#of course I still feel terrible because of this... kind of abandonment if i can call it that way

[randomshyperson]

darling, can I be your favorite? - wanda maximoff x reader

summary: A game night at Agatha’s takes a chaotic turn when an old truth surfaces - one that Wanda didn’t expect, and one you thought had been buried by time. Sometimes, even the deepest love begs to be reassured.

warnings: jealousy; mentions of past sexual relationships; possessive behavior; magic-fueled argument; emotionally charged sex; explicit smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); praise kink; possessive!Wanda; soft aftermath; emotional vulnerability; affectionate teasing; pillow talk; mild angst with comfort; canon divergence. | words: 4.730k

a/n-> I wrote this as a draft, a couple of weeks ago, when I was going through a very intense Agatha's obsession period, and I totally forgot about it. I was not sure I would use it in a bigger fic because I do want to write immortal, vampire, etc y/n's, but since I didn't, you guys can read it while I work on the upcoming series.

General Masterlist | AO3 |

-&-

"Have you ever slept with my wife?"

The question fell like a thunderclap in the middle of a warm evening.

Silence followed it - dense, choking. Even the soft creak of the porch swing seemed to hold its breath.

You froze, arm still slung casually behind Wanda’s chair, the other hand mid-motion with the wine bottle tilted at a precarious angle. Agatha, across from you, mirrored your stillness, eyes wide, glass of red paused just shy of her lips.

Oh, you should’ve known. This was a terrible idea.

Go out with the witches, they said. Catch up. Share a drink. Invite the literal embodiment of Death, what could possibly go wrong?

It was supposed to be a pleasant night. Drinks on the porch, old stories, the comfort of familiar magic humming softly in the twilight air. But among the four of you, it was always hard to tell who had the sharpest claws - or the most fragile ego.

Your gaze flicked briefly to Wanda, who hadn’t moved. Her hand rested lightly on her thigh, but the tension in her knuckles betrayed her. Her eyes were locked onto Agatha with a heat that could’ve ignited the vineyard around you.

Of course, Agatha was the first to recover. That self-satisfied chuckle of hers was the sound of a match striking.

“What?” she said, tossing her curls over one shoulder like this was just another girls’ night and not a potential crime scene in the making. “Sweetheart, what kind of question is that?”

But Wanda didn’t blink. Her tone was even, and that was far more dangerous.

“A simple one, Aggie.” She leaned back, lacing her fingers on her stomach with rehearsed calm. “Did you two ever sleep together?”

You sucked in a slow breath and, with a tight-lipped smile, retracted your arm from behind Wanda’s chair. The bottle met the table with a soft clink as you moved the wine glass slightly out of reach. Your laugh - dry and brittle - escaped before you could stop it.

“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink for tonight. We should probably - ”

“We’re not leaving,” Wanda interrupted sharply, still staring at Agatha, “until she answers.”

You shifted in your seat, mouth already forming another protest when Rio spoke. Her voice was deceptively calm, but the gleam in her eyes was anything but.

“She?” she asked slowly, arms folding on the table, one brow arching. “What, Y/N can’t answer for herself? Or are you implying Agatha would… what? Force something? Be the only one to blame?”

“I didn’t say that,” Wanda replied coldly.

The atmosphere cracked - subtle, like a shift in the wind before a storm. You could feel it, static in your blood.

And then, Wanda turned her head toward you.

"So?" she asked, voice softer now, velvet over steel. “Tell us, darling - did you and Agatha ever sleep together?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Looked, maybe a little desperately, at Agatha, who, naturally, had decided to abandon ship entirely. That traitorous witch was lounging back, a slow grin tugging at her lips. She didn’t even bother to hide it. Especially not when Rio’s left hand slid beneath the table and gave her thigh a slow, possessive squeeze.

You watched it happen. You felt it happen. And still, you were the one on the spot.

“Go on,” Rio said, her voice like dark honey. “Tell us if you fucked my wife.”

Your chair scraped loudly against the wood as you stood up, hands raised, gesturing wildly.

“Okay, no - this is a goddamn trap. I’m not stupid. I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, why so jumpy?” Wanda asked, a chuckle breaking through - but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s just a silly little question. We’re all friends here.”

“Debatable,” Agatha muttered under her breath. No one acknowledged it.

You laughed again. Hollow. “Nice try.”

“Darling,” Wanda said again, the smile falling away now. Her voice was raw silk. Dangerous. “Answer. My. Question.”

You sighed deeply, raking your hands through your hair. “I’m three hundred years old, Wanda.”

She arched an unimpressed brow. “That’s not what I asked.”

You groaned. Crossed your arms.

“You know I’ve been with other people before I met you.”

Her voice dropped. “Yes. Other people. But that’s not what I asked, either.”

You turned your eyes to Rio, who hadn’t blinked once since the start of this witch trial. She looked positively serene in her menace.

“I…” your throat tightened. “I want to go home.”

Wanda sighed, low and tight. “Darling, I swear - ”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Agatha snapped, standing abruptly, chair legs screeching against the wood. “Yes, Maximoff! Yes, we slept together. A hundred times. For fun. Out of boredom. Just because we could.”

The air trembled as her voice rose, the kind of voice that could split spells in two.

“You have no idea what eternity feels like, alright? We were friends and - what's the word the young ones use now… fuckbuddies, yes? That. We were that. Long before she decided to cross the ocean and play superhero. Then she met you. It's all good. It never meant anything like what I have with Rio. Or what she has with you. So, really, what are you even doing?”

The explosion was literal.

It happened fast. Magic burst like shrapnel. Spells lit the porch in violent flickers. Furniture launched into the air - an end table shattered against the railing, and you ducked just in time to avoid a cursed candlestick flying past your head.

You weren’t even sure who was fighting whom. At one point, you’re almost certain Wanda and Rio turned on each other, until Agatha yanked her wife out of the chaos with a flash of smoke and a hissed incantation. In the confusion, Rio still managed to catch your arm with a glancing slice - a clean little souvenir.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye properly. Just a muttered curse, a strained wave, and the metallic scent of blood on your sleeve as you guided your very pissed-off wife back to the car.

Wanda didn’t speak the whole drive home. Arms folded tight across her chest, lips pressed in a silent pout, gaze locked out the window. You just shook your head the whole way, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, trying to remind yourself that this was fine. That this wasn’t the first magical brawl you’d had to walk away from, and probably wouldn’t be the last.

The boys texted, cheerful and blissfully unaware. Billy, ever the optimist, had been the one to suggest the “moms’ night out.” A bonding experience. Something soft. Easy. He hadn’t accounted for jealousy spells and poorly buried history.

You replied simply:

“All good at Agatha’s. Hope your night was fun too. Love you.”

The house welcomed you with silence. The kind that echoes in corners and stretches across old wooden floors. You locked the door behind you, Wanda already halfway up the stairs without so much as a glance back. Her coat slipped off her shoulders and vanished midair with a lazy flick of magic.

You sighed.

Dropped your keys in the bowl by the door. Followed.

Neither of you spoke as you peeled off your clothes - the remnants of what was supposed to be a cute little night: soft slacks, silky blouses, the faint smell of wine and sandalwood still clinging to the fabric.

It was only once you were both half-undressed in the bedroom, the moonlight casting gentle patterns across the bedspread, that you couldn’t take her silence anymore.

“Wanda,” you said, voice low but sharp. “Can we talk about tonight?”

She stood with her back to you, fingers slowly working the buttons of her blouse. Her voice came clipped. “There’s nothing to say.”

You huffed a dry laugh, arms crossed loosely as you leaned against the edge of the dresser. “For you, maybe. You’ve been ignoring me since we left.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” she replied flatly. But she avoided your eyes.

You shot her a look that said really? And she sighed again, softer this time.

“I was thinking.”

You shifted your weight, still watching her. “I don’t like the silent treatment.”

She chuckled bitterly. “And I don’t like that you slept with our friend. But, you know, that’s life.”

“Oh my god.” You groaned, tugging your shirt off in one fluid motion and starting to work on your zipper. “This is absurd. You know that, right?”

“I quite agree,” she said dryly, snapping her gaze away from your exposed skin the second your shirt hit the floor. She turned, flustered, fingers unhooking her bra with brisk determination.

“I’m talking about you, Wanda,” you muttered, voice rising a little. “Getting worked up over something that happened a century ago.”

She barked out a sharp laugh and opened the closet, pulling a nightgown with far more force than necessary. “Worse,” you added, “over something that meant nothing.”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed, eyes narrowed. “It meant nothing. Yet you did it. Hundreds of times, apparently. Just for fun. Like she said.”

“I didn’t even know you back then!” you snapped, incredulous.

The room pulsed with heat - part frustration, part something else, quieter and more tender. You hadn’t wanted to yell. But there was something under her sarcasm that stung. A crack in the armor.

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw tightened, and she turned slightly, clutching the fabric of her gown as if it might shield her from this conversation entirely.

But she just gives a short, breathy laugh - a sound too bitter to be real - and shakes her head as she steps out of her pants.

For a fleeting second, the weight of the fight evaporates. There she is. Your wife. Bare but for her dark panties, her body bathed in the soft light coming through the curtains.

And you forget how to be mad. You forget the argument.

Until she turns back toward you, and her eyes, glassy and red at the edges, stop you cold.

The frustration in your chest vanishes instantly. You straighten, step forward, and your voice softens like instinct.

“Darling,” you say, barely above a whisper, your hands cradling her cheeks, “why are you crying?”

She sniffs, lashes fluttering as she tries to blink the tears away. Her gaze avoids yours, but she leans into your touch like her skin remembers you better than her pride does.

“If you don’t talk to me,” you murmur, brushing your thumbs along her cheekbones, “how am I supposed to make it better?”

Her hands rise to your forearms, light and hesitant, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed this comfort. Her cheeks are flushed, and for a long moment, all she does is breathe unevenly.

Then, finally, her voice cracks through the quiet.

“Three centuries is a long time, Y/N,” she begins, barely audible. “I’ve only known you for seven years.”

You don’t interrupt. You just listen.

“I know it’s silly, I know,” she continues, voice wavering, “but… you and Agatha have this thing. This rhythm. This history. She’s always throwing it in my face - how well she knows you, how she can predict you, finish your thoughts. And she’s so - so aggravating about it.”

She laughs weakly, then sniffles again, eyes still not quite meeting yours. “And I just… I’m afraid I’m never going to get there. That I’ll always be this late chapter in your life. That I’ll never matter as much.”

Your heart aches at her honesty.

“Oh, Wanda,” you breathe, pressing your forehead to hers. “That’s not true. That’s not true at all.”

She closes her eyes when you kiss her temple - soft, slow, reverent. Then you pull her close, wrapping your arms around her, grounding her in your warmth.

“I love you so much,” you whisper against her hair. “You know that, don’t you?”

She shakes her head, just barely, and your hands gently guide her face back to yours.

“I do, Wanda. I love you a terrifying amount. And yes, Agatha and I have history. But she’s not more important than you. Just like I’m not more important than Rio.”

Your fingers trace calming circles along her waist as her breathing begins to even out.

“We do love each other - Agatha and I - but it’s a different love. Yes, we had sex. But we never made love. We never broke the laws of nature and brought life into the world like she did with Rio. And I’ve never loved someone like I love you.”

Her eyes search yours now, uncertain and wet. You hold her face again, more firmly this time.

“I’ve lived for centuries, Wanda. But it’s only with you that I’ve felt truly alive. Happy. Like I belong somewhere.”

You kiss the corner of her lips, soft and slow.

“I don’t know where these insecurities came from,” you murmur, brushing her tears away with your thumbs, “but I’ll spend every day proving you wrong. Every single day, I’ll remind you how loved you are. What do you say to that?”

Your attempt at lightness breaks the tension just enough. She lets out a teary little laugh and bumps her forehead gently against yours.

“I say…” she whispers, voice trembling, “you better start now.”

She leans in first, lips brushing yours without urgency, just breath and warmth and something far too tender to rush. You both stay like that for a while - nose to nose, hands resting lightly on bare skin, letting the quiet carry all the weight words couldn’t.

When your hands begin to move, it’s with a slowness that almost feels sacred. You know exactly where to touch - where her skin burns hotter, where she arches, where she melts. Your fingers trail down her back, pausing just long enough to tease, before pressing into her hips and lifting her effortlessly into your lap.

She doesn’t stop kissing you - deep and unhurried, her tongue moving against yours with the kind of longing that makes your bones ache. She moans softly when you break the kiss just long enough to ask:

“Shower or bed?”

But the way she clutches your jaw and kisses you harder is answer enough. You're lucky you made it as far as the bed.

She falls back against the mattress with a gasp, her hair fanned out like a halo in disarray. You move to follow, but she tugs you down with her, mouth never leaving yours, legs wrapping tightly around your waist.

The friction when your bodies align makes both of you shudder. Clothes half-on, half-off, hearts racing, and breath hitching.

You look down at her - cheeks flushed, pupils blown, lips kiss-bruised - and think this is what eternity was always meant to feel like.

Your lips trail down Wanda’s throat, lingering at the base where her pulse jumps under your mouth. Her fingers tangle in your hair, her legs tightening around you with a quiet urgency she hasn’t put into words yet.

She’s warm, flushed, her skin humming under your palms. Every breath she takes is just a little shakier, a little more desperate - and it draws something low and primal from inside you.

You kiss along her collarbone, slow and reverent, until her breath hitches and she arches up to meet you.

“You’re so beautiful,” you whisper against her skin, your voice already rough with want. “So, so beautiful, Wanda…”

She exhales shakily, but instead of softening, something sharper slips into her expression. Her hand cradles your cheek for just a second, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, and then she says - quiet but certain - “I want you to forget her.”

You blink, breath catching.

She leans up to kiss you - not gently, this time, but deep, wet, almost possessive. Her fingers clutch at your sides, pulling you tighter against her until there’s no air left between your bodies.

“I want to be the only one you remember,” she whispers into your mouth. “The only one who ever made you feel like this.”

Her hips roll up against yours, grinding with slow, aching precision, and the friction makes you gasp.

You answer with your hands, gripping her thighs, pushing them apart just a little further. Her panties are soaked, clinging to her, and the heat of her against you makes your whole body throb.

“You are,” you breathe, your voice uneven. “You already are, Wanda - fuck - there’s never been anyone like you.”

But it’s not enough. Not for her.

“Then prove it,” she says.

Her fingers curl into the waistband of your underwear and tug - insistent, wordless. She strips you down without hesitation and pushes her own panties off in a single, impatient motion. The moment you’re bare, she pulls you into her again, gasping at the skin-to-skin contact, her legs locking around you like she needs to keep you there, tethered, owned.

“Say it again,” she whispers, her mouth at your ear now, her nails dragging lightly down your back. “Say you love me.”

“I love you,” you murmur into her hair. “God, I love you.”

Your hand slips between you, fingers finding her soaked and aching. She shudders as you circle her clit, your strokes slow and deliberate. Her hips stutter, trying to chase more, but you keep the rhythm steady.

She whines in frustration and grabs your wrist.

“Inside,” she pants. “Now. I want you inside me.”

You oblige - because how could you not? You push in slowly, letting her stretch around you, savoring the way her breath trembles and her eyes flutter closed.

She gasps when you're fully inside her, her arms wrapping around your shoulders as if anchoring herself to this moment, this feeling.

“You feel so good,” she moans, her voice breaking into a breathless laugh. “So good - better than anyone else, right?”

You thrust slowly, deliberately deep. “Wanda…”

“Say it,” she demands again, her voice strained. “I want to hear you say I’m better than her.”

Your breath catches as you rock your hips into her again, and she tightens around you at the praise in your voice.

“You are,” you groan. “You’re better. The best. No one’s ever made me feel like this.”

She moans, high and desperate, nails digging into your back now, and you love the way she falls apart when she feels worshipped.

You keep the pace slow but deep, driving into her with just enough power to make her eyes roll back. She keeps clinging, gasping, her legs wrapped tight and her lips seeking yours over and over like she’s scared you’ll disappear.

“You're mine,” she says through gritted teeth, her voice raw. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasp, thrusting harder now. “Only yours, Wanda. Always.”

Something breaks in her then. She pulls you down into a messy, desperate kiss, hips jerking against your hand in time with your rhythm. You can feel her building - her walls fluttering, breath hitching, thighs trembling.

“Don’t stop,” she cries. “Don’t stop, don’t stop - ”

You don’t. You couldn’t if you tried.

Her release crashes over her like a wave - her whole body arching, a broken moan leaving her throat as she clings to you like she’ll drown without your touch.

You groan against her neck, the world blurring around you both.

After, when you’re breathless and tangled and coated in sweat, she still refuses to let you go. Her fingers rest lightly on your spine, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, and her voice - softer now - fills the silence.

“I meant it,” she murmurs. “I want to be your best. Your only.”

You press a kiss to her temple, still catching your breath, and answer simply:

“You are.”

Wanda doesn’t wait this time.

The moment you’re fingers move out, she shifts you both on the bed, her thighs straddle your hips, and her fingers grip your wrists, pushing them into the mattress above your head. Her eyes - glassy, burning - search yours with something between a challenge and a plea.

“Let me,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Let me use you. I need to feel it.”

Your heart stutters. You nod. You’d give her anything.

Wanda kisses you - fierce, almost bruising - and she grinds down against your stomach, soaking and needy, desperate for friction. Her breath hitches, and she breaks the kiss just long enough to sit up on your lap. The sight is devastating - her flushed chest rising and falling, her thighs tight around you, her fingers trembling as she reaches between her legs to line herself up with your thigh.

She doesn’t ride your fingers. She doesn’t ask for your mouth.

She rides your body.

The slick heat of her folds drags along your skin as she rocks forward, her hands planted firmly on your chest. She sets the rhythm, grinding her clit against your hip bone like she’s chasing something she’s been denied for years.

You moan under her, completely helpless to do anything but watch her fall apart.

“I want to hear you,” she breathes, her voice already breaking. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?” you manage to ask, breathless, utterly entranced by the way she moves - by the way her wetness smears across your skin, by the needy roll of her hips.

“That I’m better,” she pants, leaning down again, her mouth hovering over yours. “That I’m better than her. That you’ve never felt this way with anyone else.”

You blink up at her, stunned by the sharp ache in her voice.

Then you speak - raw and reverent.

“You’re the best I’ve ever had, Wanda. No one’s even close. No one’s ever touched me like this, made me feel like this. It’s you. Only you.”

A sound leaves her throat - half gasp, half sob - and her pace falters for just a moment before picking up again, faster now. She leans into your shoulder, moaning as she grinds against you, desperate, frantic, like she’s trying to brand the memory into both your skins.

Her walls flutter around nothing, her clit dragging over the line of your hip, and you can feel how close she is - how badly she wants to come from this alone.

You free your hands from hers gently and cup her face, guiding her to look at you again. “Let me touch you,” you whisper.

She nods, dazed, panting. “Yes - God, yes - please - ”

You flip her with ease - just enough to roll her under you - and immediately settle between her thighs. She moans at the shift, at the sudden emptiness, but then you’re there - mouth warm, hands steady, tongue pressed flat and slow against her soaked folds.

Wanda cries out, her back arching off the bed.

You hold her hips still as you suck her clit into your mouth, slow and deep, and you swear she’s trembling already.

“You taste like fucking heaven,” you murmur, lips brushing her as you speak. “This is mine, Wanda. No one else’s. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

She’s already shaking her head, eyes squeezed shut, too overwhelmed to answer - but you don’t stop.

You fuck her with your mouth until she’s begging. Until her fingers clutch at the sheets, then at your hair, and her thighs start to close around your head.

“I’m gonna - oh God, Y/N - fuck, I’m - ”

She comes with a choked moan, clit pulsing against your tongue. But you don’t stop.

You moan softly as you keep licking her through it - slower, deeper, dragging it out until her legs tremble violently under your grip.

“Too much - ” she whines, trying to squirm away, but you pin her hips down, unrelenting, drunk on the taste of her.

“You said you wanted me to never forget,” you murmur, tongue still working her oversensitive flesh. “I’m making sure of it.”

Her next orgasm builds too fast. It rips through her with a sob, her fingers tangled in your hair like she’s holding on for dear life. Her voice breaks open as she moans your name, high and hoarse and wrecked.

When you finally pull away, her chest is heaving, her thighs soaked and twitching, her body flushed all over like she’s burning from the inside.

You crawl back up to her, kiss her slowly, and wipe her tears with your thumbs again.

And when her trembling fingers cup your cheek, she whispers, raw and hoarse:

“Mine.”

You kiss the corner of her lips. “Yours,” you promise. “Always yours.”

The air is thick with heat and the scent of sex, but it’s the quiet that lingers most.

Wanda lies boneless against you, one leg thrown over your hip, her cheek pressed to your shoulder, lips parted against your skin as she catches her breath. You hold her close, tracing lazy shapes along her spine, the softness of her skin still slightly damp beneath your fingertips.

Neither of you rushes to speak. It’s a sacred kind of silence. The kind that feels earned.

Eventually, you feel Wanda shift - just enough to rest her chin on your chest and glance up at you with glassy, blissed-out eyes. She’s flushed and glowing, her hair a wild mess over her face, and you grin as you tuck a strand behind her ear.

“You okay?” you murmur, voice husky but gentle.

She nods slowly. “Better than okay.” Her smile is sleepy, but a little shy, too. “Did I… go too far?”

You blink, then laugh softly, lifting your hand to cup her cheek. “Wanda. That was hot as fuck. If that’s what jealous and possessive feels like, I might have to make Agatha say something smug more often.”

Wanda gasps and hides her face in your chest, groaning. “Y/N!”

You laugh louder this time, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her close. “I’m kidding. Mostly.”

She mumbles something against your skin, clearly flustered, and you kiss the top of her head.

“But seriously,” you say, quieter now, “we didn’t cross any lines. You didn’t hurt me. I didn’t push too much?”

Wanda shakes her head, nuzzling against you with a soft sigh. “You were perfect. You always are.”

“Debatable,” you whisper with a crooked grin, earning a small swat to your side.

You let the moment settle again before you shift just slightly, enough to look into her eyes.

“I get it, you know,” you murmur. “I really do.”

Wanda frowns softly. “Get what?”

“The feeling,” you admit, your voice dipping into something more vulnerable. “Of wondering if someone else meant more. If you’ll ever measure up to something you weren’t part of.”

You pause. Breathe. Let the words come slowly.

“Sometimes I think about Vision. The Mind Stone. That… connection you two had. And the twins - before they were mine, before I got to call them ours. I wonder if I’ll ever compare to what you had with him. If you’ll ever look at me the way you looked at him.”

Her breath hitches, and you almost regret saying it. Almost.

But then she cups your face and kisses you - slow, deep, and full of something so real it nearly brings tears to your eyes.

When she pulls back, she presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “I’ve never looked at anyone the way I look at you. Never loved anyone the way I love you.”

You blink hard. Your throat tightens.

“He wasn’t my soulmate, Y/N,” she says. “He was comfort. He was safety. He gave me something when I was lost. But you… you found me. You brought me back to life. You’re the one who made me feel again.”

You don’t say anything at first. You just wrap your arms around her, tighter than before, and bury your face in her hair.

“I don’t care what fate or magic or some glowing rock decided,” she murmurs. “I choose you. Every time.”

Your voice is a little wrecked when you speak. “God, I love you.”

She smiles against your cheek. “I know.”

You pull back just enough to look at her again. “And just so we’re clear,” you add, grinning as you lean in close, your voice dipping with playful warmth, “you’re also definitely the best I’ve ever had.”

Wanda rolls her eyes, blushing to her ears. “Stop.”

“Never.”

You both dissolve into quiet giggles, tangled up in each other like vines, warm and safe and endlessly close. And even with everything unsaid still lingering in the shadows, what remains between you feels stronger than ever.

There’s no need to rush. Tonight, you’ve got time.

And tomorrow, too.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Just One More

virgin!eddie x fem!reader

You literally fall into Eddie's lap and after doing you a favor, you somehow become his first.

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v)

The party is in full swing when you get there. This is the first one you’ve gone to alone since your messy break up and it feels weird but oddly freeing to not have anyone by your side. You had no one to answer to, to wait on and you didn’t have to worry about being abandoned so he could go talk with his friends and pretend like you didn’t even exist. 

But because you have the most terrible luck, you spot him in the kitchen, flirting with the exact guy that he always told you not to worry about. This all has to be some elaborate joke that life has decided to play on you, that’s the only thing that makes sense. Well, good for them. They deserve each other. 

You swear you see Johnny look your way and hurry into the living room, backing up as quickly as possible to make sure that they can’t see you, but of course, because this is all still some joke, you end up falling onto something, or rather, someone. A cute someone at that. He’s got curly, dark brown hair and the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize quickly. Instead of being offended like you assume he would be, he just smiles and it’s pretty. 

“I’m not,” he says, his voice taking on a flirty tone. Maybe life is actually starting to be kinder to you. 

“You’re not?” You ask, sitting up and the stranger just smiles wider. 

“Not at all. It’s not everyday a pretty girl literally falls into my lap.” Your cheeks heat at his compliment and you shyly turn away, only seeing that Johnny’s eyes have locked on yours. 

“Can I ask a huge favor?” He doesn’t even know you but is sure that he’d do whatever you asked. You’ve already bewitched him and he doesn’t even know your name. He always falls fast and hard and it never seems to get him anywhere. His heart always gets broken in the end. 

“Anything,” he breathes, not even caring how desperate he sounds. 

“My ex is over there and I really need you to kiss me,” you say, leaning closer and Eddie is standing to wonder what kind of dream he’s entered because surely something as perfect as this wouldn’t be real life, right?

“Sure,” he nods, his lips parting, and you slot yours between them as your arms wrap around his neck. One hand rests against your waist as the other cradles the back of your head. 

The kiss is soft and sweet, everything you could have ever hoped for. It’s like what you’ve seen in the movies but didn’t think was real. There’s a spark there and you already feel sad knowing that you’re going to have to break the kiss eventually. 

You stay like that for so long that you completely forget why you initially asked him, so caught up in his lips that you forget about everything else but him. And Eddie’s not even sure how he’s able to kiss you back since his mind is so fuzzy, no thoughts going on besides your lips. 

You’re straddling his waist now, kissing his neck and all he can do is whine, wanting more, needing more. You’re whispering the most filthy things into his skin. He wants to do everything you’re asking of him. He wants to fully submit to you. To be your good boy. 

“That’s a nice sound,” you tell him, your lips finding his again. “You wanna make it again? Maybe somewhere more private?” 

He wants to, he really does. But he’s never done that kind of thing before. Hell, he’s barely even kissed anyone before tonight so he’s sure that he’d have no idea what to do. You clearly seem to be much more experienced than him and he wouldn’t want to disappoint you. 

So he’s not sure why he agrees and lets you lead him up the stairs to an empty bedroom. His heart is pounding as you close the door then push him onto the bed. He knows he should say something, but his mind goes blank as you start to undress, your lacy bra making his cheeks flush. 

He just stays there, staring up at you as you move onto your jeans, giving him his own personal show and he’s not going to dare to tell you to stop. Especially not when he feels his pants getting tighter. 

He’s adorable, you think. He’s staring at you with drool practically falling from his lips and you wonder why he’s here alone tonight when any woman would be lucky to have him. He’s sweet and kind and you feel so grateful to have fallen into his lap. He’s unlike any guy you’ve ever met and you just know that he’ll be nothing but a gentleman when he finally gets you into bed. 

He’s staring intently, his pupils getting bigger so that his eyes look almost black and you decide that you need him and you need him now. and he needs you too considering how hard he is right now. 

You’re now just in your bra and panties and you make your way for him, placing yourself on top of him, kissing him until he’s breathless. Your hands slide up his shirt as your lips move to his neck again, pushing the shirt up slowly until you can get it over his head. 

“I-I’ve never done this before,” he says breathily. You’re quick to pull away, reaching for your clothes, but he stops you, taking your hands in his. “But I want you to be my first.” 

“You do?” You ask. “You don’t even know my name.” 

“I’m Eddie,” he replies with that pretty smile and you swear your heart melts for just a second. 

“Y/n.” 

“Y/n,” he repeats, putting emphasis on each syllable and it sounds so pretty coming out of his mouth. ”Now I do know your name and I still want you to be my first…if you want.” 

“I’m not very good, just so you know.” Those were the exact words that Johnny had said to you every time 

“How would I know?” He lets out a laugh and it makes your heart flutter. God, he’s perfect. He’s perfect and you’re probably never going to see him again. That’s why you’ve got to make tonight count. So you pull him in for another kiss, sticking your tongue into his mouth this time and he moans, loudly, a sound he’s only made when he was by himself. 

You begin to grind against him and now he’s whining into your mouth and the sound is intoxicating. You need more. You need to ride him until all he can get out is your name, screaming it until he can’t anymore. 

“You gonna be a good boy for me?” You ask as your hands slip between your bodies, feeling around for the button of his jeans. 

“God, yes,” he breathes. Once they’re off, it’s much easier to see his bulge and how much of an effect you’ve had on him from giving him your little show plus your kisses. He’s never wanted anyone so badly and he’s prepared to do whatever, be whatever you ask of him. 

He sees you pulling something from your purse and immediately realizes that it’s a condom as soon as comes into view. You slowly pull down his boxers and he should be shy about you being the only girl to ever see his cock, but he’s not. 

“I’m gonna put this on you, okay?” You tell him and he nods as his boxers finally come off and your eyes widen at the size of him. You roll the condom onto him then quickly remove your panties before straddling him. 

You settle on top of him nice and slow to get him used to it and the moan that falls from his lips is enough to make you soaked. He’s already coming undone so you’re going to take your time because you know he’s not going to last very long. 

“God,” he whines. “This is far better than using my hand.” You’re moving slowly, your hands pressed against his chest as you continue to move. 

“Yeah? You like that? How about this?” You begin to bounce even faster, moving your hands to grab onto his hips, pushing them against yours until he’s able to do it on his own, mimicking the movement perfectly. 

“Fuck,” he whines again. “Does it always feel this good?” He’s moving slowly, trying his best to keep up with your pace and you watch him come completely undone underneath you, his body pouring sweat as he pushes in and out of you, his words quickly slurring by the second.

“To be honest, not really, but with you, it feels just right. You’re such a good boy.” Those seem to be the magic words because not long after, he’s reaching his orgasm and you feel so smug because of how loud he’s being. You did that and you feel even more confident that you made him feel that good. 

When he comes down, you turn to leave because that’s what you’re used to, but Eddie grabs hold of you and pulls you down to lie beside him. You turn to face him and his eyes are pleading. You know what he wants and even though it’s programmed into you to leave, you just can’t. Not when he’s been so sweet and not when he made you feel so good. He’s not like the others that you’ve slept with. He actually cares what you’re into and isn’t interested in using you just to feel something. 

As you pull him into another kiss, you just know that you’re going to go for another round and you give in. You let him take the lead this time, only with a little guidance and he’s nothing but a good boy. He doesn’t even have to ask to know what you like. He just does. As he makes you orgasm, you just know that you won’t be able to sleep with anyone else after that. And with the way he pulls you into his arms after you come down, he tells you exactly that.

Pretty much everyone is gone when the two of you sneak downstairs and out the door. You head outside hand in hand and Eddie walks you to your car. Kissing you again and again, stalling going to his own vehicle and only leaves when he gets your phone number and plans to meet again for one more, but you both know that it won’t be just one more. Not if you can help it, anyway.

[scarletbit]

Sunshine and rain / bob reynolds

paring: bob reynolds x avengers!reader summary: you were sick, tired, bitter, and bleeding. you were the worst kind of patient - he shows up anyway. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff a/n: It felt mandatory to have a sick day drabble.

You were being punished. There was no other explanation for the incessant pounding in your head. Every terrible decision you’ve ever made has manifested in the pressure in your sinuses and the ache that pulsed through your left abdomen.

All your years of guerrilla training had equipped you with all the traits that made a good soldier, but it didn’t prepare you for the cruel combination of having the flu after being shot in the stomach. All because of a one second delay in evading the bullet that wasn’t even directed at you. And no matter what Bucky claims he saw; it was just one second.

“I don’t deserve this” you murmured to yourself, turning over in your blanket riddled cot that would have once been called a bed but was of now what you expected to be your final resting place.

When the knock on your door first came you were sure it was finally your time. For the first time in your life, you thanked whatever higher being was taking mercy on you.

The louder second knock was much more unwelcome.

“What?” you groaned into your pillow, too tired and too annoyed to direct any niceties at whoever stood on the other side.

The door began to open, a familiar figure emerging.

“Hi,” Bob stood in the doorframe. His eyes darted around your room, anticipating a dismissal when you realized it wasn’t some urgent situation, just him.

When it never came, he inched forward. You were still busy trying to comprehend the new presence in your room with that sickness induced haze still clouding your mind.

“Yelena told me to check in on you” he raised his hands “said i should ‘make sure you weren’t dead’” he finished with air quotes, a brief grin adorning his lips.

“A few more minutes and I will be” you mustered out, eyes finally focusing on his figure.

On most days you welcomed Bob’s sheepish charm and attempts at conversation. Today, however, when you felt like severing your head from your spinal cord just to get a respite from your somehow worsening headache, it was much harder to converse.

“Look, Bob” You sighed, trying your absolute hardest to avoid what Ava would (incorrectly, of course) label as an “outburst” and remain calm. Even in sickness, you didn’t want to agitate Bob. Especially when he was simply showcasing his unique style of helpfulness. “I’ll survive” you asserted.

“Yelena said you’d feel better if you left your room” he mumbled, newfound caution surrounded his words.

“I promise if Yelena was in my place she’d shoot you just for suggesting that.” you remarked. You flopped on your back, gaze shifting away from Bob back to the spot on your ceiling you’d very recently designated your favorite.

Bob’s eyes narrowed as he thought about the best way to go about this situation. He wanted to make himself useful. Do this for Yelena and help you feel better. “We could watch a movie” he offered not so much at you but rather at the pile of sheets that resembled your figure.

You groaned loudly, then winced when the sound reverberated in your skull. The idea of listening to more people talking, or worse, the loud explosion that were undoubtedly in whatever action movie Bob was probably thinking about was one you truly couldn’t stomach.

“Please, no more noises” You begged, moving your pillow over your head. You hoped it’d smother you.

“It’s a silent film” he insisted, holding his palms in front of him defensively “no more noises” he reassured you, “promise” he smiled, letting his hands fall when you peaked your head from its hiding place. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea to abandon the tomb you’d been holed up in for the past day.

Sensing your resolve weakening, Bob went in with his finisher “I can make that one soup you like.”

“Sold” no hesitation. You loved that fucking soup, and Bob was surprisingly good at making it. Granted, it wasn’t the most demanding task. You began gathering all your blankets and steading yourself on your right side to finally rise from your bed. Bob leaned forward, hand stretched out to offer you a hand

“Oh, I can…” he started as he reached for you.

“I got it.” you cut him off curtly, shoving his hand away before it touched yours. The worst part about being out of commission was the weakness. Like everyone else who resided in this tower, you really hated being weak. Even more maddening was the idea of being perceived as such.

Bob retracted his arm and straightened his back, standing awkwardly by your door. You realized maybe that was one of those “outburst” Ava liked to mention. Where Yelena, Ava, and even Walker, would call you out when you became cross, you knew Bob was different than all of you. Gentler. You’d seen him get annoyed plenty of time, but unlike the rest of the maverick members that composed the thunderbolts, he was rarely combative. You knew he wouldn’t call you out, even when you really deserved it. For example, like if you were being snappy after he just trying to help you on an especially terrible day. You could’ve apologized, but you lowered your head and started for the door.

Bob turned to let you walk past him through your bedroom door. He smiled as he saw you beeline for the living room couch, relieved you’d accepted his invitation and more relieved he wouldn’t have to report news of your death to Yelena.

A couple hours later, with a warm bowl of a soup in your hand and black and white figures moving about on screen, you turned to Bob.

“Thanks” you murmured.

You meant it, you were thankful for everything. You were thankful that he willed himself to deal with you when you were sick, wounded, and irritable. You were thankful for the movie selection, his attempt at helping you, and for continuing to do so after your ‘outburst’, even though you wouldn’t have blamed him if he retracted the offer altogether. You were thankful that this wasn’t the first time he’d offered a helping hand since you’d both found a home within these walls.

When Bob turned to face you, his eyebrows slightly furrowed as he attempted to interpret the only word you’d said since leaving your bedroom.

You couldn’t decide which part you were most thankful for or how to express that to him. Would there be any point even if you could? When you’d relied on actions your entire life, words had such little meaning. There was so much to thank him for that nothing came to mind at all anymore. So, you landed on the simplest.

“For the soup.”

[swimming-karyss]

Sabo: loneliness, connection and affection

Trying to organise my thoughts on this matter hehe

I just thought that Sabo's relationship with loneliness and connection are very interesting, and not much people talk about how terribly lonely his childhood days were(even compared to Ace&Luffy).

Ace has been alienated from people from the beginning. Raised in the middle of the jungle, by bandits who never showed much affection, and who repeated the same hurtful words as others did. The state of loneliness is the norm for him. He has never known any other life. Naturally, he'd be protective of what little he has(Sabo) and reluctant to open up and accept new connections(Luffy).

As for Luffy, he has been left alone. Shanks left him after a year staying at Windmill village. Garp constantly took him out of his regular life only to leave him alone in the jungle. And he as well took him away from the village and Makino, after he ate his devil fruit. And while he didn't have [present] parents, he had been cared for. Luffy knows the difference between loneliness and companionship. Which is why he chased Ace's recognition so much.

Sabo's situation is more similar to Luffy's.

But do you ever think that Sabo loved his parents? That he wanted them to love him too? He wouldn't have drawn them if he didn't. He wouldn't be so disheartened at their dismissal if he hated them from the start. But his parents made their love conditional. Sabo had to earn their love and his happiness, while they ignored his pain and attempts to connect. 

And as you know this kind of relationship could leave a lasting impact on how one navigates their future relationships! But on that later😊

Now, Sabo ran away and that opened a whole other can of worms. He's a child, that for five years didn't have anyone to rely on. Of course, Ace was with him, but after he left for the day, Sabo was left completely alone. I mean, at least Ace had Dadan and occasionally Makino and Garp, they shared meals together, he could turn to them in case something happened and they provided him with company and a roof above his head. Sabo lived on the Gray Terminal by himself, in a place where people considered him either a troublemaker to avoid, or a pest to get rid of (those like pirates and bandits). So through Ace and Luffy Sabo gains not only brothers but also other connections and people who care about him! And he welcomes both Dadan and Makino with a bright smile :) Now that I think about it, just like Ace told him about Luffy, he also must've told Sabo about them too🥹

And while all this is nice, his previous problems didn't go away magically. 

(… But his issues aren't stated or shown as explicitly as Ace and Luffy's, so they are easier to dismiss.)

Even though Sabo trusted Ace with his life, he still kept his origins a secret from him, whether it was because he felt them insignificant compared to Ace's or because he feared abandonment in case Ace would be disappointed. And he was more than willing to keep his secret until the very end - Luffy&Ace literally had to beat(strangle) the truth out of him. Sabo also put distance between them in another way too: Ace thought the two of them would sail together, Sabo didn't.

That is honestly also a point to how controlling his parents were. Sabo wanted freedom so much that he didn't mind the loneliness that came with it. Well, he got what he wanted ;) 

Now it would be easy to say that his amnesia also erased his trauma. But it didn't! Sabo still felt hid parents' influence. (And unlike the other weird amnesia case (the sea sure likes to take people's memories huh) - Big Mom - he didn't revert to his younger self, he only lost access to his memories, his feelings and 'character development' remained). If anything it only led to Sabo not being able to identify the cause of his issues → not being able to treat them properly. Now, the RA seem like decent guys, they very well could be the needed support system for Sabo, but again, it's an army with a whole lot of other issues to deal with. So either way his trauma most likely was allowed to fester for a while as we see its consequences show in his adulthood. 

Even though Sabo seems to be doing well as an adult, there's still some signs of emotional distance. He has never reciprocated a hug, even though he doesn't have a problem with physical touch in general, he didn't even think about approaching Luffy in Dressrosa at first and was very tense when actually talking to him. And it's honestly fascinating just how stiff his body language was in Dressrosa (maybe I'll talk about it in general some other time) - be it shock or anger he keeps his arms to his body, unlike Koala or Hack, who choose violence.

He also showed barely any reaction during Vegapunk's speech despite the panelling focusing on him specifically. I'd say he mostly keeps his negative emotions in check, bc in Robin's little flashback he was quite expressive! The main counterpoint is 'special Luff' where he is very open about his anger, but he has a really decent reason for it: his feelings being made fun of. And as you'll see later it's a very sensitive topic for him →

To begin with, he avoids talking about things that have emotionally impacted him in any way.

1.This one might be a stretch, but he begins to talk about his encounter with Fujitora, only not to say anything in the end, idk what's wrong with him; 2. After a very emotional fight with Burgess Sabo dismisses any worries without even mentioning the fight; 3. He refuses to talk with Hack about Luffy, even though we know that he loves to yap about him to Dragon. And that is right after he didn't want to wake Luffy up to even say goodbye! He also changes the topic quickly so Karasu wouldn't be able to further question him.

Even though these scenes are played as gags, he really seems to have trouble with emotional intimacy and opening up about his feelings. And that makes him seem inattentive and irresponsible, thus affecting his relationships with others even more… 

And speaking of which, he is accustomed with either suppressing his feelings or at least just keeping them in check. He hides his worries from his colleagues, appearing as cheerful as always. And during his meeting with Dragon and Iva he brushes aside his guilt and grief for king Kobra (but, I mean it's a work meeting, they need to be professional) and never once he acknowledges his injuries.

And if he's willing to disregard such a thing as grief, how do you think he really feels about his new title, which was gained by the blood of a man he failed to save?

And frankly, right now we don't know much about Sabo! We know about his childhood, and the way he presents himself now(and that is some material to work with), but the 12 years in the Revolutionary Army are a mystery, and again it's an army, I bet he's seen many things, especially considering how high his position is!

tldr: like Luffy, Sabo has a special relationship with loneliness and abandonment. But unlike Luffy, who especially in pre-ts hated separation, Sabo pushes people away. And what makes it even harder for others to connect with him, is that he tends to hide his feelings and problems.

(like a cat)

but again, I might be reading something wrong, my bad

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

A Changed Future (2) | Yandere Isekai

Part 1

It’s so irritating for Haruko 

He remembers how he used to try and make noise in the beginning, when the same thing happened to him

But even without your struggling, he’s got more obstacles than he thought

“Tch all these guys getting in our way, maybe I should just kill them.”

“Haru no!”

“Why not, I'm sure you did it when I was trapped.”

“That…that doesn’t make it right!”

“So? Who cares about right when we’re in love? I think it was you who said that.”

Either way with or without your approval he’s figuring out a way to take down his newfound rivals

He kind of hopes they are as ambitious as the friends who recently abandoned him

Too bad they aren’t

In the original story, the crazy thing about the protagonist was that despite their obsessive love for Haruko and general disregard for those who got in the way of that was otherwise really inspiring

Breaking away from their elitist family for their violent morals ironic right

Joining the workforce, easily rising because of their work ethic and intelligence

And all that while beautifully evading a less-than-clean detective trying to pin the blame of random crimes on them

Which of course got them their own male leads attempting to pursue their affections

Always doomed to fall short because of circumstance or the protagonist suavely crushing their hopes to gush about their love

It was a uniquely terrible tragedy for their characters to be written this way

That’s what the random reviewers would say

Which is why you did feel inclined to maybe entertain them a bit more than the original protagonist would have ever done

“Since you are quitting….I hope you’ll let me treat you to dinner. For all your hard work of course.”

“Uh sure but I have to be home by sunset.”

“That’s a shame then we’ll have to—Wait. Did you say you would?”

“Yeah, are you okay?”

“YES! Ahem I mean yes I’m fine! I look forward to a nice evening together!”

Unknowingly furthering the obsession the protagonist was barely keeping at bay

“So mind telling me what you ordered that day at the restaurant?”

“I think it was my favorite dish there called the berry delight but I’m not sure. I think they changed the menu since I was there.”

“Why not confirm it later today? That way you can tell me if you did see the missing classmate of yours.”

“But I don’t remember exactly where I sat–”

“Then we’ll just have to sit in every spot until it rings a bell.”

“I don’t know if that’s–”

“Don’t fret. I’ll be paying but there's no way we’ll get to try every table. We’ll have to come back multiple times.”

“Okay…”

“No worries I’m sure you’ll get tired of eating there so we’ll go to some other places to give you a rest. Anywhere you wanted to try?”

You’d be foolish to think you could escape them by agreeing to Haruko’s entrapping of you 

It only takes a day of you not responding to messages that they both eagerly awaiting you at your door

And after the first few times, Haruko shooing them away they begin to get resourceful

“Yeah bud nice try their still out.”

“Hm well say that to my lovely warrant right here.”

“Wait! H-h-hold on! Geez I-i’ll go get them now but they are not going to be happy with you!”

It really doesn’t get better as the guard against the protagonist’s secrets begins to be let down as interested parties slowly make their way in

You don’t have the same ruthlessness or ability to deceive as the protagonist you took over for 

On top of that you never actually read the webtoon so you’ll be left trying to piece together whatever few weak points the protag has

Where if you hadn’t already started to make your pursuers interested all those faults are fuel for their agenda

“It’s so unfortunate that the company can sign off on your absence during this suspicious crime but I don’t mind editing records if you wouldn’t mind spending time with me. That way I can vet your personality myself. Over wine of course!”

It’s overwhelming constantly being pulled in 3 directions 

What’s worse you’re completely oblivious when the latest obstacle in the protag’s perfect life finally makes themselves known

“Hello darling, it took us years to find you but we did it!”

“Don’t look like that come give your Mama a hug!”

Part 3: Here

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday!!! 🎂🎂🎂 Can I have a Merlin prompt? 🎂🎂🎂

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5

Merlin manages to avoid the arrival of Nimueh and her kidnapped apprentice and it’s not even suspicious at all because everyone is avoiding them, and Tristan, because of the huge fight they had about the actual legitimate kidnapping of an unwed, barely of age lady from a neighboring kingdom.

“Does it count as kidnapping if they go along willingly?” Elyan asks, standing above Merlin while he polishes his armor and being no help at all despite being the son of a blacksmith.

He shrugs. “How would I know?”

That gets him a snort of laughter and a slap on the back that only has him stumbling a little bit. If nothing else, his time as Arthur’s servant running around doing chores, and usually running after Arthur and Elyan and their newest terrible idea, has made it so he sort of has muscles now. Access to the castle’s kitchens certainly hasn’t hurt either.

He feels sort of guilty about it. Sure, he’s barely earning any wages himself since it’s mostly going to Ealdor’s debt, but they’re out there working hard to irrigate the land and fix up the village and he’s eating well and sleeping in the nicest room he probably ever will, and sure, he’s working, but he also spends a lot of time just hanging out with Arther and Elyan.

“She’s pretty alright actually, for a noble,” he continues. He hasn’t been going to nearly the lengths Merlin has to avoid her. “Especially for one that grew up in Camelot.”

“You grew up in Camelot,” Merlin says.

For a moment Elyan looks a strange cross between forlorn and wistful. “Yeah, but me and my dad and my sister are just commoners. It wasn’t so bad for us, after the queen died and the prince went missing, but the nobles got it the worst. The king had never been the most comprising of men, but he really became something else after all that. I assume that’s why the de Bois left.”

Merlin startles. “The de Bois are from Camelot? They said that this was their grandfather’s castle!”

Elyan blinks at him. “What? Of course they are! And this was his castle, it’s just that familial relations broke down,” sometimes Elyan says things that make it so clear he spends too much time with Arthur, “and so their father’s was in Camelot. Is in Camelot, and still abandoned because no lord is willing to take up there and risk the king’s ire.”

“Why would the king care if someone else lived there?” he asks.

“Well, he took his brothers-in-law fleeing his kingdom a little personally, Merlin,” he says, rolling his eyes.

Wait. Wait – “Their sister was the queen of Camelot!?”

Elyan stares at him for a long moment then reaches out to rap his knuckles on the side of Merlin’s head. “What kind of schooling does that village have over there? I’ll tell Arthur to add it to the list.”

Better schooling wouldn’t be a bad thing, but, “I know her name was Ygraine! Ygraine Pendragon. No one told me her maiden name was du Bois!”

“Well,” Elyan says, looking uncertain, “maybe they just didn’t want it spread around. It’s not like they left under the best of circumstances. But I’m from the city proper, and everyone knows about the queen’s family there.”

“Right,” he says faintly.

How do things just keep getting worse?

He’s serving the king of Camelot’s nephew!

[00lunect]

★JD with Braces: Take 3★

Translation:

JD: It huuuuuuuuuuuuurts~…

Bruce: Calm down, John. We'll get ice cream later.

Clay: No ice cream! You heard the dentist: his mouth is a mess. The last thing he needs is more junk for his teeth!

Floyd: Don't be so hard on him. The dentist also said it would take a few weeks for the pain to go away and that it would be good if we did our best to cheer him up…

Clay: You're being very soft. John asked for it by not taking care of it when he could!

Bruce: The underbite isn't something you can prevent by just brushing your teeth, Clay.

Branch: But the tartar, the three cavities, and the broken tooth that they also had to treat can.

JD: Shut up…

So, I decided to add a little ✨angst✨ to the whole JD braces thing because in my last doodle, the man didn't suffer enough, and my brain came up with more lore about it. (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠).

So, it turns out the underbite isn't the only thing wrong with John's mouth when they go to the dentist. While getting checked out, the doctor discovers the man has been living with a considerable amount of tartar, three cavities, and a broken tooth between his teeth for a few years, which obviously worries the brothers greatly and causes them to scold John for having neglected his oral hygiene so badly. At least for the first few years he was away from the Troll Tree. Apparently, his teeth started hurting about two or three years after Brozone separated, which is why he was forced to return home (also because he missed his family terribly, of course, but the cavities simply made him rush to get there faster and see a dentist).

Unfortunately for him, he found the Troll Tree empty, and, devastated by all this, he ends up neglecting his hygiene even more for a while, until he manages to make his own toothpaste. Years later, he discovers the other tribes, but unsure of what to expect from his medicine, he doesn't dare visit a local dentist for a checkup. By now, he'd gotten used to living with the pain as a kind of punishment for abandoning his family, so he just sticks to getting proper toothbrushes and real toothpaste. Since then, he brushes every day after every meal to prevent his dental problems from worsening and tooth loss, and somehow it worked, as even the dentist was impressed that he still had a set of teeth to save.

The rest of Brozone is horrified by the revelation and extremely worried for their older brother.

John Dory receives THE scolding of his life, plus special treatment to restore his teeth to their former glory (or whatever they once were before the split), which is pretty easy for the Pop Trolls considering their high-sugar diet, so performing miracles regarding cavities was their specialty. The broken tooth and tartar were more difficult, but the dentist managed. Finally, after several weeks of constant (and painful. Really painful) treatment and making sure John Dory's teeth didn't fall out anytime soon, they finally address the initial problem: the underbite. By now, John Dory has already had a terrible time with the other treatments, barely able to sleep after someone drilled into his teeth for hours and put some weird, bad-tasting stuff in them to fix them. So, braces are the icing on the cake. The pressure in his mouth is unbearable, and according to the dentist, he'd have to deal with that pain for a few more weeks.

Long story short, JD was going to suffer for another month, and he's exhausted and almost traumatized by it all. The only thing his brothers can do in the face of such a pathetic sight is try to make him feel better or keep him comfortable until it passes, and John can only last a few hours before finally being overcome by the urge to cry…

But don't feel sad, people, this is all for his own good. And once the discomfort from the braces passes, he'll look so cute with his new smile! (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠).

…Even if he hates it…

Here are Take 1 and Take 2 of this whole thing, in case you were wondering where this idea of JD with braces came from. Just a silly little thing I thought of the other day and wanted to capture. You'll also notice that the John Dory drawing in this post has facial hair, which the previous one didn't have, so I decided to add it. I don't know, I felt like he needed it. In my previous doodle, he looked very young.

(Edit note: And by the way, here's Take 4 of this, in case you want to see how it continues. Sorry, I totally forgot to add it when I made the new JD with Braces post, but hey, better late than never, right? (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠))

And here's the drawing without text and enlarged, so you can appreciate my boy having a bad time. ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Thanks for reading!

[unspoken-blossomed-feelings]

{It seems to be that someone left his things behind by accident. Or not?}

ᯓ✮ Hyunjin & gn! reader

ᯓ✮ content: fluff 🌷

ᯓ✮ wc: 600

ᯓ✮ warning: none

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The first time it occurred by accident. At least, that's what you thought. It wasn't the first time Hyunjin spent the night at your place, but this time he had left behind the outfit he wore the previous day. So, as a good friend, you added his clothes when you did your laundry and brought his things with you to hand them back the next time you visited his place.

You still could remember the way his face fell when you told him you brought him the clothes he forgot at your place as you handed it back. He looked so disappointed you almost felt you had done something terribly wrong with your action. Then, he smiled again and thanked you.

You didn't ask about his reaction. But, later on you would come to understand that it wasn't necessary. Because the next time he stayed at your place he once again left his clothes behind. You rolled your eyes when you found a hoodie, a pair of sweatpants, and a few other items neatly folded at the end of your bed. He didn't even wear those clothes. He had left all those things behind on purpose.

"He's ridiculous," you told yourself with a sigh before grabbing his clothes and walking towards your wardrobe. You rearranged some things and placed his clothes inside. He didn't know it yet, but his plan had worked in the end.

By the end of the week, a really stressful one, you found yourself laying down on the couch, finally able to relax.

When you looked at your cup of tea, long abandoned on the table, there was no longer steam coming out of it. You were more than certain that the tea was cold because you didn't finish it while it was warm.

But, what happened was that you simply couldn't bring yourself to push Hyunjin off once he had decided to rest his head over your lap. So, it had been over thirty minutes since you had started to massage his scalp, as you listened to him talk about the new game that his roommate wanted to play.

Suddenly, as if remembering something of extreme importance, Hyunjin turned around to lay on his stomach, elbows on each side of your thighs. He met your gaze as you looked back at him startled. "We were supposed to go grocery shopping!"

You nodded slowly before letting your hands go back to the top of his head. "It's late. We can go tomorrow."

Your option, however, didn't seem to make him any happier. "But I didn't bring spare clothes to stay the night."

Before you could think things through, your mouth had already decided to keep going. "The spare clothes you left here last time are in your side of the wardrobe."

Of course, you didn't notice what kind of mistake you made until you noticed Hyunjin had stayed quiet for too long. "My side?" he asked "I have a side now?"

When the smirk finally made it onto his face, you knew you had messed up. "Hyune, get off my lap."

"Aw, you made room for me in your wardrobe."

In seconds, Hyunjin's arms had wrapped around your waist as his head rested against your stomach. He knew you were ready to push him off, so he had to hold onto you to avoid that. "Is this what love feels like?"

"Get. Off." But there was no point in trying to push him off. He wasn't going to let go.

"No, thanks. I'm like, super comfy here. But, you can try again. Add more sweetness, though."

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ᯓ✮m.list

A/N: Trying to post this for the 2nd time bc what do you mean this needs the warning content square...

[ryssbelle]

The Brozone Misconception

(This picture is more a joke don't take it too seriously)

This is a kind of long analysis, deep dive, and discussion about certain fandom misconceptions. I am 100 percent open for discussion but I would ask that you read the whole thing first before reaching out, and please be respectful!

A link to the og google doc with images as tumblr image limit killed part of the essay XD

Essay under the cut

There is a common misconception in a small subset of the trolls fandom about the character of Brozone. That is their reaction and treatment of Branch, their overall purpose in the story, and whether or not Branch should have forgiven them. Whether or not their trauma born toxic traits which they aim to grow out of should be forgiven or not.

Let’s begin with an analysis of the beginning, middle, and end of their arc progression more or less.

We start with our favorite problem child, Jonathan Dorian, mounting the pressure of tonight's show, building expectations, and showing us, the audience, a bit of what goes on every time these guys perform: 

Making Bruce do 100 more push ups in the time before showtime (1 minute) 

Pressuring Clay to wear the funderdrawers even tho he clearly doesn’t want to 

Rebuffing floyds attempts to calm himself down

And his worst crime

Making Baby Branch Nervous

Now you could see all of these and think “Evil! Evil John Dory! Jail for John DOry for 1000 years!!” because he is being oh so toxic. Now JD’s main motivation for pushing his brothers so hard in this moment has to do with the “Perfect Family Harmony” which according to baby Branch no one has ever hit before

And you can see the strain it puts on the other brothers not just through the scenes i showed before but Clay literally tells us

John Dory not only sees it as a great achievement, but he is putting his own and his families self worth all on whether or not they accomplish the perfect family harmony

(ignore the crappy cropping image limits)

And when they fail he blames it on them not following his lead 

He still believes after all of that that they can successfully complete the Perfect Family harmony 

This looks to be about the first time the brothers air their grievances out to their older brother about how they actually feel about not only completing the harmony, but the direction of the band itself.

All of this happens within the heat of the moment, and only continues to get worse as when confronted with all of this Negativity JD decides to leave. You can see by his facial expressions in the above screenshots he was already feeling terrible about the situation as a whole. Animation is very show don’t tell just as much as live action is, it’s very important for storytelling as a whole. A character should not have to SAY they are remorseful for you to be able to see it.

So JD leaves leading his other brothers to leave as well. Ironically they are following his lead badum dum dum. 

Now we can assume this is probably par for the course for these guys, cuz Grandma is right there, and she just lets them leave, you say plot convenience I say subtle story telling/ It is implied they do this all the time and will eventually come back. (they don’t)

(Also ignore this image its also a silly and not serious XD)

Now you may be thinking, Ricky, you say that Brozone is not toxic, yet you show us the worst examples of their character. Listen dear reader, this is only the beginning, what I’ve shown you is merely the establishment of the eventual conflict that will be part of the driving force behind character growth and the story itself. 

Let’s move on to adulthood. The main arguments against Brozone happen here, other than the initial abandonment of Branch, which, I should remind you, happened when the oldest among them was still a teenager (teenagers are dumb). 

In this section I also have to mention another movie, and another character, as he is usually brought up in these discussions 

Creek

Creek is usually used as a comparison to the Brozone bros in the argument that Brozone is EVIL AND TOXIC AND UNFORGIVABLE and Creek by comparison should be seen in a better light and not deserve the hate. To be honest I have never seen the level of hate that has been given to Brozone leveled at Creek in the slightest. He is canonically a toxic character, and one who is incredibly self serving which a majority of the fandom recognize and vibe with. Creeks admittedly rancid personality is a massive factor in his appeal (at least for me), and that is kind of the point of his character: To be awful and unforgivable. Creek wasn’t made as your average side character, Creek was specifically made to be an antagonist, to be a contrast to one of our main protagonists, Branch. That is why they are always at odds with each other within both 3D media and 2D media. 

Taken from the trolls wiki

Creek has also shown disregard for Branch’s hobbies in the main show, tossing his puzzle into the fire. This was during Haircuffed, when Creek didn’t want to do Branch’s puzzle

Which you think not so bad, its just a puzzle! Well…

Puzzle’s have incredible significance to Branch, a comfort object if you will, and another way to feel connected to his Grandma. Now you might cry “Creek didn’t know it was significant! He can’t be held responsible for that!” HE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO KNOW THE TRAUMA BEHIND THE PUZZLE TO NOT DESTROY THE PUZZLE.

Conversely let's look at the Brothers:

Throughout the course of the film they are a bit rude to Branch and dismissive of him:

JD:

Bruce:

Clay:

(You could argue the face grabbing is just a troll thing cuz)

But anyway

These scenes are minor things that add up during the course of the film for the purpose of showing off the traits they will put aside and grow out of for the sake of each other.

(brb reading xmen)

Lets talk about Xmen, you think JD is bad well watch this

Bam!

Anyway

Before we tackle the entire argument scene let’s first tackle the individual character of each of the bros, Specifically: John Dory, and Bruce, who are most criticized for their actions.

John Dory is one of the first brothers we see return in the film, and his first and foremost objective is to collect Branch so that they can go get their other brothers to rescue Floyd. Some have called John Dory uncaring for his younger brothers, but if that were the case why start the rescue mission at all? An uncaring brother would just ignore the letter and go on with his life, but John Dory literally drops everything just to go rescue his little brother. The letter even specified getting the other brothers first, but John Dory goes alone to get Floyd out of danger as fast as possible only retrieving the other bros when he fails (and cuz he didnt know where they were, can’t waste time when you got a brother to save)

A brother who didn’t care about his family wouldn’t go through all this effort. Some would say he’s only doing it for appearances sake, but for whom? Him and his brothers have been out of the limelight for 20 years, JD especially has been isolated in the neverglades, who is he trying to impress with this? No one, he’s just a good brother.

Also a reminder! When thinking about breaking Floyd out he is not the first to bring up the harmony! Floyd is, John Dory had a much more clever idea

So it's not just to complete the harmony either.

He’s also held on to all the merch from their Brozone days, mementos of his family, it shows how he cares, but also the flaw he aims to overcome: his desperate attempt to cling to the past, the better days.

Now let's go to Bruce, easily the most scrutinized of the brothers (because of the baby comment) 

When he first sees his brothers again this is his reaction: 

(Another point for JD, got ignored but is more happy to see his bros getting along)

Bruce is excited to introduce them to his family, excited to reconnect.

(Note: At this point tumblr stopped allowing images so i will be giving descriptions along with a link to the original google doc for reference purposes these are screenshots from the movie)

Cut image: Bruce introducing his wife to his brothers "These are my brothers, unexpectedly"

(Still excited and immediately introduces them to his wife despite them being “unexpected”)

Cut Image: Brandy saying "It's so nice to finally meet you"

“It’s so nice to finally meet you” Implies that he’s talked about them at length and the possibility of them meeting up with one another.

Also all of his kids completely ignore their mom, just to ask their father something, or tell on their sibling, or ask for his help as seen in this entire clip

With the ketchup kid he assures his kid he will handle it (and yes Brandy had to handle it but um rescue mission?) and that he loves them he just needs a bit of time to address, um who was it again? His brothers, right…

Bruce is argued as being incredibly selfish, I had seen a meme once that had suggested Bruce would let his own children die before he would give up his own life, which is horrendous and blatantly untrue. Bruce only tries to turn away his brothers when John Dory brings up the perfect family harmony and that’s before he knows it's for Floyd, once he finds out it’s for Floyd he is immediately on board! His biggest concern about the harmony at this time is how they’re going to do it. 

As for “abandoning his family again” Bruce is going on a rescue mission, which he asks his wife before hand if it is alright

Which she approves, he also agrees to cover for a WHOLE MONTH for the yoga retreat (Also seen in the clip above)

He spends the majority of the journey caring for Tiny Diamond as well, he lets Tiny into his hair, carries him around in a baby sling he’s a dad to any kid who needs him.

Clay doesn’t get as much scrutiny as either of the older bros, most likely due to his inability to leave the golf course and the fact he apologizes to Branch at the end. There are many things that mimic the same in the ending scene but let’s address the points brought up within the argument that people use to claim the evilness of Brozone. 

Also fun reminder, Clay is the one to start the fight, Not John Dory, not Bruce, Clay just a fun note (he is a lil problematic and argumentative and thats why i love him)

Clay brings up John Dory being bossy which sets everyone off into a tangent about the past, past actions that they think are resurfacing

Cut image, the beginning of the argument:

Clay: No. No, dude. You’re forcin' us to be perfect, just like you always have, so we can hit the perfect family harmony.

John Dory: Yeah. For Floyd.

Bruce: Is it? Or is this all just so you can tell people what to do again?

John Dory: Wha What?

_

Bruce: This isn’t gonna work if you keep on bein' the same old John Dory.

We all know John Dory’s reason for being “bossy” ; his reason for his perfection, once done out of an effort to impress, is now one out of necessity. They need to be perfect because now someone can die, and the others can’t see that due to their own trauma at the hands of JD’s perfectionism. 

As shown way at the beginning of the essay, all of the brothers suffered at the hands of JD’s past obsession, Bruce had to look a certain way pushing his body past its limits, Clay had to act a certain way disregarding his own happiness to keep up an image, Floyd was ignored and his advice pushed aside, and Branch was pushed to be perfect when he was only about 2 years old (or a month old if you go by the brozone blog). JD also suffered, pushing himself to make song after song, mentally exhausting himself and inadvertently hurting his brothers in the process of doing what he thinks is right for them. 

JD also had the responsibility (as a teen) to parent all of his younger brothers:

Cut Image:

John Dory: Well, I’m not allowed to change. I’m the oldest. I had to be the leader.

John Dory: Why do you think I moved to the middle of nowhere? So I didn’t have to be in charge of anyone. Four little brothers is a lot of responsibility.

You could argue it's his responsibility as the oldest but Grandma was right there, they shouldn’t be his sole responsibility. 

When most of them left it was done out of self preservation, to protect their sanity and to finally find happiness outside of a place that was no longer bringing it to them. They were kind of acting how most would want Branch to act, they cut out the toxic family for their own safety. 

Bruce:

Cut image:

Bruce: [stammers] Why do you think I left? So no one would treat me like you did.

Clay: 

Cut Image:

Clay: I’m gonna find trolls who take me seriously. Next to Clay is a picture of himself in a graduation cap

(Also that is Clays graduation photo, they are all around teen years in  the prologue which means this is either a middle school graduation photo or he graduated early and is still not taken seriously, which as someone who also faces that [only being seen one way despite your achievements] is incredibly discouraging and soul destroying) 

They most likely didn’t return due to the fact they didn’t want to be faced with this kind of treatment again (golf course entrapment aside) 

(Now you’re probably wondering about Floyd and he’s a whole other post, this is mostly focusing on the brothers who receive the most criticism due to misrepresentation)

During the argument they talk about going their separate ways, it is admittedly harsh they way they talk about leaving again, but they never say they’re leaving forever. Bruce has to return to his wife and kids, Clay left the golf course without one of its leaders, JD has his own life and routine, of course they’d go back to it once it was over, but that doesn’t mean visiting is off the table, and that they’d never see each other again. 

Cut Image: John Dory: What? The mission’s the mission. [chuckles] You didn’t think we’d all live together when this was all over, did you? Singin' songs and roastin' marshmallows?

Again i recognize JD is being an asshole here, but he is only knocking the idea of living together off the table, which kind of understandable they’re all adults with their own lives they don’t need to live together, I don’t get mad at my sister for going back to her house when shes done visiting. But again it is more how they say it then what they’re saying

Cut Image:

Branch: [scoffs] Oh, I’m sorry. Is that funny to you? That I might want us to actually be a family again? Tiny Diamond, pull over. Now.

Seen is JD's look of regret

You can see on his face that he regrets what he said when Branch says this, when he gets angry at him, he didn’t mean it like that. Thats when the don’t be a baby comment comes in, they still don’t actually understand why he’s upset, they think he’s acting childish, they don’t recognize he’s changed yet

Cut Image: The bros reaction upon hearing of grandmas death

These are their faces when they hear what Branch has been through, they obviously are upset, they’re hurt on his behalf, they are remorseful, this and their future actions signify the shift from who they were (hurt kids turned hurt adults, fighting over their past trauma) 

After Branch leaves, they, on their own accord, continue the mission to save Floyd, which is how they get caught, and during the final climax control freak JD relinquishes control, having changed and lets Branch take the lead. This is after Branch reminds them they don’t have to be perfect to be in harmony, just to be as they are together which they AGREE

Cut Image:

JD: We'll follow your lead, Branch

Once they save Floyd we are brought to Bruce’s restaurant, he brings them there to host their reunion, there is where branch gets encouragement from JD, where Clay apologizes, where Floyd reminisces and you can see JD engaging with his brothers more than just encouraging Branch he has joined Clays sad book club

Cut Image: JD reading a sad book behind Branch and Clay talking about said book club

This isn’t the end of their reconnection, this is only the beginning. They still have lots of time to grow, and to become closer as family. 

Now lets head back to Creek for a moment before we close this off:

We have brought up the puzzle destruction and his purpose as an antagonist. The main argument most people use is that Creek had no other choice but to sell out his entire race to be eaten and killed to save himself. He had a choice, Branch would’ve let himself get eaten if it meant protecting all of troll village as noticed when he protects poppy in twt (though he might’ve actually found another way out), Poppy would’ve as well. In tbt Floyd begs each of his brothers who meets him before the climax to let him die so they don’t face the same fate, these are all selfless acts. Creek reacts selfishly, eat everyone else but don’t eat me, then he smugly confronts Poppy, obnoxiously laments about how he has to live with his actions when if he were a truly good and selfless character wouldn't have been an issue. He smiles smugly, shrugs his shoulders, and lets himself be carried to safety when his people look at his betrayal with disbelief and sadness. 

Creeks actions in the 1st movie are awful, they’re supposed to be, they’re meant to be unforgivable crimes, and that is why he is killed in the 3D canon, legit he is dead in the 3D canon. 2D and 3D are different continuities, which is part of why I find them (Brozone and Creek) to be mostly incomparable.

Brozone’s arc only affects Branch and each other and in the end they grow stronger, and into better people. Creeks arc/actions affect an entire species and their survival, within the 2D continuity his actions only continue to be self serving, and rather toxic (more for funsies but you know) he should not have been forgiven, but he was. His actions were deplorable yet forgiven which then begs the question why aren’t Brozones? Creek also wrote the apology song solely to humiliate Branch in front of his friends which is not cool bro, Branch did not deserve the treatment he got in the episode from anyone. 

To conclude my thoughts are that Creek and Brozones actions are incomparable, Creek’s actions are not meant to be taken in a positive or sympathetic light, he is a villain cut and dry, that is who he was made to be and he does it wonderfully. I don’t hate Creek, I love his character, he is awful and that is great! Love toxic awful characters! Brozone are a representation of a broken family coming together again, they are toxic, and then they grow, they are meant to do so, the villains of that movie are Velvet, Veneer, and familial trauma all of which get mended by the end of the film. It’s not perfect but its there, and the ignorance of it is what causes these major misconceptions. 

TL;DR Learn media literacy please

[that-hazbin]

Your angel AU now has me by the THROAT.

I’m assuming that Alastor goes to Hell basically immediately after Emily tells him that Lucifer Fell and hopes that Lucifer didn’t just forget about him (even if everyone else had).

That reunion will be messy, and I think that in a way Lucifer didn’t forget about Alastor—I am now convinced that the apple on Lucifer’s hat is the one he meant to give Alastor and no one can convince me otherwise—but thoughts of him kind of fell to the wayside as other things took priority. I imagine Lucifer will be a mix of happiness to see Alastor, and horrified guilt because he was left in that garden for 10,000 years alone and it’s his fault. You said this whole idea was based on Spinel, so I’d think Alastor is a mix of terrible sadness and frothing fury, oscillating between the two in turns.

You have set up a situation that will have severe emotional repercussions that are delicious to contemplate; thank you for sharing your ideas and writing with us, and I respectfully request more.

I shortened a lot of this AU because I wanted people to make their own thoughts on it, but I've got a lot of personal thoughts for it that makes it fun. One of them is that in this AU, Alastor doesn't have wings. He was made for Lucifer as basically his doll, and so he wasn't allowed flight. If he needed to go anywhere, he needed Lucifer to fly him around. So leaving Heaven to get to Hell would, in fact, be really difficult. He can't just fly down the way Adam and his exorcists can.

Granted, since Lucifer fell, maybe Alastor thinks "alright I'll do that too" and just bodily throws himself over the edge. That would be a NASTY reunion for Lucifer. Sees some meteor falling from Heaven, flies up to stop it, only to realize "Hey wait is that a person— IS THAT ALASTOR?!"

Meanwhile Emily, who witnessed this poor WINGLESS guy JUMP FOR HELL, is frantically trying to call up Charlie and give her like. A warning. Perhaps an explanation.

Lucifer and Alastor would have the most messed up reunion in this case. Alastor is still operating on the idea that his whole existence is to please Lucifer in some way, specifically to make him happy, to entertain him. In Lucifer's mind, this means that Alastor literally condemned himself to the most painful action in existence because of HIM. He never managed to give Alastor the fruit of knowledge like he planned, and it resulted in this.

Unbeknownst to Lucifer, Alastor isn't completely bereft of free will. Otherwise, he wouldn't be... feeling the emotions that he's feeling. He's hurt, saddened, and filled with so much anger. And Alastor is not going to direct that anger at Lucifer, of course not, it's not his fault that Alastor waited for ten-thousand years for no reason. (Except, it kind of is, but NO IT ISN'T.)

Things will hit a boiling point, though, when Lucifer suggests getting Alastor back into Heaven. Because obviously Alastor doesn't deserve to be in Hell, it sucks here, and Alastor deserves better— except that's not what Alastor hears. What Alastor hears is that despite waiting several millennia for this moment, Lucifer doesn't actually want him around and is planning on getting rid of him. Wiping his hands of him. Why not, right? Every other angel in Heaven has forgotten about his very existence, and here's Lucifer, the one he was made for, trying to do the same!

Alastor would just. Explode. He's confused and so, so furious. What exactly did he do wrong this time? Why isn't his friend happy to see him, why doesn't he want Alastor to stay? Is he seriously going to abandon Alastor AGAIN?! TEN THOUSAND YEARS! He can't do it again, he can't.

It would take a while before Alastor calms down.

[mrs-dot-kennedy]

Could you write something about virgin FemReader x Henry? Maybe in a private bacchanal? (Like Reader asking Henry her thoughts on a bacchanal, and how strange it would be, so Henry decides to make it a real thing)

This is the best I could come up with, I kept the plot as close to the request as possible but I suck at writing porn poetically. I’m sorry, ily, I hope you like it💞

There is something about October light that makes the world feel older than it is.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, a Greek lexicon spread open across your knees, the spine cracked and listing from overuse. Outside your dorm window, the leaves bleed gold and rust and shadow. The lamps cast long yellow rectangles across the floorboards, catching dust in their glow like frozen pollen. Your room smells of wine, old wood, and a faint trace of Henry’s cologne — though he would never admit to wearing it.

He sits in the desk chair, one leg crossed neatly over the other, suit jacket folded with geometric precision on the back of the chair. The cuffs of his shirt are undone — rare — and you can see the faint pulse in the tendons of his wrist as he turns the page of Plutarch’s Moralia. There is a half-empty wine glass near his elbow and the silence between you is as familiar as your own breath.

It’s late. So late that the usual noise of campus has gone still, muffled into a hush you feel in your ribs. The others had left hours ago. Camilla kissing your cheek. Charles slurring a joke. Francis raising one amused eyebrow as Bunny tried to take the wine bottle with him and Henry coolly disallowed it.

But Henry had stayed. Of course he had.

It is your voice that breaks the silence — softly, too softly. You don’t mean to speak, not at first, but the question is a stone on your tongue, and it’s been there for weeks now.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?” you ask. “The Bacchanal?”

Henry does not glance up. “Goodness rarely has anything to do with it.”

“But—” You pause. Your fingers toy with the edge of the lexicon’s worn paper. “What does it mean, really? Not just the ritual. I mean... all of it.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if considering. “Mystery. Communion. Abandon. The casting-off of rational self.”

He says it like an entry in a manuscript. Clean. Technical. Removed.

You swallow. “But the sex—”

That makes him look up. Slowly. Carefully. His eyes are unreadable behind the flicker of his glasses in the lamplight.

“I don’t mean—” You flinch. “I’m not being— God, sorry. I didn’t mean that crudely.”

“You’re not,” he says, and his voice is so soft it almost startles you.

For a moment you hesitate, and then — maybe it’s the wine, maybe it’s the hour, maybe it’s the fact that Henry has always had this effect on you: making you feel older, braver, cleverer than you are — the words begin to tumble out.

“I just— I don’t know what it would mean. For me. I’ve never—” You pause, pressing your lips together. “I haven’t. You know.”

The air in the room stills. A quiet not unlike the one between a lightning flash and the thunderclap that follows.

Henry does not smile. He wouldn’t. But there is a flicker — the smallest shift in the set of his mouth — something caught between solemnity and sympathy.

“You’re a virgin,” he says, without judgment.

You nod.

And then, because your throat is dry and your skin feels too hot and your stomach is tight with the kind of embarrassment that has nothing to do with shame and everything to do with wanting to be understood, you whisper, “Is that ridiculous?”

“No,” Henry says, with that terrible calm that makes everything he says sound like a truth carved into stone. “Not at all.”

You pull your knees up toward your chest, rest your chin there. “Everyone else seems so… beyond all of this. I don’t know if it’s just me, or if they’re pretending better than I am.”

“They aren’t pretending,” he says.

“That’s worse.”

Henry tilts his head again, examining you in that way of his — like you're a passage in Thucydides he hasn't quite translated yet.

“You asked what the Bacchanal means,” he says after a moment. “It means the collapse of boundaries. Of self. Of history, time, shame. To be penetrated by god, the ancients believed, was to be undone.”

“That sounds…” You trail off.

“Terrifying?”

You nod again.

“Yes,” he says. “It is.”

You close your eyes. Let the warmth of the wine and the lamplight bloom against your skin. And then, in a voice so quiet it hardly feels like your own, you ask, “Have you?”

His gaze does not waver. “Had sex?”

You nod once.

There is a pause. Measured. Not hesitant — Henry doesn’t hesitate — but curated.

“For the most part,” he says finally, “my energies have been… otherwise engaged.”

It is exactly the kind of answer he would give. Elegant. Controlled. Disengaged enough to preserve distance, but not enough to be dishonest.

You don’t ask more. You doubt it would make you feel better if you did.

You look away, cheeks burning, but he is still watching you. Watching in that way that makes you feel like he’s hearing things you haven’t said out loud.

“You’re afraid it will make you lesser,” he says. “Or exposed.”

You don't answer. The truth in his words makes you ache.

Then — and it is so Henry that it doesn’t even startle you — he speaks again, evenly:

“If you’d rather not face that unknown among strangers,” he says, “you and I could do it here. Tonight.”

The room doesn’t change — not really — but something in it does.

The air feels closer. Denser. A breath caught between two notes. You aren’t sure if you imagined it until Henry sets the book down, quietly, precisely, the same way he always closes something he’s finished reading. There’s nothing hesitant in him. Never has been.

But in you — a thousand things stir at once.

You should feel awkward. Embarrassed. Unsure. Instead, you feel… calm.

The calm of a blade held at perfect balance. The hush before the first note of a requiem.

“Only if you want to,” he says. “If you don’t, this never happened.”

You believe him. And that might be the strangest part — how much you believe him.

“I want to,” you say, and your voice sounds more certain than you expected. “Not because of the Bacchanal. Not to be like the others.”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I thought it was that.”

You meet his eyes, and they are steady. Steady in a way that steadies you.

You uncross your legs slowly, sit up straighter. Your heart is loud, but not from fear. It’s something else. Something like stepping into a cold lake just as the sun breaks open over the horizon.

“I want it to be with you,” you say, and the words feel like they’ve been waiting in your chest for days.

His expression doesn’t change much — just a breath through his nose, the faintest shift of his mouth. But that’s all Henry needs to say everything. He’s always been a man of angles and control, of deliberate lines and perfect stillness. The flicker in his jaw tells you what he’s feeling more than anyone else’s tears ever could.

He moves with purpose, but not urgency. Sets his glasses on the desk. Rolls his sleeves to the elbows with slow precision. Every gesture deliberate, almost ritualistic — as though this, too, must be carried out with classical elegance, without haste, without ceremony.

The chair creaks as he stands. The room is silent. Sacred.

He steps toward you.

And when his fingers reach for yours — cool, careful, reverent — it feels not like possession, but invocation.

He steps toward you, and your breath catches in your throat.

Not from fear. Not from uncertainty. But from the weight of the moment — how real it suddenly feels, how still he is even in motion, like a statue made flesh. He reaches for your hand and, with a gentleness that seems almost at odds with the severity of his hands — pale, angular, capable — his fingers lace with yours.

“You’re certain,” he says, not as a warning, but as a ritual. A final invocation.

You nod.

“I’m certain.”

And then he bends, not to kiss your mouth, but your temple — slow, almost ancient in its formality — as though you are something sacred. The gesture is dry and warm and strangely chaste, more reverent than romantic. He lingers there a moment, the bridge of his nose brushing your hairline, before pulling back enough to look at you fully.

His hand comes up to your jaw, knuckles ghosting along your cheek.

“You’re trembling,” he says softly.

“I know.”

There’s the briefest pause.

“So am I.”

That admission makes something stir in your chest — sharp, sudden, vulnerable. But then his lips brush yours and it hushes every thought like snow falling on stone.

It’s not urgent. It’s not hungry.

It’s measured.

A kiss like punctuation at the end of a careful sentence. The first of many, you realize — and the thought steals the air from your lungs.

You don’t notice that he’s guiding you down until the back of your knees brush the edge of the mattress. His hands are at your waist — not tight, but definite — and he eases you backward with the same composure with which he might smooth out a wrinkle in a manuscript.

The bed creaks beneath you. The light from the lamp pools in soft shapes across the blanket. Henry leans over you, one hand braced beside your shoulder, the other coming up to brush your hair from your forehead like he’s clearing the dust from an inscription.

“You don’t need to understand all of it tonight,” he murmurs, the words sinking deep into the quiet between you. “Just this.”

Then his lips find yours again — slower, fuller — and he kisses you like you are something to be studied and remembered.

He messes up your gloss more and more with each kiss — his lips smear it all over your mouth, careless in the most beautiful, deliberate way. It tastes sweet, too sweet, almost cloying — artificial strawberry, all saccharine and shine — but beneath it lingers the dry, almost metallic trace of wine on his tongue. That bitter tang makes your breath catch, makes your spine prickle. It anchors the sweetness, sharpens it. Like honey smeared on the blade of a knife.

His hand comes to your jaw then, thumb pressing lightly at the hinge as though coaxing you open, and when he kisses you again — a little deeper now, a little longer — it feels like he’s trying to memorize your shape through taste alone.

You exhale softly, mouth still parted, and he draws back just enough to look at you.

Your lip is swollen from the kiss, gloss blurred to the edges, and you can feel the faint stickiness where his mouth has been.

You are far too lost in it to notice when his hands have drawn up from your hips, only registering it when you feel them under your blouse. His fingers trace shapes and paths across your collarbones and stomach before he presses his palms — big, warm and, surprisingly calloused — to your breasts and begins fondling them.

You are facing the ceiling, eyes wide open and mouth agape as he explores your body however he likes. You don’t know what else to do — other than moan and whine — as he touches so expertly, it’s like your body were an instrument and Henry had already mastered it before he even had the chance to touch it.

Soon enough your clothes lay discarded on the floor, he has made quick work of them. Now he stands here on his knees, in between your legs, and he looks attentively at you.

You are too dazed and too nervous to decipher the look he is giving you accurately. It glints with something cool and unreadable — a knife held behind the back, or a secret folded between the pages of a very old book. You wonder, absurdly, if you’ve done something wrong — if you’ve broken some unspoken rule of Henry’s impossible interior world.

And your confusion must show in your face, because a smirk curls the corner of his mouth — not cruel, not quite — just sharp enough to draw blood if you got too close.

It is not the smile of a boy. It is the smile of a god who has just been offered something sacred and knows he will take it.

Without a word, he begins to undress himself — methodical, quiet, precise. Like shedding layers of armor, or unraveling an ancient rite. The buttons of his shirt come undone one by one, and each movement feels ritualistic, like he’s stripping himself not just of clothes, but of time, of pretense, of the long cathedral of silence he’s built around himself.

And still — still — he doesn’t look away from you.

You feel like the offering on an altar, and he the high priest preparing for invocation — to possess you, to witness you, utterly and without shame.

You are rendered frozen like a statue until he chuckles and says:

“Do you want to lend me a hand?”

And you know that he is inviting you into participating in the moment, because Henry winter couldn’t possibly need you to help him take off his shirt.

Yet, you obey. Your body springs back to life and your hands raise up from the mattress to reach for his chest. It’s only when you are halfway done unbuttoning his — expensive, cotton — shirt that you realize that you’ve been laying motionless while he made a mess of you.

You are not allowed much time to duel on the thought — for as soon as his defined and worked chest is bare for your eyes to enjoy, Henry is quick to take off his trousers and push you back down to the mattress.

The night blurs in your mind, your senses too overwhelmed for your brain to register it properly. You were wet, dripping, when you felt his cock pressing against your cunt. His cock. Heavy, thick, red and impossibly hard — all for you. Henry rubbed it over your glistening folds, not just the head — no — the full thing. He coated it all down to the base with your juices, shamelessly.

And if that wasn’t enough, he rubs your clit with the pad of his thumb at the same time. First in slow circles and he fastens his pace little by little — until a wet spot has formed underneath you. He doesn’t let you come, though, he is mean like that. Even though it’s your first time. Even though you are supposed to be the main one enjoying yourself. Henry ‘s voice is steady and serious when he tells you you are not allowed to come unless it is around his cock.

He pushes it in minutes after he has prevented you from orgasming, which makes you see stars when you close your eyes and they roll back.

You sob and moan, holding tightly onto him — so much so that you sink your nails on his back and almost draw blood. Henry has practically folded his body, his chest pressed against you as he thrusts inside and out of you in a relentless rhythm. Your walls are so tight, so warm… And the wrap so perfectly against his swollen member that he can almost feel his taut balls drawing up already.

When he notices your body beginning to quiver his thumb finds the nub of your clit once more. When your head lolls towards his, Henry kisses your trembling lips and drags his tongue against yours. He encourages you into letting go, says he will catch you, that he is almost there too. All this while his dick ruts inside your pussy.

It doesn’t take you much convincing before you orgasm all over him. You clutch onto him for dear life while you trash around, your body spamming violently. Your cunt gushes and your body trembles at each and every roll of Henry’s hips before he has to pull out in one swift motion. He ends up coming all over your belly — his cock painting your skin white as it spurts its milky load in thick ropes.

Your body has gone boneless, limbs light, when he collapses down on the bed beside you.

He doesn’t touch you at first. That surprises you, though it shouldn’t. Henry’s not made for idle gestures. He moves when something must be done — no sooner, no later — and right now, nothing is required but breath. The sound of it, shared between you, fills the quiet like mist.

You stare up at the ceiling once more. You’re not sure you could move if you wanted to.

The room is warm. The wineglass on your desk glints in the half-light. Outside, the wind rustles through the red-gold skeletons of the trees. Inside, there is only the slow unspooling of your heartbeat and the sense — fragile and unshakable — that something has shifted in the world, though everything looks the same.

Henry exhales beside you, a sound nearly silent. You feel it more than you hear it.

And then, at last, he turns his head.

“I didn’t hurt you.”

It isn’t a question. But it isn’t quite a statement either.

You glance at him — the pale arc of his collarbone, the scattered hair curling damp at his temple, the calm behind his eyes that is never really calm — and shake your head.

“No,” you say softly. “Not even close.”

He watches you for a moment longer. Then he nods once, as though to himself, and stares back at the ceiling.

Another minute passes. Maybe more. Then — suddenly, gently — his hand finds yours beneath the blanket, fingers now cold from disuse. He laces them with yours and doesn’t look at you while he does it.

And you think: If this is how a god touches, maybe the bacchanal doesn’t have to be so terrifying.

[maxdibert]

One thing I can't stand is how Marauders fans always bring up that Severus was a Death Eater and call him a Nazi. Like, he wasn't a Nazi! He spent years saving people and regretted it almost immediately! They made me so mad grrr

I think the problem with this fandom is that most people in it are very young, sometimes even teenagers, who don’t have a broad perspective on life or the world in general, and they tend to see everything in black and white. Of course, joining the Death Eaters was wrong, but many young people (especially vulnerable ones like Severus) fall into extremist groups or associate with terrible people at an early age.

One of my best friends today was part of a far-right political group when I first met her at 18. Today, she’s a social worker, and her ideas couldn’t be more opposite to what they were back then. But she came from a family that was literally part of a religious cult, and it was what she thought she was supposed to do. Then she went to university, broadened her perspective, cut ties with that nonsense, and now she dedicates her life to helping vulnerable youth.

I’m a criminal defense lawyer and work with an organization that helps people reintegrate into society after serving time in prison. I’ve heard all kinds of stories. And when I say all kinds, I’m not talking about people who just shoplifted once; I mean people who’ve lived incredibly messed-up lives and made terrible decisions. But the thing is, I’ve met people whose histories are absolutely horrendous, yet today they’re as harmless as teddy bears. People can change, especially young people who didn’t have good role models, emotional support, or resources.

Young people, particularly those abandoned by adults or left to fend for themselves, are especially vulnerable to going down the wrong path. You have to understand the context, see beyond the tree and look at the whole forest. That’s something Marauders fans refuse to do, because if they did, they’d have to admit that, yes, Severus was incredibly vulnerable, that he didn’t have resources or support, and that the rich kids who had everything chose to torment him to the point where his only escape was to align himself with the only people who accepted him and made him feel safe. Unfortunately, those people turned out to be a bunch of extremists with horrible ideas. But that doesn’t fit their narrative—or maybe they just can’t grasp it yet because they’ve still got a lot of growing up to do.

[baltears]

kinda random but i really loved the callbacks to old characters in 5x07 and particularly the way they really honored that joe was genuinely a more morally complicated person in the early seasons of the show (especially s1) and really only completely gave up the ghost as far as ever trying to actually do the right thing at the end of s4. ethan wants to believe the victims but also feels some lingering loyalty to joe as his friend who was always decent to him and tries to hedge that both could be true. paco still loves joe because joe was his only lifeline when he desperately needed one, and joe still loves paco as much as he's capable of.

like yeah that's of course all very morally complicated, for instance paco abandoning beck when she was in obvious danger out of blind loyalty to joe was a heartbreaking moment because you see the depth of his panic and you know who he's going to choose as soon as beck asks him to pick between her and joe. but joe did have those connections at one point and they were real. he used to have more access to his humanity, he used to be able to form some genuine bonds with people. he was always masking and hiding who he was, but only partially. his old friends didn't want to believe he could do terrible things because they knew and loved the part of him that treated them well and wanted good things for them and didn't wish them any harm.

in real life situations this kind of thing (letters to judges asking for leniency, etc) tends to feel very nasty and victim blaming and repugnant, of course for good reason, but i think in a fictional context it's both easier and less risky to appreciate the humanity of that response and to recognize that relationships genuinely can be more than one thing at a time and it's not always completely cut and dry. there's a level at which deception is happening, and there's a level at which no deception is happening. irl the fact that somebody has committed violent crimes against others would pretty much always be the only relevant information to discuss, but in a fictional space there isn't the same danger and urgency around the public conversation losing track of what was done to the victims (because the victims and perpetrator don't really exist), so there's room to entertain some more nuance and ambiguity.

[acaptainbyanyothername]

It is so important the Weepe and Saskia episode came directly after the Jonas and Phineas episode, because it really drove home how similar these dynamics are and where they fundamentally diverge.

First of all, Saskia and Jonas got their origins in very similar ways. According to Third Person’s Midst Messages series, beta Phineas (then called “Puck”) was originally a much more self-assured knight-in-shining-armor type, and Weepe was a showbiz guy that actually performed on stage and could command a crowd. Later, when fleshing out the story and characters further, Third Person essentially shaved those parts off of them to make the characters of Jonas Spahr and Saskia del Norma.

On a meta level then— of COURSE Phineas and Weepe are so obsessed with Jonas and Saskia! They are literally looking at their better half, the part of them that was stripped away to increase their flaws. Out of meta and in the context of the story, Phineas and Weepe both put Jonas and Saskia on pedestals. They then deal with these pedestals in interesting and horrific ways.

The pedestals exist because Jonas and Saskia saved them in some regard—Jonas by pulling Phineas out of the Delta, and Saskia through her kindness to Weepe when he came to Midst. This results in Phineas and Weepe primarily seeing Jonas and Saskia as the symbols they represent: heroic Prime Consector and the kind, too pure for this world pillar of the community respectively. These pedestals superimpose a fundamental power imbalance in the dynamics: Phineas feeling inadequate compared to Jonas’ Valor and charm, and Weepe thinking his awfulness will eventually twist Saskia away from him, Then, all of the problems with these relationships come to a tumultuous head when the moon fell on Midst, and it’s interesting to note that both Weepe and Phineas both partially did the terrible things they did to save face for themselves to their counterpart: Weepe specifically wanted to not be there or mentioned during the Cabaret bust, and Phineas went so violent over Sherman in an act of desperation partially to prove to Spahr he was worth something. Both of these attempts end up failing and fracturing their relationships, and Weepe abandons and Phineas is abandoned. These relationships then do not see each other until close to the end of season 3.

One of the major themes of Midst is change and metamorphosis, both on a physical and a mental level. All of the four characters go through a high level of change during their time apart, but Saskia and Weepe’s change is purely physical, while Phineas and Jonas’ is purely mental (save some beard shenanigans). Weepe’s entire body transforms into the clear skeleton man we know and love, and Saskia literally gains another body from the tearror. However, even after these drastic physical alterations, they remain fundamentally the same person. Saskia is still kind and community-focused, and Weepe is still the same diabolical bastard. Conversely, Jonas and Phineas had their worldviews so rocked (Jonas a little slower than Phineas, but Phineas got to smoke a moth about it) they individually decided to renounce the cult and value system that provided structure to their lives. They both interact with others and the world around them differently because of the mental changes they have undergone (seen in Phineas attempting to take greater responsibility for his actions and make choices for himself instead of just following orders, and Jonas learning to take agency and grow a backbone).

This is why Jonas and Phineas manage to reconcile and Saskia and Weepe don’t. For as different as their reunion scenes are, there’s a striking commonality: Saskia and Phineas both express the sentiment “I’m angry at you and I don’t know if I can forgive you” and Weepe and Jonas both respond with “Good, you should be.” It’s why they say those things that matters though. Jonas and Phineas have internally changed since their last meeting. Saskia and Weepe have not. Jonas has reached a point where he’s no longer asking anything of Phineas or placing undue pressure on him, and so he accepts Phineas’ negative emotions and imperfections for the first time in their relationship. Weepe just accepts no forgiveness because he thinks he deserves it, because he’s the same terrible person he’s always been and internal change is impossible. Or so he thinks, at least. Phineas changed and Jonas changed to match him. Saskia and Weepe were incompatible with their polar opposite values, and stayed that way permanently. To tie it back to the idea of pedestals, Jonas happily stepped off the pedestal he was on and Phineas let him—they’re both at zero. Weepe couldn’t take Saskia off her pedestal or view himself as anything less than lower than her, to the detrimental point of denying himself the chance to grow from his mistakes.

These relationships could have easily ended up very differently. In an alternate version of Midst, Jonas and Phineas could have decided to kill each other and Saskia and Weepe could have survived and attempted to try again with each other. It end up happening the way it did because Phineas and Weepe had very different facilitators of their respective metamorphosis. Phineas was guided by the Mothers Merciful to come to a new self-understanding. Weepe had Imelda fucking Goldfinch. Change doesn’t happen in an isolated chamber, it’s influenced by the people around us. Phineas was guided into change. Weepe was tortured into it. If Phineas was not treated with the kindness he was, or Weepe was treated with a little more, there’s a chance the story could have unraveled very differently.

In conclusion (this post ran away from me a bit haha) the codependent relationships of Phineas and Jonas, and Weepe and Saskia heavily parallel each other but reach different conclusions in the key places they diverge, i.e. the internal versus external change the characters went through and the type of support they received. These relationships are mirrors of each other—I think Saskia and Weepe represent the worst possible road it could have went down and Jonas and Phineas represent the best, and the key was a successful metamorphosis and accepting the other as a person as they are, off a pedestal.

They all love each other to a frankly obsessive degree. Sometimes love isn’t enough though. Sometimes it’s just circumstance and a willingness to change that ends up being the determining factor.

[what-if-i-like-my-mechs-older]

Pt34

Soundwave stood beside Megatron watching as Orion and Thundercracker disappeared into the deep blue sea, off to do whatever they planned to do.

"Soundwave, I-"

Soundwaves head only had to turn a little and Megatron went silent, this was not the time clearly, to say he did try and set it up for him to see Orion's expression like he'd been longing to.

Because of course Megatron knew what Soundwave had been doing. He'd even cleared the way for him, why should he be denied and Orion had consented in that prison cell despite not knowing who it was, he was the one who was taking the chance that it could be Soundwave.

"What is it you find so...appealing about him?"

Soundwave folded his arms , not sure if he wanted to answer at first, however, Megatron was his leader and he had faith in him.

Opening up a telepathic link he continued to stare out into the vast emptiness.

"At first, I wanted to put him in his place for causing you problems...but it wasn't just that. He's a brat at times and I like that."

Megatron nodded, listened but had to ask

"Then why not show interest in Starscream?"

"It's not the same, Starscream is, who he is. Ambitious to a fault, believing being leader will make him loved above all overs and worshipped, he needs to feel important..."

Soundwave slanted a hip to the side sighing

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to feel important but sometimes one has to be aware of their own limits, perhaps if he tried you in a fair trial and won."

"That's mutiny , maybe you should cool off in the brig."

It was a simple tease between friends , but right now , Soundwave's patience for such jokes had swam out the window they were looking through.

"If he could truly defeat you Megatron and not just the once , but over and over again, would you not admit defeat."

Megatron watched as fish swam by, their scales shimmering in the ships light, another silence between them, he gave a simple nod in response.

"If he could, then what kind of leader would I be. I know you could , you're stronger than me."

(A joke reference to how tfa optimus won in a land slide against Megatron and lost in a landslide against soundwave on voting polls;3)

Soundwave's head tilted up

"I could but I have no desire to, I am content in my place, I wish Starscream was too. As I was saying about Orion, he's made time for my casseticons, played games, taken an interest in their console games, even when he's been terrible at them...one night I even heard him reading to them, can you believe that?"

Megatron kept his focus on him, hearing this and starting to understand where Soundwaves attraction came from.

"They kept arguing they weren't tired and he made a deal with them, if they could stay up past the first three chapters he'd play games with them all night."

"Heh did they stay awake?"

"No, they fell asleep after chapter two and he even tucked him into bed."

Soundwave grumbled, he was still mad that Orion was out there , seducing ANOTHER winged mech.

Starscream had made one good point.

Both he and Megatron turned into items, they couldn't possibly understand the need for the sky or to feel the road under wheels they did not have and he wasn't going to change his form just to suit his interests his Casseticons came first.

He'd already said when he and Orion were in that bath he didn't care who he slept with, that much was true, but that didn't mean Soundwave wasn't jealous of the tenderness and sweetness Pax showed others.

SOMEWHERE (because I'm English and sure as hell don't know America lol) Both Orion and Thundercracker were sitting in an abandoned warehouse.

The seeker was listening attentively as Orion explained how the hard light holo device worked.

Thundercracker rolled the spherical item between his fingers gently, looking it over.

"So I gotta let it scan me and it links up with me? I can just create whatever comes to mind and it'll be human sized? How does it work?"

Orion leaned forward and pressed a miniscule button on it's side, a beam projecting out of it.

"The light that emits from it vibrates at a different frequency, when it's connected to you, you can decide how soft your body is or how hard it is and once it's connected to you, no one else can, it's imprinted with your biodata, so no one on the Nemesis can steal it from you."

"Pffft and you say I shouldn't take you out on a date, did no one besides your Star ever take you out on a date Prime?"

Thundercracker chuckled as he turned the light towards himself and let it scan his body.

"No....none of them did, the 'oh you're our leader, we couldn't possibly' was usually their excuse.

I actually haven't been on one before, I mean it's a little hard to go on a date with the seeker who not only caused your death but is on the warring side, they have a word for that where I come from you know."

Thundercracker was already trying to decide what form he was going to choose, but he already had an idea, if Bumblebee could just go walking around why not just go as smaller version of himself....minus the Con decals, he wanted to have fun, not have people screaming, plus he was into the idea of he and Orion making out again while Orion was displaying himself as a human....hmm that was such an erotic thought that he nearly popped a panel right then and there, Primus he was going to get to live out the dream and it was all thanks to an Optimus!

"Oh what word is that?"

Orion looked at him and sighed, setting himself into his truck mode in the corner and putting a shield around it so no dumbasses would try and steal his body.

Thundercracker did the same with his jet mode, the silence, made him believe the perhaps Pax didn't want to talk about it.

As Orion brushed his hair back he looked at the human sized seeker standing next to him, reaching up to hold Thundercrackers chin with his finger and thumb as he pulled him in closer, just from his reaction he could tell TC was the one who would be on his back tonight, how cute.

"Well , what does one usually call someone who's sleeping with the enemy?"

Thundercrackers wings were fluttering again.

"Traitor."

"Say it again."

Prime whispered leaning in closer

"Traitor..."

Orion placed his lips to his and Tc oh he sank right into that kiss, tasting one another as the seeker wrapped his arms around Orion pulling him closer, Primus, was this how humans felt, all softness and warmth, he'd say whatever Prime wanted to have more.

"You want me to say it again Pax?"

He asked voice husky as he nuzzled against him.

"Hmm not now...not now or we'll be never leave this warehouse and ...I'm looking forward to that date."

He smiled, his cheeks flushed, thankfully he could stop the hologram from showing the tenting in his jeans.

Thundercracker nodded, kissing his cheek and smiling

"Absolutely, Fun fair games and rides here we come!"

He took Orions hand and off they went.

Next

Previous

First

[theaceace]

While Dream was hanging out in the fishbowl, a few dreams and nightmares that (like the rest of the Dreaming) think Hob would be the best thing to happen to Dream in a long time and also that Dream has abandoned them all, go and start bothering Hob in the waking world

But because they're dreams and nightmares, it kind of manifests as (usually awful) hallucinations. Specifically of Dream, a lot of the time (look they're trying to get their lord's attention by needling his human, yes it's stupid, no they don't have any better ideas)

And Hob, with the same attitude that's carried him through 600-odd years is like 'well I guess immortal life is already so goddamn weird this might as well happen' and just rolls with the fact that he is having hallucinations now. Learns some coping mechanisms, gets really good at not reacting to them even when horrible terrible things are happening

So when Dream finally does get back and goes to see Hob, he's just like oh cool I'm seeing things again, thought I got over that like ten years ago, ah well got a lecture to finish, better get on with it and barely even glances at Dream

Dream, of course, reacts to this like 🥺 like the sad wet cat he is, but also maybe this is a bad time. His friend is shaping young minds, he's very important and busy, Dream can come back later

So he pops back into Hob's life that evening when most people are, if not asleep, then at least at home. Hob's in the New Inn (of course) but it's quiet enough that Dream thinks maybe Hob will talk to him this time

Absolutely nothing. Like sitting across from a brick wall (and because Dream tends not to be noticed if he wants, and he very much doesn't want to be perceived while he begs forgiveness from a mortal, people's eyes just kind of skim over him, which isn't helping with Hob's assumption that he's a figment of Hob's imagination)

Dream is feeling very, very cold. None of the gentle things he's been saying to Hob have got anymore reaction than his hand tightening slightly around his marking pen (Hob is waiting for something horrible to happen, as it so often used to when he imagined his stranger, and is getting more and more tense the longer it doesn't)

Eventually they're the only ones left, even the bar staff have gone home because it's Hob's pub and he has a set of keys. So finally, FINALLY Hob looks up and is like 'oh, you're still here. We're still doing this, then' flatly

Dream: I thought I might - (he was going to say apologise) Hob: yes alright get on with it, the sooner you start the sooner you can piss off again (thinking this is a vision here to torment him) Dream: ...very well. I understand, and you need not worry, I shall not trouble you further. Only, let me ask, one final time: do you still wish to live? Hob: (well it's never gone down like this before, at least I'm getting some variety in my waking nightmares) what sort of bloody stupid question is that, obviously yes! Dream: I am. Pleased to hear that. Goodbye, Robert Gadling

So off he goes, leaving a bottle of wine that he pinched out of someone's dreams on the table. Hob scoffs, rolls his eyes and goes to bed

And panics the next day when one of the bar staff asks where the super fancy wine came from, and also who his friend was last night, didn't get a good look at him, but I don't think I've seen him before?

There Hob is. Screaming internally, because he's only gone and fucked it all up and now he's NEVER going to see his friend again

(obviously he does, probably because one of the nightmares finally confesses what they did to Lucienne, who tells Matthew, who speaks both fluent Dumb Human and Dramatic Fucker Dreamlord and manages to get the two of them in the same room long enough to talk it out)