when he grasped your hand and placed a chaste kiss on the back of it before you had even had a chance to bow your head.

“Prima,” he bellowed, his deep voice startling the servants behind you, “welcome to our humble camp.”

‘Humble’ was certainly a choice word. Even with half the army marching back towards Rome, numerous tents filled with officers, praetors, and generals were arranged in a grid-like formation along the wall that surrounded the city.

“Thank you, Imperator,” you replied with a smile. “It is my honor to be here.”

Next came a tour of the grounds and an explanation of the recent pillaging and destruction, led by Septimius with his two sons beside him and the rest of the men following. You were ushered away, escorted to where you would be sleeping, your servants trailing behind, pleasantly surprised to find your belongings had already been neatly arranged inside the elegant, yet functional, tent.

The antechamber was lit by two oil lamps, casting a warm glow that highlighted the tapestry emblazoned with your family's crest, a striking sight upon entering. The structure itself was supported by ornately carved wooden poles, strategically placed throughout the space. Fabric partitions divided the tent into designated areas for sleeping and dining, creating a sense of order and privacy.

A wooden bed, adorned with light bedding atop a plush feather mattress, promised comfort. Next to your sleeping quarters, a separate section was reserved for your servants, ensuring that both privacy and accessibility were maintained. Nearby, multiple chairs and folding tables were arranged, with the floor beneath them covered in luxurious animal skins.

"What do we do now?" asked Aeneas, your trusted servant and longtime friend.

You shrugged as you sat down on a chaise. "We wait."

__________________________________________________________________

Being seated between the two brothers at an early dinner was far from what you had expected. You knew they would be close, but having you sandwiched between them was less than ideal. As soon as you entered the room and saw them snickering, you could sense their mood. It had been years since you had been this close to either of them, but the memories of the insults hurled back and forth during your childhood were vivid. You quickly remembered the streak of cruelty that seemed to run deep in both brothers.

As a servant pulled out the chair for you, you smiled, bowed your head, and took your seat.

"How nice of you to finally join us," Geta remarked, his smile dripping with sarcasm as he took a modest sip of wine. Caracalla giggled beside you, prompting you to sigh.

"I came as soon as I was called," you assured him, picking up your glass for a sip.

"Brother, are you sure she wasn’t the servant? That slave they brought in was much better looking." Caracalla chimed in. At that moment, you knew exactly what game they were playing.

You huffed, but your smile never wavered.

"You know, the women in the palace snicker as you walk by. Caracalla, what exactly is a ‘penis aciculatus?’" you asked, maintaining a casual, laid-back smile.

"If you hadn't grown tits, I would’ve sworn you were a boy all this time," he retorted. "Perhaps you still are."

"And you would like that, wouldn’t you?" you spat back, leaving Caracalla speechless as Geta picked up the slack.

"Someone must tell the servants to stop feeding dogs at the table," Geta said as he grabbed your plate and handed it to the nearest servant.

"May I please have more olives?" you asked politely, receiving a nod from the servant who took your plate away. You sighed, relieved that a scene had been averted.

All three of you exchanged fake smiles, appearing to get along splendidly to the other men at the table, who were lost in their own conversations.

"I’m going to marry your father and have you both crucified," you smiled, letting out a faint laugh.

"Not if we kill you first," Caracalla retorted.

"I heard your father sent out a search party just to find someone willing to marry you, Prima," he added with a giggle.

"I’ve heard they had to hire servants of a certain height to follow you around just to reach things up high," you responded, eliciting a laugh from Geta, which in turn caused Caracalla to clench his fist, nearly rearing it back to land a punch in his brother’s direction.

“Prima,” Septimius called out, his booming voice cutting through the tension that was nearly turning physical between you and the brothers, “do you ride?”

“She does,” your father interrupted before you had the chance to respond, “I’ve always said she would have made an excellent charioteer in another life.”

Septimius smiled, nodding approvingly.

“Good, because there’s something I’d like to show you after dinner. A quick ride will get us there in no time.”

“Sounds excellent, Imperator,” you replied, offering him a genuine smile.

“‘Sounds excellent, Imperator,’” Caracalla mimicked in a high-pitched tone.

“No wonder your mother died,” you retorted calmly, “She probably couldn’t bear the thought of spending another moment with either of you.”

“Magae,” Caracalla hissed through clenched teeth, “You filthy little wench.”

You responded only with a smile, echoing his signature giggle back at him.

___________________________________________________________

Septimius rode at the center, astride his horse with Caracalla on his right and you on his left, flanked by a number of guards. The knowledge that the Praetorians had secured the surrounding blocks of Babylon, creating a protective bubble around the heart of the empire, did little to ease the knot of fear in your stomach. The possibility of a stray arrow, one capable of changing the fate of the empire, laid heavily on your mind as you rode through the town.

Caracalla was deep in conversation with his father about Alexander the Great, barely pausing for breath as the three of you approached the ornate building ahead.

“That building houses Alexander’s deathbed.” Septimius announced, slowing his horse.

His eyes sparkled as he glanced at Caracalla, offering him a glimpse of the past as if bestowing a wish upon him. You found it strange, recalling what little you knew of Alexander and his rise to the level of a god. Dismounting, Septimius assisted you down while Caracalla rushed ahead, his expression a mix of awe and fervor.

You wandered away from them towards the residential quarters of the palace, accompanied by two guards. The decor was as lavish as it was ancient, befitting a ruler though only governors had resided there for years. Entering a room, you stumbled upon a modest scene consisting of a bed raised on a three-step dais, a small tiled pool, and a simple podium. It was unremarkable, and you felt no urge to call out until Caracalla burst into the room, exclaiming, “This is it.”

“You like Alexander,” you observed, watching his reaction closely.

“No, I admire him,” he corrected sharply. “He expanded a small nation to rival the expanse of Rome in just thirteen years.”

“Julius Caesar also idolized him,” Septimius added, entering the room.

“And he was stabbed twenty-three times,” you blurted out impulsively.

Caracalla’s piercing gaze met yours, charged with an intensity that made the air around you feel heavy. Septimius smiled, as if you had made his point for him.

"Since you know everything, what do you know about Alexander?" Caracalla hissed, his eyes narrowing as he sized you up, testing your knowledge.

Septimius stood at the edge of the room, leaning against the doorway with baited breath, watching the exchange unfold.

"I know of his triumphs, his beginnings, his end," you began, your voice steady, "But I was always more fascinated by his mother, Olympias."

"They say she slept with a bed full of snakes." Caracalla interrupted with a dismissive wave.

"And she secured the throne for Alexander by orchestrating the death of his father and his young bride," you countered firmly.

"She had their newborn daughter dragged across a hot brazen iron oven. His wife slit her wrists and bled out in a warm bath because of her grief," Caracalla retorted, challenging your morality.

"Olympias ensured her son's legitimacy and handed him the empire on a silver platter," you responded, emphasizing her role in Alexander’s rise without highlighting her alleged brutalities.

"That's why I’ve brought you two here today," Septimius interjected, stepping forward and looking between you both. "Who we surround ourselves with is crucial—family is important, our legacy is important."

You exchanged a glance with Septimius, then Caracalla, absorbing the gravity of his words.

"The two of you will be married once we return to Rome," Septimius declared with a smile.

You quickly masked your surprise, bowing your head respectfully. Caracalla crossed his arms, his face contorting with disdain.

"I am grateful for the honor, Imperator."

"I am not marrying this witch, father," he spat vehemently.

Septimius gave you an almost apologetic look. "Prima, please leave us."

You exited as requested, their escalating argument fading behind you. Caracalla’s insult hung in the air.

"She probably sleeps with snakes!"

"Enough!" Septimius’s voice thundered.

Stepping outside, you exhaled deeply, not realizing you had been holding your breath.

Caracalla brushed past you, his shoulder bumping yours.

"Witch," he muttered under his breath as he mounted his horse.

"I assure you, the only snake I will ever lay with will be you," you shot back sharply.

For a moment, a smirk flickered across Caracalla’s face, almost pleased by your retort. But then his expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed the reins and rode off.

⟡ latin translations ⟡

⟡‘penis aciculatus’- prickly penis

⟡ magae- witch

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, just let me know.

dividers by @ghoulbloggerrr

[howlsofbloodhounds]

The Effects of his Captivity:

I’m yapping as I go so things might be repeated and disjointed sjsheoeb

The effects of solitary confinement for 17–20 years, compounded by erasure from existence, being forgotten by loved ones, and surviving only due to the power of six human souls, would likely devastate Color on every level—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

The scar from the human’s killing blow and the busted skull would constantly remind him of his defeat and the cost of his decision.

The scar across Color’s chest, combined with a busted skull and the fact that his body is only held together by the souls of the fallen children, would cause constant, likely debilitating pain.

The pain would not only be physical but might also affect his nervous system, creating a sense of heightened sensitivity, numbness, or confusion in certain areas of his body.

The missing eye socket and the physical instability caused by the six souls could result in constant discomfort, with his body held together by an unnatural force.

The loss of one eye results in limited vision, leading to disorientation or an inability to perceive his environment fully. His reliance on other senses might have intensified during his long isolation.

Though his body remains animated through the human souls, the sustained trauma would lead to deterioration in his physical form. Despite being “alive,” his body could be slowly degrading, leading to a weakened, frail state, susceptible to further injury or collapse if the soul power fades.

Without natural healing mechanisms, he feels fragile and unstable, living with the fear that even a minor incident could cause him to dust.

Isolation and lack of physical activity would lead to a decline in motor skills. Even with the souls sustaining him, his body would feel awkward or disconnected from his movements due to the prolonged lack of practice.

Being erased and forgotten would create a sense of identity erosion. He would question his own existence, asking, “Am I even real if no one remembers me?”

The replacement by Undyne would deepen this feeling, leaving him with thoughts of worthlessness or expendability. Being erased from existence and replaced as his brother’s sibling could shatter Color’s sense of self.

He might feel like a hollow shell, disconnected from his past, his identity, and even from the idea of family. This loss of identity could lead to deep confusion and a constant struggle to find meaning or purpose in his existence.

Prolonged isolation often leads to hallucinations, disorganized thoughts, and paranoia.

With only Gaster for company, the lack of meaningful interaction and emotional support would likely exacerbate feelings of detachment from reality.

With no one to communicate with besides Gaster, Color would experience intense loneliness. The human need for social connection becomes exaggerated, possibly leading to an almost desperate mental state.

His mind becomes fragmented, with periods of dissociation or even delusions where he might question his own existence, identity, or even whether he truly deserves connection.

He may mentally replay the moment of his decision to sacrifice himself and the souls, analyzing it endlessly and second-guessing if it was the right choice. This fixation could lead to rumination, spiraling into depression and self-blame.

While in solitary confinement, Color’s mind would likely sharpen its focus on survival. This could manifest in an almost obsessive attention to maintaining his existence, perhaps in unhealthy ways like fixation on the six souls that keep him alive or obsessive thoughts about what could have been.

His mental state would likely shift from coping mechanisms to raw, desperate survival instincts as time passes.

The combination of isolation, guilt over his past actions, and the fear of fading into nothingness could cause Color to experience significant paranoia. He might fear being forgotten again, rejected by any potential new connections, or being discarded once again.

This paranoia could cause him to avoid making meaningful bonds, driven by the constant anxiety that no one would ever remember or care for him.

Knowing the six souls are tied to his existence, he feels profound guilt over using their power to remain animated, questioning whether his survival is justified.

The choice to sacrifice himself and the six children to save his timeline would weigh heavily on Color’s psyche. The emotional burden of having made that decision—likely seen as a selfish act, despite its altruistic intent—could plague him with guilt, making it difficult to reconcile his actions with his current state of existence.

The scar, both physical and symbolic, would constantly remind him of the lives lost and his perceived failure.

With no outlet for his feelings, Color could harbor intense anger, not only at the people who forgot him but also at the world that allowed him to fall into such a fate.

This anger might turn inward, manifesting as self-loathing or projection of his frustration onto Gaster or even his past self. He could experience periods of violent outbursts, fueled by the intense emotional overload.

The most defining emotional toll would be a profound feeling of abandonment. Color would be haunted by the belief that no one cares about him anymore, having been forsaken not only by his family but by the very timeline that once needed him.

This abandonment would likely result in a deep sadness and longing for connection, especially with those he once loved. He wonders if he is fundamentally unlovable or unworthy of remembrance.

This loneliness could manifest in a desperate need for validation once freed, making him overly dependent on relationships (e.g., Killer, Delta, Epic, potentially Abyss, Gaster especially.)

Being forgotten by his loved ones, replaced as an older sibling, and erased from existence leave him grieving not just for his relationships but for his very sense of self.

He may also mourn the timeline he tried to save, feeling like his sacrifice was in vain if it resulted in this outcome.

He could harbor anger toward the human for putting him in this position, toward Gaster for not being more helpful in the Void, and even toward himself for making the choice to sacrifice himself.

This anger could fuel a determination to prove his worth or, conversely, lead to a sense of bitterness and hopelessness.

In the face of overwhelming despair, Color might latch onto a mission or role (e.g., helping people, trying to rebuild his identity) to feel meaningful again. His fear of being forgotten may make him try to be indispensable to others, risking burnout or exploitation.

After escaping the Void, Color developed an intense fear of being alone again, leading to overattachment to those who show him kindness, like potentially Delta, Epic, etc. He goes to extreme lengths to stay connected, even if it puts him in harm’s way.

The scar, the damaged skull, and the missing eye feel like visible reminders of his failure. He struggles with feeling grotesque or unworthy of acceptance.

his own suffering make him highly empathetic toward others in pain, particularly those who feel abandoned or forgotten, like Killer. This shared understanding make him a deeply loyal and supportive ally.

The lingering guilt and despair may cause him to devalue his own life, making him reckless in dangerous situations. He might see his survival as unearned and act with disregard for his safety.

The isolation, paired with the trauma of being forgotten, erased, and replaced, likely resulted in Color being emotionally fragile, mentally fractured, and physically deteriorating.

It’s also worth taking into account if Color remembers everything about Gaster again or not, considering that Gaster fell into the Core (was implied to have jumped) and shattered, being forgotten (but not replaced like Color was) by everyone, meaning Sans may not have known completely who Gaster was when he first fell in.

This could result in intense identity confusion and disorientation, because Color holds two dual memories; one where Gaster was present, and one where he wasn’t and didn’t exist.

This could even lead to moments of intense confusion, anger, and fear when one moment he’s talking to Gaster but the next day he’s being comforted and hel by a complete stranger he can’t remember the name of.

His identity felt like something slipping away, with his desperate need for connection turning into a hollow, burning desire. These long years shape him into someone who is deeply mistrustful of others, fearful of being abandoned again, and increasingly haunted by his past mistakes when he finally leaves the Void and perhaps his own timeline.

Prolonged isolation can lead to auditory/visual hallucinations, particularly if Color’s mind tries to fill the void of human interaction. He might perceive the voices of the six souls or even imagine people from his past trying to reach out to him.

The blurred line between reality and memory could lead to moments of psychosis, where Color struggles to trust his own perceptions.

Given that in the caring short, color was all too willing to accept the possibility that he might’ve been seeing and hearing things and gaster is concerned that color was “talking to someone”—makes me think it’s really not a stretch to think that Color likely experienced periods of psychosis in the Void. Seeing and hearing things that aren’t there, feeling things.

I’m thinking the Human, the six human souls, probably Papyrus. If he is aware of what’s going on outside the Void, he possibly hallucinates Ivory/Undyne. he maybe hallucinates stuff about Gaster too, saying and doing things Gaster didn’t actually do.

he could also hallucinate that he’s dusting, cracking and dying, since it appears he probably would’ve died if the souls hadn’t kept him alive (and then later Gaster.)

Would also make sense if he’s hallucinated things like Undyne deliberately and knowingly replacing him, resulting in emotional anger, betrayal, hurt, jealousy—even if he logically knows the things he saw and heard weren’t real, and that Undyne doesn’t even know who he is anymore, he struggles to accept and realize it emotionally.

Without consistent access to nourishment (magical or otherwise), Color’s body might develop long-term issues like fatigue, atrophy, or brittle bones, especially if his skeletal structure is already prone to fragility.

Since Color has only one functioning eye, the prolonged isolation and lack of resources would worsen issues like eye strain or headaches, especially if he spent significant time in the dark or staring at the infinite void.

Lack of movement and injuries from past experiences (like scars from battles or trauma) could lead to persistent joint or nerve pain. The stress of isolation might also amplify his perception of physical pain.

The Void’s timeless nature likely eliminates a natural day-night cycle, leading to chronic insomnia or fragmented sleep. This, combined with emotional stress, could result in long-term physical exhaustion and cognitive impairment.

Being erased from existence and forgotten by everyone he cared about would challenge Color’s sense of self, potentially leading to derealization (“Is this real?”) and depersonalization (“Am I real?”).

His fragmented sense of identity, already influenced by the six souls, would likely worsen as he struggles to distinguish himself from the traits and voices of the absorbed souls, if he can hear them.

The lack of stimulation in the Void might cause memory issues, difficulty concentrating, and slowed processing speeds. He could struggle to focus or retain new information, especially after being released.

Being forgotten by everyone would reinforce a sense of worthlessness, as if his existence didn’t matter. At his worst and lowest moments, this could lead to chronic self-doubt, difficulty asserting himself, and a tendency to self-sabotage, believing he doesn’t deserve to be remembered or loved.

Being trapped in the Void with Gaster might lead Color to view existence as fragile and easily erased. He could develop an obsession with permanence, fearing that any connection or achievement could be erased just as easily as his past.

The loss of his family, friends, and timeline created a devastating sense of isolation, leaving Color craving connection while also fearing abandonment.

This might result in a desperate need to form bonds once freed, even if those bonds are unhealthy. Difficulty trusting others, as he fears they might leave or forget him again.

Knowing someone else, Undyne, took his place in his family create deep insecurities. He fears that even if he reconnects with Papyus, he won’t need or want him back. This could manifest as a reluctance to reach out to people he once cared about.

Clinging to anyone who shows him kindness, even at the expense of his own well-being. Overcompensating to prove his worth, becoming overly self-sacrificial in relationships.

While Color may not initially recognize it, he could harbor deep resentment toward his family for forgetting him, even though it wasn’t their fault. Toward the universe or fate for placing him in the Void and taking away his life. Toward Gaster for being his only companion but unable to provide meaningful connection.

Color would likely cling to memories of his timeline, romanticizing his past relationships and home. However, these memories might also bring deep pain, as they highlight everything he’s lost.

With Gaster his only companion, Color likely formed a complex bond with him, oscillating between gratitude for his presence and anger at being trapped with him.

Gaster’s cryptic nature frustrates Color, making him feel even more isolated, as Gaster does not fully understand or validate his emotions.

If Gaster provided guidance, Color might cling to him as a surrogate figure of authority, even if the relationship was unequal or strained.

Alternatively, Gaster’s enigmatic personality could exacerbate Color’s paranoia, making him question Gaster’s intentions or reliability.

After escaping, Color might constantly watch for signs that people are about to abandon or forget him again, leading to heightened anxiety and paranoia. He might try to make himself indispensable to others, fearing that if he isn’t needed, he’ll be forgotten.

While Color craves connection, he might avoid deep relationships at first, believing they’ll only end in rejection or loss. Guilt and feelings of unworthiness might lead him to push people away or avoid opportunities that could bring him happiness in the beginning.

Eventually he may surrounding himself with lots a connections and community, caring for each one and desperately not wanting to be alone again—finding the pain of being alone outweighs the potential pain of rejection and loss.

He knows many people but he often avoids talking about himself too much—possibly feeling that it’s pointless to try and explain, or more likely, not having the words to explain. Not knowing how to word it, how to explain in a way others could understand or relate to.

[antianakin]

I recognize that these are very questionable things for Padme to have done, and I call it out when I talk about her quite often, so I don't deny that these choices on Padme's part CAN be interpreted as Padme being... somewhat darker.

And I do personally believe that Padme's choice to be with Anakin despite the obvious red flags in AOTC was intended to be seen as a selfish choice on her part, that her feelings for him (or, perhaps more accurately, for what he REPRESENTED to her) overrode her morals. So it's not like I think the narrative doesn't represent her with flaws ENTIRELY, but I don't know that I'd say that the narrative itself represents her as DARK.

Padme spends a lot of her time being nice, being sweet and kind, and when she's not doing that, she's often off making big impassioned speeches about how they shouldn't go to war or about justice and things like that. She is very much represented as, generally, morally GOOD, and morally BETTER than many of the people around her.

In TCW, she often got turned into an action Barbie of sorts, either fighting the good fight in the Senate or fighting the good fight in the streets somewhere. She's the one who goes to try to get the Separatists to talk about peace, she's one of the Senators involved in whatever summit is happening on Mandalore with the Separatists, she's the one who insists that Ahsoka should learn more about politics, so on and so forth.

So while you do not personally care for some of the decisions she makes regarding Anakin and the way she chooses to ignore or brush aside some of his behaviors (and I don't think you're WRONG to dislike them, I obviously also personally dislike them and I think that the narrative does in some ways question her decision and expects the audience to do so as well), I don't think it is accurate to claim that Padme is DARK and certainly not that the narrative expects you to see her as dark.

Padme makes some questionable decisions, yes, she makes some SELFISH decisions, yes, and those decisions do ultimately lead Anakin to find ways to excuse away his actions, but I also don't believe Padme intends for that to be the outcome of her choices. When she tells Anakin "To be angry is to be human" she's hoping that he'll calm down and figure himself out and that this will be a one-off event. Natalie Portman claimed that she played that scene as Padme sort-of feeling like she wants to SAVE him with her love, that she RECOGNIZES his anger has led him to do dangerous things, but that she believes she can fix him with kindness. While you can question that belief, it's clearly coming from a good place and a desire to help Anakin be BETTER rather than an intentional disregard for Tusken lives.

You can likely apply a similar thought process to why Padme reacts the way she does to Order 66. She can barely believe that Anakin WOULD do something like that (with the Tuskens, she sees how the Larses speak about the Tuskens and so she can understand that there's a clear hostility between the Tuskens and the human settlers that Anakin likely experienced himself, and the Tuskens DID capture an innocent unarmed woman and tortured her to death, so they've clearly done something pretty heinous that provoked Anakin's ire; but with the Jedi, NEITHER of those things are true since Anakin SHOULD be on good terms with the Jedi and they haven't done anything to specifically earn this kind of treatment from Anakin). She goes to Mustafar just to try to clear things up, knowing that Anakin is capable of ruthlessness, but hoping he isn't capable of this kind of BETRAYAL, and clearly recognizing that she might have to do some damage control again. You can see her switch from just asking him to deny what he did to trying to "save him" with love and kindness again, hence the option of just running away. It's only once Anakin refuses that kind of comfort that she starts to back away saying he's going down a path she can't follow. But even that line has been argued to be more of a WARNING than a THREAT, another entreaty for Anakin to come back to her rather than an ultimatum.

And you can tell that Padme IS horrified by what he did to the Jedi, it DOES bother her on a moral level, but she has invested so much of herself into this relationship that she can't really let go of it any more than Anakin can in some ways. She is not without her flaws. But I don't see Padme committing her OWN genocide to save Anakin. The closest she gets is in TCW when she chooses to trade Grievous for Anakin, but this is a choice that's backed up by both Jar Jar and the Gungan leader (more accurately, they literally convince her INTO IT when Padme hesitates over making the trade).

Padme isn't dark in canon. She is flawed. There's a difference.

What I WANT when I say I'd like Padme to have gone dark is to see Padme be CORRUPT. One of the ways I think the Anidala relationship storyline in AOTC could've been helped was if we saw more of Padme being politically corrupt so that her choice to be selfish with Anakin felt more in line with her stated morals. Perhaps she's not necessarily out there murdering people, but she's not above, say, taking bribes or things like that. She's not a perfectly pure politician who always fights for what's right. This would perhaps make her a simpler character, less complex and nuanced, but I also don't find that there was enough time or space for Padme's complexity and nuances to be explored in a way that really made a lot of sense, so instead of being complex she's just sort-of contradictory. You find her "sociopathic" because her morals and motives seem to vacillate wildly depending on what the scene requires of her, rather than being more clear and coherent from one scene to the next.

So, yeah, I think Padme can get a LOT darker. I think you could really look at whether Padme would've ultimately gone along with what Anakin would've asked of her if she'd survived Mustafar or if she'd never GONE to Mustafar. What would she have done if Anakin had made her an Empress? How much would she have allowed and how desensitized might she become to certain atrocities over time? Would she ever get to a point where she didn't just allow murder, but actually ASKED for it? Could she be pushed to feel like it was necessary for one reason or another? If Anakin made her feel like this was her perfect dream, or that her family was being threatened, would she be willing to defend it with oppression and murder? Would she start to maybe enjoy the power she'd been granted as an Empress, would it start to change her to someone very different from who she'd been before she married Anakin? Would her parents and her sister and her nieces even recognize her when they saw her in broadcasts anymore?

Come on, we can get more creative than just... what's in the films. Making her darker and more morally corrupt is a way to make her more likable and more coherent. Maybe she's not quite as against dictatorships as she thought she was, maybe her frustrations with the Senate and the Corporate Alliance are starting to tear down the passionate young Queen that fought for her people's freedom. Maybe she feels like she IS fighting for people's freedoms still, but she's willing to do a heck of a lot more to get it. Maybe she's far more sympathetic to the Separatist side of things than she is in canon and nearly lets them win a few times because... what if. What if they DID just burn it all down and start again? Would it truly be so bad?

THAT'S what I mean when I say I want her darker. I don't just want a young romantic woman getting swept up in what she thinks is an epic romance that she's willing to believe that her love can fix a dangerous man just because he says things to her like "I'm haunted by the kiss you should never have given me." I want someone who is attracted to this dangerous man because she's not truly all that different from him and she's already slipping down her own slope towards darkness. I want a Padme who's already made some moral concessions in the name of justice or freedom and figured out how to sleep at night still. I want a Padme who is willing to achieve a victory at nearly any cost. I want a Padme who is perhaps not all that devastated by her handmaiden's death because, well, that's what she's for isn't it? I want a Padme already becoming desensitized to things that would've appalled her ten years ago and Anakin's shaking simmering rage about the state of the world echoes her own.

Characters that would be improved if they were darker, more evil, or morally corrupt:

Ahsoka Tano

Satine Kryze

Padme Amidala

Characters that would NOT be improved if they were darker, more evil, or morally corrupt:

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Leia Organa

Mace Windu

Yoda

Luke Skywalker

[candyswirls]

Space Marine Cuddle Pile Pt 4

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Writing Master post

Cuddly boys are back! Come join in the pile!

@lazywriter-artist @wolf-feathers12

Imagine:

A chaplain sitting on the floor. One Astartes leaning against him. Another rests their head on his lap. A third rests again the Chaplains back. He has his arms around the two marines he can reach. They witnessed their brother torn apart by daemons then be possessed. They had to grant him the Emperor’s mercy. It is the chaplain’s job to comfort and guide them.

A very disgruntled Ad Mech. They’d been warned. Several times. They’re drinking. Don’t go in there. You won’t be able to do any work. Yet they brushed it off. Now they were pinned against a Space Wolf’s chest, the arm of one and the leg of another on top of them. They all drooled snd snored loudly as they curled up with one another. The Ad Mech was stuck there for a bit. They would not be finishing their tasks anytime soon. The one whose chest they were on wrapped his arms around them and sleepily nuzzled their head.

A Sanguinary Priest holding onto a blood Angel that experienced the Red Thirst for the first time. Comforting the battle brother as he cries for the terror of it or if he caused any casualties.

A Drukhari is absolutely mortified. What they initially thought was an attack was not. They stand there, stiff as a board and utterly confused and not sure if they should be disgusted or not. The warband of chaos marines they had been with suddenly surrounded them then plopped themselves on the floor and wrapped their arms around each other. Drukhari in the middle. Is… is this some new… kind of torture? Psychological warfare?? It’s so warm and they seem.. happy?? These are the same marines they had flailed people with not even hours earlier and now they were doing… this.

The Lion and Guilliman have just reunited. There’s been official ceremony between both of their legions. Speaking to inquisitors and imperial high lords. Then the paperwork. Throne the paperwork. Then a feast. It’s been so much but now… it’s just the two of them. The only moment they’ve had since finding each other again. There’s so many unspoken emotions. Both positive and negative. The two brothers stare at each other, weary of what the other will do. Yet there is relief. Relief of no longer being alone. Neither can seem to find the words so they go off of instinct. The longing to embrace and be embraced. The two hug, standing in silence. There’s nothing that action can’t speak for in this moment. Resting heads against each other, arms tight and fully encompassing the other. The imperium was slowly rebuilding. There were so many enemies. But it was okay. They weren’t alone. They were brothers. They’d support each other.

Every so often an “unlucky” custodian ends up surround by imperial fists. There’s no cause for alarm or defensive stance though. The Custodian just sighs and allows the Fists to lead them to where they’ve strategically set up various blankets, pillows, mattresses, and tapestries. Armor racks await near it to be used. All remove their armor and snuggle up close to the Custodian. Custodes are bigger than Space Marines. Being held by one feels safe and a bit like being held by a Primarch. It doesn’t happen too often and there’s always at least one custodian who will oblige. Plus, holding marines like babies is cute to them. The Sisters of Silence said so.

The invasion had been stopped. Carnage of tyranids lay everywhere. There’s one lone space marine that is in your village. Cut off from their squad as they defended you and your people. He waits patiently for his brothers to find him. You go up and place an arm over his, wishing to comfort him. This is what led to him lying on the ground with as many villagers he can hold. Since he saved you, you decide not to question it.

The Ravenguard have a set room for cuddle piles. It’s lovingly referred to as the nest. The softest blankets and pillows possible. Shiny objects decorate the walls and floor. It’s very well taken care of. No armor allowed in to prevent crushing anything or tearing fabric. You better have cleaned yourself up and gotten all that grime off of you before you step in. The chaplain is watching. It seems small but so many ravenguard can fit in there like sardines in a can. Curled up in blankets and around each other. Don’t tell Kayvaan but some marines have actually forgotten where their room is because they always sleep in here.

The Emperor claimed he had no regrets. But now he most certainly had one. He lay there, dying and fading away. Sanguinius’s body is off to one side and the body of Horus to the other. He thinks back to the vow he made. He wouldn’t get attached to his sons. It caused weakness. He would not hug or embrace them. This was too important. Yet now his heart ached. He wished he could have held them all at once in his arms when they were babies. To have greeted them with an embrace. Call them all to his room and roost around his bed as he held them. He wished he had. At least once. Especially the ones now dead. Two and eleven included. He had no strength left. He couldn’t crawl to the two bodies near him and hold them. After all, he was a cuddly man by nature. The Astartes and primarchs all got it from somewhere.

Even after turning to chaos, Fulgrim had days where memories and emotions overwhelmed him. Sending him into deep melancholy. It was these days that N’Kari would wrap themselves around him and clasp their arms around him. Have him surrounded by soft warmth. Some days he just wanted to be held.

A few orks once spotted a space marine cuddle pile. It must be some sort of strategy or trick. It seemed to make those beaky gits fight better. They don’t know its purpose or what it’s for but they attempt their own cuddle pile. The biggest lays down first then the others and finally the gobbos. It’s silent for a few moments as they try to figure out what it does. One snorts and struggles to hold in laughter. It’s followed by snickering and hushing. It’s another that breaks first. It’s now just a big pile of laughing and giggling shrooms.

[rebelliousstories]

A Thief and An X-Man

Relationship: Remy LeBeau/Gambit x Reader

Fandom: X-Men

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 2,738

Main Masterlist: Here

X-Men Masterlist: Here

Summary: Southern charm is a thing. Something that Remy LeBeau has taken advantage of over the years. All it took was one little X-Man to throw him off his rhythm apparently…

How everyone found themselves in their own current predicament, only the universe knows. The tomfoolery that had followed them during their journey was like something straight out of a superhero book.

Remy panted and hugged his side as he rested against the brick wall behind him. His partner in crime, albeit a reluctant one, mirrored his actions against the other wall of the alleyway. She was glaring hard in between her pants in an attempt to catch her breath.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you Cajun?” There were shouts and the pounding of footsteps getting closer and closer.

“What can I say, chere? I like pretty things.” The weight of the jewels in his pocket weighed down under her gaze.

“We’re being chased because you couldn’t keep your greedy little hands off of stuff that doesn’t belong to you!” Her words were almost drowned completely out by the pounding of footsteps.

Making a split second decision, Remy grabbed her hand and began to haul the woman towards a fire escape that was already pulled down. She was confused, but faced with the possibility of the men that were chasing them catching up? She would take the fire escape with the thief. As soon as they had made it up onto the roof of whatever building this was, Remy leaned over the edge to get a look at their personal mob that now ran by the building and alleyway they had disappeared into. With a smirk, he laid down on the cool tiles below.

“We safe now,” she questioned, almost ready to run again.

“I wouldn’t be layin’ down if we weren’t. Now would I, chere?” His eyes slipped closed as he relaxed as much as he could.

“Oh, of course. Because I should be trusting the person who got us into this mess, to be honest and truthful when he is a known Thief, to get us out of this mess. Wolverine needs to come and extract me right now.” Her grumbling was followed by the sound of her trying to use her transponder. With a frustrated groan, it clattered to the ground when it would not work.

For three days, she had been stuck in Louisiana with the leader of the Thieves Guild. A mission that she had been sent on alone to help the X-Men get a relic that needed to be kept out of the wrong hands. Had they been able to do it solo, they would have. But the Thieves were the only people who had made it to where they needed her to go, and made it back out. Thus, an unlikely alliance was made. And from that point forward, she had been subjected to the rugged charms of the one they call Gambit.

From the second she walked up to him, she had been the focus of his flirtations. Maybe it was the fact that she was a new pretty face for him. Or maybe it was that fact that she was “forbidden fruit” being an X-Man. Whatever it was, for the past three weeks, she had been subject to every one liner and flirty comment.

In all honesty, she did not mind the banter that they usually had. It was better than being with someone that did not talk much, like a certain X-Man she knew. But it was annoying once he got into a flirtatious mood.

“Ooo, chere. Did it hurt when ya fell from heaven? You look so angelic.”

“Shut up, Cajun.”

“Here, let Gambit take care o’ dat for ya. Ain’t no reason to sweat your pretty brow.”

“If Gambit don’t give me back my tools, I’m not gonna sweat my brow over putting him down.”

It was like this for three days. Any chance he got, he took. She could see that he was just doing it to get a rise out of her, since she refused to be another notch on his belt. Even though some times, she could almost swear there was something genuine about the affectionate quips he made. A sharp bark pulled her from her thoughts and brought her attention to the transponder that was still down by her feet. Careful not to step on it, she opened it to be met with the authoritative voice of a certain Canadian calling her name.

“Where have you been? You were supposed to check in an hour ago, bub.” He was upset, that was for sure. But after all these years, she could hear through the layers to his tone and knew it was just because he cared for his team like his own family.

“Wolverine, I’m fine. We ran into a snag but we should be getting back on track soon. The communicator wouldn’t work earlier or I would have checked in at the appropriate time,” came her retort. A groan trailed into a sigh on the other end of the line.

“Just be safe, kid. Let me know when you get the relic. We’ll be waiting to extract you when you need it.” His voice lowered in volume, and his tone shifted.

“Will do, Wolvie. Just gotta get this Cajun to actually get me to the place, then we’ll be on our way home.” With that, the two X-Men signed off from each other. She sat there for a moment longer as she began to rub her temples. The evening breeze was welcome against her flushed face.

“So you and da Wolverine, huh?” Gambit’s sudden ask brought her out of her head quick.

“What? Me and him? No, god no. We just work well together. He’s the one that got me into the school. Got me into the X-Men,” she stood, and looked around the night sky that was sprinkled with lights. “You gonna take me where I need to go, or do I need to find another thief to do it?”

“Oh, you wound me, chere. Suppose if ya did that, I could call another X-Man to grab the item with me instead.” He teased, finally rising to his feet.

With fluid movements, like that of a skilled ballet dancer, Remy looked towards the streets again. The mutant dubbed them safe enough, and began his descent down the same fire escape that he had them go up on. She followed after him, always maintaining a bit of distance between them as they went closer and closer to where they needed to go.

A well lit mansion greeted the two mutants after a while. This was the house that she had been searching for. She was finally here. Once again, she followed Gambit’s lead. After all, he and his guild made it out of here before with their pockets loaded. They could do it one more time.

Gambit caused a minor explosion on one of the windows in the back of the building making her flinch as she expected the commotion to begin. And yet, there was nothing. No alarms, no dogs barking or humans shouting. He turned back to the stunned woman with nothing short of a pompous smirk on, before he climbed through the window. She took his hand to help stabilize her while she was slipping through the opening.

They had ended up in the west wing of the mansion, only a few doors down from the room that they needed to go to. She had no time to be stunned at how efficient this mutant was seeing as he was already grabbing her hand to pull her through the house. Their journey was cut short when they spotted guards walking towards them in the hallway. Remy tucked them both against a wall that was out of sight, but knew they did not have long. Scanning around, he did not see a spare room or broom closet. He tried not to show the panic on his face, but he could feel his heart speeding up.

“They not supposed to be here, chere. We gotta go back out.” But when he tried to leave, the sounds of quiet conversation and boots on the hardwood floor were far too close now.

“Go with me,” was all the warning that the Cajun was given. In an instant, she made him press her against the wall. What he did not expect even more than that, was the fact that she had him engaged in a full lip lock. Stunned did not even begin to describe what he was feeling. Here this woman was, kissing him voluntarily, after spending the last three days shutting him down at every chance.

Losing himself in the moment that he wished would never end, Remy kept one of his hands on the wall near her head, while the other went to the dip of her waist. Her hands came up and pressed him even closer by the nape of his neck. This was a dream. A wonderful, beautiful dream that he did not want to wake from. Unfortunately, that was not in the cards for him. Right as he was truly enjoying the moment, a wolf whistle caught his attention. But she did not let him turn around. Instead, she pressed his face into her neck while she shouted at the guards that had finally rounded the corner.

“Cad é? Cad atá tú ag féachaint air?” Now that was a language Remy had never heard spoken. His confused face was stuck in the crook of her neck, while he felt her shooing the men away. Apparently, they were just as confused as he was, but left without complaint. As soon as they were away from the par of mutants, she pushed Remy back a bit.

“Now, where in da world is dat language from, chere? Gambit ain’t never heard nothin’ like it in his whole life.” He was a bit out of breath but it was understandable.

“I used to go visit my grandmother in Ireland when I was a kid. She made me fluent in Gaelic.” She was just as out of breath as him, but neither called attention as to the reason why.

They both sat there for a moment, not moving from their spots where they were oh so close to one another. This was the closest they had been physically the entire time they had been working together. And it was breaking down barriers that had been put in place for their own sanity and safety.

“Let’s get going before someone else catches us and we can’t get out of it as easily,” she stated breathily. For her own sake, she needed to do something, and soon before she could not stop herself. Remy nodded to himself, to confirm that he had heard her or to shake himself out of his own stupor, who knows. But soon, they were back on track with him grabbing her hand and leading them to the room once more.

Gambit made quick work of picking the lock, and then they were inside. Encased in glass was a small pendant and necklace. Unassuming at first, but they knew better. This one little artifact was responsible for so much suffering around the world, and more of it if they did not get it out of non-mutant hands. Remy approached the glass case and looked for a way to get it open without disturbing it too much. But the sound of glass shattering spooked him, made him jump back from the shards.

“You were taking too long.” She shrugged, turning back to look at the pendant. Pulling out her own case for the necklace, she tried very hard not to touch the jewel in the center. Once it was secured, Remy did another look out to make sure that the coast was clear.

“Let’s get going, chere. Don’t want no unwelcome guests taggin’ along now.” The two mutants slipped out the same way that they entered. It was such a shock for her, not having any hangups during a mission. Usually it was every chance the universe got to make something go wrong, it did. So to have one go this smoothly was a welcomed change of pace.

They fled into the night before them, and did not look back until they were safe in the heart of New Orleans once more. Lights, music, and conversation drowned out any and all thoughts they had for just a minute or two. Instead of going somewhere quiet and out of the way, Gambit ended up leading them further not the heart of the city to a late night cafe.

As soon as they sat down, he ordered something for them both to eat and drink, but she was not paying any attention to him. Instead, she was trying to figure out how she was going to discreetly call her team back at the mansion to go home. For some reason though, it was not working right now.

“This thing has been finicky the entire time I’ve been here. Doesn’t know whether or not it wants to work when I need it to.” She lamented, tossing the item down onto the table before them.

“So, now that you got whatcha came here for, just gonna head home? Like that?” There was a mournful tone to his voice that did not miss her ears. Neither one needed to say exactly why he sounded so upset at her leaving, or rather neither wanted to acknowledge why he was upset.

“Well, there’s always someone else that needs saving. Or a disaster that needs to be avoided,” she said, watching his face carefully.

“Right, right…” he trailed off, not quite knowing where to take it from here. Thankfully, a waitress came by with two bowls, and two drinks for them to enjoy.

“What on earth did you order for me?” Poking her spoon around in the stew like dish in front of her, she arched an eyebrow and looked at the Cajun.

“Dat right der is what we call gumbo, chere. It’s real good. Gotta use dat piece o’ baguette at the end though.” When she still did not eat, he tried a different tactic. “Come on. Humor me before ya head on home, chere?”

If you ever asked her, she would vehemently deny that she had given in to the soft way he pleaded with her. Bringing the spoonful of hot stew and rice to her lips, a symphony of flavors erupted on her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever eaten. The chicken, sausage and shrimp were so tender and perfectly cooked. The veggies melted, and the rice was the perfect binder.

While she was busy devouring her food, Remy was taking that time to lock in on her joyful face. If this was going to be the last time he saw her, he was going to make it count. But his day dreaming was interrupted by the transponder on the table suddenly jumping to life. As fast as she could, she set down her spoon, wiped her face, and grabbed the item.

“Wolverine,” she began, “listen, I got the necklace. Ready when you are on the extraction.”

Her eyes drifted over to the man in front of her who was trying very hard not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening two feet away from him. The long she listened to Wolverine talk, and watched Remy’s face, the more her heart moaned in pain. It was an unusual feeling to have, especially for someone that she swore she did not get along with or that she had not known for too long.

“Kid, we’ll be there in a couple hours, okay? We’re gonna track you by your communicator and then we’ll-”

“Actually, Wolvie,” she cut the man off, “I think I’m gonna stick around New Orleans for a few days. Just to make sure that nobody comes looking for this thing. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come home.”

The transponder was shut off fast, and tucked into one of the pockets of her uniform. When she looked up again, the startled face of Gambit greeted her. His eyes were wider than the bowls they were eating out of, but she paid it no mind. Picking up her spoon again, she sent a teasing smirk across the table.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’ll be sticking around a little more.” She brought another spoonful of gumbo to her mouth while Gambit took a minute to recover.

“Not at all, chere. Not at all.”

[theoddest1]

Okay so, ima type in what I typed to my friend here.

"Yeah Ima be so dead ass. ||Mel and Ekko carried the final for me, ESPECIALLY Ekko."

Yeah, they should have just kept [Viktor] being Ryze. That made more sense to me than whatever this is. And I am all for mlm rep, but yeah, this felt WAY too, Jayvikky. I liked it better that they were brothers to parallel Vander and Silco, who also found each other and became bros, but it seemed like they went with how popular JayVik was and stuck with it. And Jayce being strung with Viktor for wherever they went felt...kinda nonsensical. I'd rather that Viktor was thwarted and too far gone to then just suddenly have a change of heart and go with Jayce. I imagined that he would have a contingency where he, incase his body was destroyed, would then later rise again to try and enact "Glorious Evolution". It would go well with the themes of his beliefs anyway because every time he dies, he comes back stronger in a new body. I feel like that would better set the ongoing conflict and fit well with the game and why he looks the way he does currently.

I also don't like how quick he and Mel's reunion was considering how much he favored her along with his odd and sudden dislike for her decisions-- Seriously, where did that even come from!?"

[Thought it over further. Him calling her out on her actions isn't the issue. It's the timing and how this transpires that confuses me. He just came from a post-apocalyptic world where Mel, Viktor, and everything else came to mind. The lack of time for them to truly talk made the scene felt out of nowhere and not at all fleshed out. He goes on to place part of the blame on her when literally it wasn't. She DID manipulate but only politically. Everything else was on he and Viktor. Then, when he DOES confront Viktor, the vibes are different. Viktor hurt and caused a chain of events that led to several lives being taken to ensure survival and his "Glorious Evolution", why is this essentially overlooked? Maybe when I review this again, it will make more sense, but as of now, the way Jayce treats both Mel and Viktor is VERY questionable.]

"I would have been pretty happy if He at least gave her a hug, a kiss, something to make their relationship seem consistent with what we were shown. I know that he's been gone for a while and a lot more cold, but this was a very odd direction to go with. I am super happy about Cait and Mel fighting side by side and that Mel may be the main character for a new Noxus related show! [Which I knew they'd set up!] but this series, after seeing it in its entirety, DID suffer too much from the pacing issues. I assumed at the First Act that it was quick paced to go with how they've all been shifted into places they didn't see coming, but the pacing issues continued to bring down the quality. 3 seasons would have made way more sense and would go well with the 3 ACT formula they had used. I hope they learn from this and refrain from making similar mistakes.

[I responded to my friend who posted these images above] I knew they'd make a callback to this line eventually, and I am genuinely surprised people are not catching this obvious set up to Jinx living. Also, I am betting that Heimer did "die" but only that alternate version of himself. [Though obviously I could be wrong, though a life of various lifetimes where he helps each version of the main cast sounds very Heimerdinger of him, especially since he didn't wanna leave.]

The biggest letdown for me has to be Jayce and Viktor's story. It just...doesn't make sense with what we have been shown. Also, if Viktor KNOWS bad shit would happen when bringing Hextech to life and all, why TF would he give it to Jayce then???? Or if he STILL wanted magic to be tampered with shy doesn't he comvince himself in a way HE KNOWS would prevent what happens next, surely NOT EVERY timeline has it where you continue on the path of destruction! You see what I mean!?!? Leave the time crap to Ekko, man. This new inclusion makes no sense! And he does this in VARIOUS timeliness for some reason. Man, I wish it was just a random ass mage or Ryze, this added stuff kinda kills the finale for me🫠

I feel that making Viktor time travel ruins a huge aspect of the story, ngl, especially when Jayce argues that people can "craft their own path." The story also shouldn't have ended with what I could only assume both of them "dying" or traversing time instead. Also, the way Sky was treated and essentially replaced with Jayce feels....very very weeeeird."

[I believe that the ending just didn't land that well. I feel, now thinking over every character, Ekko, Mel, and Jinx carried this season HEAVY. These 3 were the most interesting parts of the season, honorable mention being Singed cause he be doing what he MUST. Also, what was the point of introducing Loris if all he was gonna end up being was a random guy who reminded Vi of Vander? I guess nothing is wrong with this, but when you're already stringing for time, these inclusions make no sense... I liked him, though, RIP Loris🤧. Oh, and Caut barely facing consequences is KINDA CRAZY but it goes with the themes of forgiveness/ acceptance. The Cycle would never end, after all, but yeah Vi and Cait made up WAY too fast and just shows that this needed another season. Let me know your thoughts!]

[johanna-swann]

Sorry if this feels vent-y but I am kinda done with the ppl that keep blaming Buck for the break up and absolving Tommy completely. I get so many saw him breaking up with Buck to be OOC but to go as far as to claim that it's Buck's fault for moving too fast when it's clearly about Tommy's insecurity is a bit fucked up. I have yet to see a person talking about how it was Tommy who fucked things up, if it was someone else acting out based on insecurity they would have been eviscerated and rightfully blamed but not Tommy ig he's a perfect angel who even if he hurt others it's not his fault for being fragile and insecure.

Well, personally I blame the writers for the break-up, but maybe that's just me.

Jokes aside, the simple answer is that everyone probably has their own personal opinion on this. Depending on your personal point of view, your own experiences with past relationships and so on, you will sympathise with one character more than the other or maybe with both of them equally. It's not a "Team Buck or Team Tommy" situation, we have two men here who both care about each other very much, but who also both bring issues to the table which the other one doesn't know about. It's not a cut and dried case, there's plenty of blame to go around. I have a lot more thoughts about this and I will take this as an excuse to rant, so settle in and buckle up.

The thing about Buck is that we see his thought process. We know which steps he went through, we know his train of thought, we know he's serious about Tommy. So it's easy for us to empathise and understand his journey up to the actual break-up. It's also easy for us to pick up familiar patterns though. Like Buck jumping all in all at once and putting his foot in his mouth a little in the process.

Because Buck definitely shouldn't have dropped "I want you to move in with me" on Tommy like that. As far as we know they've never talked about this topic before, they haven't exchanged "I love you"s yet, Buck doesn't even know if he loves Tommy. In my opinion he should've approached the subject very differently. He could've said: "I've been thinking about the future and I think we should talk about maybe living together in the not so far future." Have an open conversation about it instead of presenting Tommy with a fait accompli. At the very least he should've phrased it as a question, not as an "I want you to do x" statement. Not at this point in the relationship.

But all in all Buck's words and actions are somewhat relatable or at least comprehensible and show that he wants a future with Tommy.

On the other side of the break-up we have Tommy. The only piece of information about his dating history we have is Abby - a relationship that was never quite real, that he probably still feels ashamed about a little and that happened, what, 9 years earlier? At least 9 years. (The timeline is not lining the time as it should, somebody please check if Tim Minear knows how a calendar works.)

My point is: We don't know what Tommy is looking for in a relationship. We don't know if he's been hurt by a serious romantic relationship before. We don't know what he wants for his future in the long run. All the things that made us root for Buck and for this relationship to succeed - we know none of that about Tommy. But we do know that he thinks Buck has the power to break his heart. We know he already likes (loves?) Buck so much that he's terrified what this will do to him if he lets it continue. He'd rather turn tail and run than risk getting hurt by Buck. At least this way he's in control of the situation.

[This is very much the reason they broke up. Buck's mistake was a stupid mistake, but fixable. Tommy ended the relationship and ran. You can't fix something that's already over with someone who's no longer there. But I digress.]

A lot of what we get from their canon dialogue and overall relationship still doesn't add up. If Tommy thought he was just Buck's starter boyfriend, then why did he give Buck a second chance in the first place? If he thought this was never going to get serious, why did he agree to go to his sister's wedding with Buck after only one failed date? If he was afraid of liking Buck too much and getting his heart broken, why did he stick around for 6 months? 6 months is a very long time for a relationship you think will never go anywhere anyway.

It doesn't make sense and even throughout the scene where Tommy very abruptly dumps Buck they framed Tommy as a considerate guy with a big heart who truly cares about Buck. So we assume that there must be a reason. That something must've happened to Tommy at some point which makes him believe that this sort of relationship is not something he can have and that he can't trust this happiness.

If Tommy had a healthy sense of self-worth to go with his genuine feelings for Buck, he probably would've said something like: "Slow down, let's talk this through before we make any decisions." He wouldn't have run. And that absolutely was Tommy's mistake. Yes, Buck was a little over-eager upon discovering that he really can see a future with Tommy, but it was Tommy's responsibility to communicate his thoughts, feelings, needs and doubts. Instead he came up with some half-baked excuse and bailed.

TL;DR: They both made a mistake here. While Buck's mistake was relatively harmless in nature and not the one that put the final nail in the coffin, his mistake was definitely the more stupid one though. Buck fell back into an old pattern and thoughtlessly made a huge jump while just assuming Tommy would jump with him. His mistake was fixable and they could've probably talked this out, but Buck was a little reckless here and didn't really consider Tommy's side. He was too caught up in his own enthusiasm which, again, understandable. But still a little inconsiderate tbh.

Tommy's mistake came from a place of deep seated hurt. Yes, his mistake had the bigger impact, but it's the kind of mistake you empathise with instead of roll your eyes at. He was a coward, but he was a hurt coward.

We've all been there at some point, probably. Maybe not in the context of a relationship, but I've been a hurt coward almost every day of my life, self-sabotage is my second middle name. I feel for Tommy here. And I also feel for Buck of course, he barely even registered what was happening and then Tommy was already out the door. But when we break it down to the mistakes they made Buck's mistake gave me "not again you idiot" vibes and Tommy's mistake gave me "I'm so sorry, who hurt you?" vibes.

[maxdibert]

“Sirius killed people-“ so did Snape, supposedly loved Lily but betrayed her location to Voldemort because he was jealous of James actually winning her heart, not to mention convincing Harry the abuse was his fault, nearly giving Neville PTSD to the point where his boggart was Severus Snape himself, being a racist pos to anyone born of muggle parents, and becoming a high ranking member of the death eaters so what? He could protect Harry?

“It’s easier to cry in a Ferrari-“

it’s easier to defend a terrible character and play the racism and eat the rich card when you can’t understand context and inference clues that JK Rowling laid out.

What’s easy is inventing canon. What a load of made-up nonsense, mate.

1. Learn to read. I didn’t say Sirius killed anyone, but he did attempt murder. And he did it because he thought it was funny to torture Severus.

2. There’s no evidence that Severus killed anyone before Dumbledore asked him for euthanasia. This is made quite clear when Dumbledore talks about his concern for Draco’s soul, and Severus immediately questions him about his own soul. If Severus is so worried about it, it’s implied he hadn’t killed anyone before—or at least not in cold blood.

3. Have you even read the books? The only person who knew the Potters’ location was Peter. He’s the one who betrayed them.

4. There’s no evidence he was a racist. First off, equating racism with the concept of blood purity not only trivializes a serious social issue but also makes it clear that some of you have no idea what racism is or its history. The discriminatory dynamics and their foundations are completely different. But anyway, putting that aside, there’s no evidence whatsoever that Severus discriminated against Muggle-borns. The only time he makes a comment is during the incident with Lily—which, conveniently, happens when James and Sirius are sexually assaulting him, and Lily seems to smile at James. I don’t think you can judge someone’s ideology based on a comment made in an extremely tense moment. Canonically, Severus doesn’t treat Muggle-born students worse in class or make comments about their heritage. Nor does he badmouth Muggles. At most, he makes condescending remarks—which, let’s be real, all the characters do, even the “good ones,” because they’re ridiculously patronizing toward Muggles.

5. Severus was literally a double agent and reached the highest ranks of the Death Eaters to, yes, protect Harry. That’s literally why. He’s following Dumbledore’s orders. Like, have you read the books, or are you just pulling this stuff from fanfics? 99% of what you’ve said so far is pure fantasy, mate.

6. Yes, love, it’s actually pretty easy for me to defend people whose actions are a direct consequence of their life circumstances, and whose poor decisions were directly influenced by a lack of opportunities, security, and the violence of their environment. In fact, that’s literally my job. That’s what I do for a living.

Look, I don’t give a damn if you’re a Sirius fangirl. You can love a character while admitting he was a massive piece of crap. I love The Penguin, and there’s no way to justify him at all. Like, it’s fine, you know? You also have every right to feel sorry for him—I’m not going to judge you for that or anything. I’m not invalidating other people’s feelings if they think Sirius’s life was super tragic and feel a lot of compassion for him. Everyone has their own feelings and points of empathy. But that’s not the case for me. I don’t feel sorry for him. There’s no excuse for being an abusive bully with sociopathic tendencies toward someone who was canonically in a position of social and economic disadvantage. If Severus had come from a good family, with money and power—or if Sirius had been someone without a name, wealth, or status—then I’d view the situation differently because they would have been on equal footing. But just like the Black family chose Muggle-borns to torture because they knew they could, Sirius chose Severus because he knew he could. He’s a hypocrite and a piece of garbage. At least Bellatrix admitted her tendencies.

[pottersfia]

I love your work and I’m wondering if you can make a Harry Potter x reader! Where the reader is a Slytherin and she’s all cocky and shit and she’s enemies with Harry. They get in a argument and out of frustration Harry kisses her and then they Have rough sex?

harry x fem!reader

smut

a/n: sorry this took so long! it was a fun write :)

out of all the people you could've been partnered up with for your DADA assignment, it had to be harry. you despised the so called "chosen one" but you wanted a good grade so you had to get through it.

you and harry agreed to meet in the library, but this particular evening you both happened to be busy after your classes and the library closed before you could get there. you decided to meet in your dorm instead. your roommate was gone for the night and you had a desk in there so it would have to do.

"wish me luck, pansy. hopefully i don't end up punching this guy." you said. pansy snickered.

"have fun." she said as you walked towards harry who arrived in the common room.

"hello potter." you said.

"y/l/n." he replied.

"ok let's get this over with." you lead him to your dorm.

as you began to pull out your notes and textbooks harry spoke up,

"just so you know, i already started. i thought i'd do most of it for us." he said. you scoffed. who did he think he was?

"no." you crossed your arms.

"no?" he raised his eyebrows.

"i already have ideas for this assignment so i'll do it. i don't need you doing anything for me."

"that's not really how this is supposed to work." he pushed his glasses up which sent your stomach churning. with annoyance of course.

"well you're trying to do all the work too."

"i said most!"

you furrowed your eyebrows and stared at him. harry always managed to get on your last nerve. this grade was important, yes, but you were in no mood to put up with his attitude.

"can you stop being insufferable for once so we can get this done." you said.

"i don't see how i'm insufferable when you won't listen." he said. the two of you glared at eachother.

"you can leave you know. we don't have to do this today." you stood up and walked towards the door.

"you know that i'm busy all week. unlike you i have other important things to do." he walked towards you.

"then stop acting like you're better than me!" you practically yelled in his face and moved your hands up to try and push him away from you but he grabbed them before you could touch him. "let go." you said but his grip was strong.

"no." he replied, holding your arms against the closed door. you two stared each other down until you noticed him look down at your lips. you raised your eyebrow in a questioning way about to say something until he leaned in and kissed you. you froze for a second confused by his actions but then you kissed back just as he broke away. he let go of you.

"woah, i'm sorry y/n, i uh-"

"shut up." you kissed him again and this time it was longer. your lips synced together perfectly and harry let his hands roam along the sides of your torso. you pushed him to walk back towards your bed and climbed on top as he laid down. you parted your lips to pull your shirt off and he stared hungrily at your body.

"like what you see, potter?" you smirked at him.

"come here." he pulled you against himself and flipped you over so he was on top. he then took off his own shirt and moved down to pull your bottoms off. he rubbed your thighs and slowly moved his hands closer and closer to where you needed him most.

"stop teasing." you whined out. he laughed at you making you whine again.

"you know what? i've always wanted to shut you up. i think i'll use that loud mouth of yours instead." he pulled his underwear off revealing his hard erection and moved up to straddle your chest.

"stick your tongue out." he said. you looked up at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

"you're not making me suck you off like this." he grabbed your face roughly and replied, "i said stick your tongue out. i'll use you how i want." you rolled your eyes and did so, ignoring the wetness pooling in your own underwear.

he slapped his tip on your tongue before pushing himself inside your mouth. he moaned as your lips wrapped around him and he buck his hips in and out of your wet mouth.

"fuck. you feel so good like this." he groaned. you gripped onto his thigh with one hand and began rubbing yourself under your underwear with the other. harry only noticed when he felt the vibrations of you moaning around him and saw your arm moving.

“i knew you were a dirty slut. rubbing yourself while is use your throat.” his word made you moan even more as you squeezed your thighs together to feel more pressure. “you’re way prettier like this, you know.” he let out small whines and groans from the sensation of your lips and wet tongue on his cock.

you loved having him use you and his noises only brought you closer and closer to the edge. you shut your eyes as you took in the feeling but suddenly your mouth was empty. you looked up and watched as harry climbed off of you, grabbed your hips, and turned you over.

“stick that ass out.” he said. you arched your back and showed off the wet spot on your underwear, slightly spreading your legs.

“you better fuck me good, potter.” you said, rubbing yourself over your underwear. harry felt like he was dreaming. the sight in front of him made him throbbing as he pumped himself, still wet from your mouth.

“fuck.” he pulled your underwear to the side to see your dripping pussy and replaced your rubbing hand with his. “i will, trust me.” and with that he pushed himself inside you making you gasp from being stretched. he instantly started pounding into you, chased how good it felt to finally have you.

“so tight.” he groaned. his hands were gripping you and you were moaning louder than you ever have before. you reached back to rub yourself again making harry smirk.

“slap me please, harry.” you moaned out. he slapped your ass making you groan from the sting.

“making so many pretty noises for me.” he slapped again. “i want you to cum on my cock, y/n. i know you can do it.” his words only got you more wet and you grew tighter around him as you reached your orgasm.

“harry, i’m so close.” you said. he fucked into you harder, feeling himself get closer too.

“i’m gonna cum too, fuck.” he relished in the moment, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer with every stroke. finally, you felt your release as your legs shook, letting out loud whines.

harry came soon after, pulling out and pumping his cum on your ass and back.

“that is crazy hot.” he said staring at the image in front of him. you relaxed your legs to lay on your stomach trying to catch your breath.

harry quickly grabbed a towel to clean you off. he sat next to you and wiped your body.

“that wasn’t too bad, potter.” you said turning towards him with a smile.

“glad i could make you feel good.” he smiled back. you sat up as soon as you were clean.

“i could do a better job fucking you if i were on top, though.” you said. harry’s eyebrows raised and suddenly he felt his cock twitch at the thought.

out of all the people you could've been partnered up with for your DADA assignment, it had to be harry. you despised the so called "chosen one" but you wanted a good grade so you had to get through it.

you and harry agreed to meet in the library, but this particular evening you both happened to be busy after your classes and the library closed before you could get there. you decided to meet in your dorm instead. your roommate was gone for the night and you had a desk in there so it would have to do.

"wish me luck, pansy. hopefully i don't end up punching this guy." you said. pansy snickered.

"have fun." she said as you walked towards harry who arrived in the common room.

"hello potter." you said.

"y/l/n." he replied.

"ok let's get this over with." you lead him to your dorm.

as you began to pull out your notes and textbooks harry spoke up,

"just so you know, i already started. i thought i'd do most of it for us." he said. you scoffed. who did he think he was?

"no." you crossed your arms.

"no?" he raised his eyebrows.

"i already have ideas for this assignment so i'll do it. i don't need you doing anything for me."

"that's not really how this is supposed to work." he pushed his glasses up which sent your stomach churning. with annoyance of course.

"well you're trying to do all the work too."

"i said most!"

you furrowed your eyebrows and stared at him. harry always managed to get on your last nerve. this grade was important, yes, but you were in no mood to put up with his attitude.

"can you stop being insufferable for once so we can get this done." you said.

"i don't see how i'm insufferable when you won't listen." he said. the two of you glared at eachother.

"you can leave you know. we don't have to do this today." you stood up and walked towards the door.

"you know that i'm busy all week. unlike you i have other important things to do." he walked towards you.

"then stop acting like you're better than me!" you practically yelled in his face and moved your hands up to try and push him away from you but he grabbed them before you could touch him. "let go." you said but his grip was strong.

"no." he replied, holding your arms against the closed door. you two stared each other down until you noticed him look down at your lips. you raised your eyebrow in a questioning way about to say something until he leaned in and kissed you. you froze for a second confused by his actions but then you kissed back just as he broke away. he let go of you.

"woah, i'm sorry y/n, i uh-"

"shut up." you kissed him again and this time it was longer. your lips synced together perfectly and harry let his hands roam along the sides of your torso. you pushed him to walk back towards your bed and climbed on top as he laid down. you parted your lips to pull your shirt off and he stared hungrily at your body.

"like what you see, potter?" you smirked at him.

"come here." he pulled you against himself and flipped you over so he was on top. he then took off his own shirt and moved down to pull your bottoms off. he rubbed your thighs and slowly moved his hands closer and closer to where you needed him most.

"stop teasing." you whined out. he laughed at you making you whine again.

"you know what? i've always wanted to shut you up. i think i'll use that loud mouth of yours instead." he pulled his underwear off revealing his hard erection and moved up to straddle your chest.

"stick your tongue out." he said. you looked up at him and furrowed your eyebrows.

"you're not making me suck you off like this." he grabbed your face roughly and replied, "i said stick your tongue out. i'll use you how i want." you rolled your eyes and did so, ignoring the wetness pooling in your own underwear.

he slapped his tip on your tongue before pushing himself inside your mouth. he moaned as your lips wrapped around him and he buck his hips in and out of your wet mouth.

"fuck. you feel so good like this." he groaned. you gripped onto his thigh with one hand and began rubbing yourself under your underwear with the other. harry only noticed when he felt the vibrations of you moaning around him and saw your arm moving.

“i knew you were a dirty slut. rubbing yourself while is use your throat.” his word made you moan even more as you squeezed your thighs together to feel more pressure. “you’re way prettier like this, you know.” he let out small whines and groans from the sensation of your lips and wet tongue on his cock.

you loved having him use you and his noises only brought you closer and closer to the edge. you shut your eyes as you took in the feeling but suddenly your mouth was empty. you looked up and watched as harry climbed off of you, grabbed your hips, and turned you over.

“stick that ass out.” he said. you arched your back and showed off the wet spot on your underwear, slightly spreading your legs.

“you better fuck me good, potter.” you said, rubbing yourself over your underwear. harry felt like he was dreaming. the sight in front of him made him throbbing as he pumped himself, still wet from your mouth.

“fuck.” he pulled your underwear to the side to see your dripping pussy and replaced your rubbing hand with his. “i will, trust me.” and with that he pushed himself inside you making you gasp from being stretched. he instantly started pounding into you, chased how good it felt to finally have you.

“so tight.” he groaned. his hands were gripping you and you were moaning louder than you ever have before. you reached back to rub yourself again making harry smirk.

“slap me please, harry.” you moaned out. he slapped your ass making you groan from the sting.

“making so many pretty noises for me.” he slapped again. “i want you to cum on my cock, y/n. i know you can do it.” his words only got you more wet and you grew tighter around him as you reached your orgasm.

“harry, i’m so close.” you said. he fucked into you harder, feeling himself get closer too.

“i’m gonna cum too, fuck.” he relished in the moment, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer with every stroke. finally, you felt your release as your legs shook, letting out loud whines.

harry came soon after, pulling out and pumping his cum on your ass and back.

“that is crazy hot.” he said staring at the image in front of him. you relaxed your legs to lay on your stomach trying to catch your breath.

harry quickly grabbed a towel to clean you off. he sat next to you and wiped your body.

“that wasn’t too bad, potter.” you said turning towards him with a smile.

“glad i could make you feel good.” he smiled back. you sat up as soon as you were clean.

“i could do a better job fucking you if i were on top, though.” you said. harry’s eyebrows raised and suddenly he felt his cock twitch at the thought.

[sinfiltrate]

Act 3 spoilers

I just wanted to voice my opinions on the entirety of act 3, I will be making another post focusing on Jayce because I am disappointed with his story specifically.

Let's start with what I'm happy with!

The display of Mel's magic was amazing. All her scenes were so powerful.

CaitVi is canon! (which was predictable for obvious reasons but i'm still happy for them)

The music choice was perfect, as well as the quality of the episodes, as expected. No matter the storyline's flaws, the art style itself is undeniably gorgeous.

Maddie dies IMMEDIATELY after betraying Piltover, so I'm happy with that. Don't get me wrong, I think the season looked rushed, but the instant karma of that scene was enjoyable. It's well executed shock value.

The Caitlyn/Mel and Ambessa fight sequence was SICK. They really emphasized Ambessa's strength and battle IQ here, and while I dislike her, it was satisfying to watch.

The JayVik ending. Now, I am very conflicted with this, but I'll focus on the positive part. THIS MOMENT WAS SO TENDER!! It revealed how much Jayce truly loved and cared for Viktor, and that Viktor thought Jayce to be the only person who could ever make him acknowledge the importance of humanity. Jayce was his last and only hope, and Jayce proved Viktor right in every timeline.

Jayce defenders, we won. We got an entire episode dedicated to what Jayce and Ekko/Heimerdinger went through, and it proved that JAYCE WAS RIGHT AND HIM AND EKKO ARE OUR SAVIORS THANK YOU 🙏

Jayce looked fine asf. That is a beautiful man and I'm expecting many more edits (pretty please).

Alright, now let's get to what I'm upset about.

Jayce's wasted potential. The way I see it, they just reduced him to a pawn in Viktor's character arc, considering that his life begins and ends with Viktor. It's sweet, yes, and can be counted as a win for JayVik shippers, but I really wanted more for Jayce. And yes, I will most definitely come back to this on my Jayce-centric post.

The lack of reaction to Jinx's and Jayce's "death". I'm honestly not sure if either of them are dead (I am also somewhat in denial). Mel lost her lover, of whom brought out a softer side of herself that she didn't even know existed, and there's no reaction? Not even a scene of her finding out? The same goes for Caitlyn, since she literally saw Jayce as an older brother. Then there's Vi, who's seen completely fine with Caitlyn, and Ekko, who's having the only appropriate reaction, but even so, it's too calm. We'd have to assume that there's been another timeskip, but it couldn't have been long since the war. ALSO XIMENA, Jayce's MOTHER, she's seen putting a paper of Jayce's name to burn and honor him after his supposed death, but her expression is blank. Just simple resignation. I don't know, the lack of reaction had me questioning why I was sad.

No proper reunion scenes besides Ekko/Jinx and Mel/Jayce?????I actually liked Ekko and Jinx's reunion, but Mel and Jayce? Not even close to what I expected or wanted.

This season was rushed; that's something everyone can agree on. I think it was very focused on action rather than the complexity of these people's relationships and minds, while the first season had a balance between both. There just wasn't enough time for that balance with all the information they had to give us.

Honestly, and this is gonna sound horrible but hear me out, I would've preferred it if they had episode 6 be the last episode instead, and used the act 2 to explore Caitlyn's dictator arc and truly emphasize how long Jayce, Ekko, and Heimerdinger had been gone. I know how this sounds, but I really wanted to see more of Caitlyn and her mindset during the whole fascism plot rather than have her throw it all away three episodes later. It would've helped others understand her more, while also acknowledging how blinded she had become with anger and sadness. Also, this would've given more time for people to grow an attachment to Isha and see how she reminds Jinx of Powder!!! Just imagine it, the season closing with Jayce "killing" Viktor, no sign of Ekko or Heimerdinger, and Isha dying would have been even MORE devastating; the ultimate cliffhanger. There's no denying people would've been angry and shocked, but it would've made us want more, just like the first season did. I would be 100% willing to wait 3 or more years for the next season than have such an underwhelming ending.

Okay, I think that's it. Might add more to this post later if I come up with any other critiques, be prepared for the Jayce post because I NEED to talk about him.

[dira333]

Mom Friend - Kenma (Angst-ish)

“You don’t love me and I’m being really brave about it.”

-

The air is soft and cool, like a blanket made from silk. You take it as a good sign, smile up at the traffic sign above you like it’s a flower or an ornament. 

How silly that love can make ordinary things bloom.

Tonight you feel good in your clothes. No need to worry about tomorrow. 

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your jacket but you don’t want to pull it out right now. You want to stay in the moment, right here, enjoy that buzzing feeling inside of you.

Maybe tonight, you think. Maybe tonight something will happen.

You’re not insecure, not questioning, not doubting anything. 

Just waiting, patiently, for something that sure will come.

-

You spot him first, head buried in his hoody, eyes on the phone in his hand. 

Knowing Kenma, he’s playing a game to pass the time.

You don’t wave, but keep your eyes on him as you come closer. It’s rare that you get to enjoy that sight for yourself, that you can watch without being watched.

He’s pretty. Always has been, you think, even though you’ve only really had a chance to befriend him lately. But you’ve seen the pictures, and besides, you can’t imagine him being anything but.

Just a few more steps to go but he raises his head and spots you without hesitation, the pupils of eyes growing smaller.

You’ve read about it, you can’t help but think. How the size of one’s pupil tells about their attraction. 

A first seed of doubt begins to sprout but you push it down with a well-practiced smile.

“Hi,” you greet him, your voice weirdly breathless. You’re not that out of shape, he just does that to you. Do you shake his hand? Hug him?

He makes no move to greet you other than a quiet nod so you think that’s it and push down the disappointment. Kenma hugs Hinata. 

Well, everyone hugs Hinata, you tell yourself, and look for something to say.

“Are we early?”

“No,” he dips his nose deeper into his hoody. “Kuroo’s not coming.”

“O-oh,” you pull out your phone to check. He’s right. The message is there, in the group chat. Right below it is another one, from Hinata.

“Can’t make it tonight, sorry guys. Rain check?”

“Should we-?”

“I’m going to watch the movie,” Kenma interrupts you, voice level. He doesn’t sound angry, or annoyed, or even bored, he just… sounds. Is flat the right word for it?

“Okay?”

His eyes, big and round and golden, move toward you and back to the sign above the door. “You can join me if you want.”

-

The movie isn’t bad. You like action movies, even the dumber ones. There’s a reason why Hinata still invites you to these hangouts, after all.

But you know you’re missing a crucial part of knowledge about the game this movie is based on.

There are jokes you don’t get that leave Kenma chuckling to himself and you can’t help but wonder what he thinks of you. Does he know you’re- Well, he has to, right? 

You know he’s a little more on the shy side. Or, not shy, but more… private? 

Maybe this is his way of getting a date with you?

The thought electrifies you.

But no. Kenma’s not acting like a guy on a date. He’s not sharing his food with you, has not even tried to pay for yours or initiate any conversation so far. 

If you’d have to describe it, it would be like… getting to come along with your big brother.

Your face twists into a scowl. That is not the kind of thing you want to associate with Kenma.

-

“Do you wanna eat something?” You ask once you leave the cinema, dust your clothes off and get rid of the last remnants of popcorn and stray skittles. 

Kenma hesitates for a second.

“Yeah, why not?”

You follow him out of the Cinema and down the street.

The wind is soothing on your warm cheeks. A couple walks down the street, facing you. Your heart squeezes tight when the guy swings their joined hands.

As they pass, Kenma steps out of their way, bumping into you. 

He does not apologize.

It feels like a sign. A different one this time.

-

The restaurant is small but private and Kenma finds a booth at the back, orders like someone who’s been here before. You need a little longer to figure out what you want but then there’s nothing else to do but wait.

Kenma pulls out his phone, looks at the unlit screen and puts it face down on the table.

“Do you have a crush on me?”

His voice is even, like he’s reading from the menu and it takes you a second to register the meaning of the words.

Your mouth opens, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. 

Nonetheless, your silence is answer enough. Your eyes fall back down to the table.

“I’m sorry,” Kenma mutters and there’s almost warmth to his words now.

He says nothing more for a while and you swallow a bout of tears that’s threatening to spill.

Silly you, you think.

Doubts and insecurities raise their ugly heads.

“Kuroo thought you might be into Shouyou,” Kenma starts anew. When you look up he’s staring out the window. “Cuz you’re always mothering him.”

“I’m not-”

“You’re like Kuroo, in that way,” Kenma adds on, as if he’s not hearing you. “Always bothering people. You bring extra water bottles and extra pain killers and a snack in case someone gets hungry and you remind them of their appointments.”

Your fingers clench around the utensils that are useless without any food but you need to hold onto something real if you want to survive this.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Golden eyes turn back to you and you wonder how it has taken you so long to realize that gold is not warm. Gold is a metal, heavy and cold, and not at all made for cuddling.

“Shouyou is my friend,” Kenma points out. “He doesn’t mind being mothered.”

“So?”

“You’d do better with a partner that likes that part of you. We all want-” He stops for a second, the first time you’ve seen him hesitate. “It’s not good if you have to change who you are for a relationship to work.”

“You could have just said you’re not interested,” you point out, petulance winning over the hurt. Or maybe the hurt is triggering it.

Kenma blinks slowly. “I am trying to be a good friend here.”

“Who’s friend?”

He opens his mouth to answer but the food arrives and he pulls back again, stares at you silently, like a cat stalking its prey.

“I’m not good at verbalizing my thoughts,” he begins again when the server has left. “You remind me of Kuroo in some way. I think-” He hesitates again. “If you want a partner that you can mother, you should try dating Shouyou.”

“I don’t want to date Hinata.”

Kenma sighs. “You could try Kuroo but I think-”

Your chopsticks dig into your hands as you interrupt him, pointing them at him like a weapon. “Stop it,” you hiss. “You’re not interested and that’s it. You don’t need to push me into someone else's arms like I’m something too valuable to throw away but not valuable enough to actually cherish.”

His face goes slack. He tries to speak again but you turn your face away and begin eating, stuffing your face with a pace that can’t be healthy but you just want to get out of here, out of this conversation.

Quiet settles. Your cheeks sting as if sensing the coming tears. But you don’t cry.

You finish first and get up, squeezing the handle of your purse so tight in your hand that it hurts. 

“The bill is on me,” you tell Kenma. “Have a good night.”

-

part 2 is coming tomorrow

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