#so people that aren’t into it don’t have to see it

[kngrose]

can you pls write more about yandere vi🙏😭 i love your writing

yandere violet continued

WARNINGS: possessive behavior, implied threats, toxicity, forced proximity if you squint

authors note: we’re pushing out this vi content ^^

Her presence felt suffocating tonight. Her scarred knuckles tapped impatiently on the table as her piercing blue eyes drilled into yours, unblinking. You knew what would follow was inevitable, but you’d do the best you could to pacify the beast.

“Who was it this time?” she demanded, her voice low, almost calm—but there was an edge beneath it that set your nerves on fire. “Vi, it wasn’t—” You started softly, but she was having none of it.

“Don’t lie to me.” She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. Her imposing figure cast a shadow over you. “I saw the way she looked at you. I saw the way you smiled at her.” Her words were sharp, cutting through any protest you might’ve had. You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The truth wouldn’t satisfy her, and a lie would only fuel her fire.

“She was just being polite,” you murmured, trying to de-escalate the situation. But that was the wrong move. Vi’s jaw clenched, and her fists tightened, the veins in her forearms flexing. “Polite?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “No one looks at you like that out of politeness.”

You flinched as she stepped closer, her movements deliberate and slight erratic. She crouched slightly, bringing her face level with yours. There was an unsettling intensity in her gaze, a mix of love and possessiveness that made it hard to breathe.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” she asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, too calm, and it made your chest tighten. “Do you think I don’t notice the way people look at you? The way they talk to you, like they have a chance?”

It was upsetting. It was like she was never pleased, never satisfied with what you said. “No, Vi, I don’t think that,” you replied quickly, hoping to placate her. “It’s not like that. No one’s trying to—”

“They are, though,” she interrupted, her voice rising. She turned to face you fully, her hand tightening around yours. “They think I’m not paying attention, but I see it. Every glance, every smile, every time someone gets too close to you.” Her lips curled into a bitter smirk. “They must think I’m weak, that I’ll just sit back and let them try to take you from me.”

“I’m here with you, aren’t I—“

“For now,” she muttered, her gaze darkening. “But people like them, they’re never satisfied. They’ll keep pushing, keep testing me, until I—” She stopped herself, exhaling sharply. Her free hand clenched into a fist, and you could almost see the storm raging inside her.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said the words softly, but it came off condescendingly, and there was nothing tender in her tone. “You’re mine. Mine to protect, mine to love. And anyone who thinks they can take you away from me—” Her hand shot out, gripping your wrist firmly but not enough to hurt. Her touch was paradoxical: both gentle and possessive.

“I would do anything for you, you know that,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper now. “But if someone threatens what we have… if someone so much as touches what’s mine…” Her words trailed off, but the unspoken promise hung in the air like a storm cloud. The look in her eyes was honest and dangerous, you wouldn’t dare to test the theory.

“Vi,” you began, your voice trembling. “You’re scaring me.”

Her expression softened, but only slightly. “Good.” she said, cupping your cheek with a calloused hand. “I love you too much to lose you. You’re the only thing in this world that makes sense to me. Don’t you see? I’d tear this whole city apart if it meant keeping you safe.”

The ferocity in her confession left you speechless. She leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. Her breath was warm against your skin, and for a moment, you almost believed she was calm. But then she whispered, “Tell me you’ll stay. Tell me you won’t ever leave me.”

Her tone wasn’t a request—it was a command cloaked in desperation. Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded, knowing there was no room for argument.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, the words feeling heavier than they should. It made you feel unsettled—like you were signing a contract you weren’t sure of.

“Good,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because if you did… well, let’s just say no one else could ever love you like I do.” The implication lingered, unspoken but clear. In Vi’s world, her love was both a sanctuary and a cage—and you were the only one who could decide which it would be.

The tension between you and Vi didn’t ease, even as she pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. Her grip on your wrist lingered, and though it wasn’t painful, it was unyielding—a silent reminder of her control over the situation. The air between you felt thick, charged with an intensity that was hard to name but impossible to ignore.

She moved to sit beside you, pulling your hand into hers. Her fingers, rough and scarred from years of fighting, traced lazy circles over your skin. The contrast between her touch and her earlier aggression sent a shiver down your spine. You wanted to believe this was her way of calming down, but the gleam in her eyes told a different story.

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[unknownogre]

"So, you’re after my roommate. Sorry, my EX-assassin roommate, as you so graciously let slip. And you think tying me to a chair and pointing a gun at my head will magically make me know exactly where he is?”

I have no idea who this guy is. He hit me in the back of the head out of nowhere and then demanded I tell him where Allen, my roommate, was. I have no fucking clue where he is. We aren’t dating. We live in the same apartment because RENT IS EXPENSIVE! Gods now this moron thinks that my roommate is an ex-assassin?

…though…

I mean he has all these cool skills. We got locked out of our place the other day and he just happened to have the right tools in his pocket to pick the lock. I took him out for a drink on his birthday once and he fought three men to a stand still till I jumped in and then still did the heavy lifting in beating the hell out of them. Assholes too, the girls they were bothering bought us drinks as thanks.

Hmmm…I mean there are weirder things in the world right? So you know what? I’ll believe him. And I’d have another reason not to betray my roommate.

“YES! Tell me where he is! I can make the next two hours stretch on for an eternity. Your pain will echo off the walls…they’ll have to tear down this building after I’m finished with you.”

The dude was bigger than me…but I don’t know he wasn’t scary. I could tell he had his demons. Don’t we all right? But you don’t rat out a homie. Plain and simple. And really, he needs to work on his promises of pain speech. Kinda weak, like chat GPT wrote it or something.

“WHY ARE YOU SMIRKING!?”

He shouted and I looked him in the face. I just sighed and shifted in my chair a little bit, playing with the bindings around my wrist. No use to panic. But then you only panic when you feel in danger and I certainly don’t feel threatened right now. I never seemed to panic when someone really should.

“I just think you haven’t thought this through. So you torture me and my roommate finds out…well he is going to be pissed. I do all the cooking you see, and then he’ll kill you. Plain as that. You are dead if you torture me for his information. BUT…BUT if you kill me. Well, he called my ham balls a gift from the dark gods. So he’ll then torture you. And I bet…this is some John Wick shit and he is WAY better than you.”

He growled at me and back handed me. Ouch…that didn’t feel that great. Could have been worse though, I can taste a little blood though. I spit out some and just sigh. This was all…underwhelming.

“Since you are going to kill me can I tell you a joke?”

He looked at me side ways but then just pulled up a chair.

“Sure…tell me a joke as your lasts words.”

I had to chuckle, this joke was always really funny to me and I liked to tell it any chance I got.

“Okay So there was a guy…he was driving his car down the highway. While driving he saw another man standing on the side of the road so he pulled over to pick him up. The man was sweaty and dirty and honestly this was his life line. ‘OH MAN THANKS!’ the hitchhiker said as he got in. The man in the car just smile and winked. They drove for a little bit and the hitchhiker smiled and looked to the man driving the car. ‘I’m so glad you picked me up, most people won’t do it…they think I’m a traveling serial killer or something.’ The man driving smirked and said. ‘Oh I’m not worried about that at all…’ The hitchhiker canted his head and asked. ‘Why is that? I could be one ya know..’ and the man driving the car smiled and said. ‘What is the likely hood of two serial killers being in the same car.’”

I chuckled a bit, yeah I always loved that joke. The intruder wasn’t amused, and I could see the gears turning in his head. Good, let him think on that.

“Are you saying you’re an assassin?”

He asked after a bit and I just started to laugh in earnest. How simple could he be, really. REALLY was he that stupid. That is okay, maybe I’ll walk him through this. Ya know knowing Allen is an assassin, it makes a lot more sense now about how we vibed right off the bat. Both of us had trouble getting roommates before we found each other. No romance or nothing, we just understand each other. There was always space. Never too many probing questions, but still deep conversations.

“No…no my dear man. As the joke states, what is the likely hood of there being two serial killers in the same car?”

Come on there scooter, you can get this now can’t you. I’m almost tired of waiting. Then he looked at me with the most confused expression.

“Are…are you a serial killer?”

There was another chuckle, he hardly had time to react as my untied hands wrapped the rope he used to bind me around his throat. I was no trained assassin, but I had my skills. He fought for a while. Surprised…I just held him until he stopped moving…always takes a couple of minutes. Not like I haven’t done this before. I REALLY wanted to cut his throat open but man, you don’t spill blood where you live. Once I was sure he died I just let him fall to the floor. It was then Allen came out of the shadows.

“I knew I didn’t need to save you. You were far too calm the whole time.”

I just smirked at him, he was already moving the body and pulled out a phone to make a quick call. I couldn’t hear what he said but I knew he gave our address. Man, having professional cleaners at your beck and call must be wonderful. That is a LOT less work that I have to do.

“Well, ya know. So are you going to have to move out?”

I wasn’t happy with that idea, I really did like him as a roommate. People like him didn’t come along very often and well, searching is a pain in the ass.

“Na, I don’t think so. I’ll stay right here. By how skilled you are, how strong you are…and now I notice a few things you’re the Rapist Reaper? Or am I wrong?”

I grinned brightly and dipped my head a bit. He got me, but of course he did. NO more secrets though, which will be nice. I knew Allen was a good guy too, never had the aura that a lot of the other men do. I’ve killed my last three roommates, and I really didn’t want to have to do that to him too, not that I ever felt the need to be honest. There are few good men in this world and Allen he certainly one of them.

“You got me, I mean I don’t really like the name too much…but you don’t get to pick what the media calls you. Judging by how well you move and how long you’ve been my roommate, you’re Death’s Whisper.”

Allen bowed a bit and just sat down on the couch. I cleaned up my split lip and got both of us a beer and sat next to him.

“Okay, this is a long shot…BUT if you want to stay roommates…wanna go kill a crime lord and his lackies. I don’t really hate them or anything but this one REALLY wants me back in the game and I have NO interest in that anymore. I’m retired, I like the boring life. No wife, no kids, no one to protect or answer to. It is very nice. I want to enjoy this for a while. Want to help?”

I was already grinning and all I had to do was clink my bottle with his. He smiled at me and we waited for the cleaners to arrive. I’m going to have so much fun with this. They won’t be expecting two of us…I mean I’m not like Allen…he is a MUCH better fighter than me. Still, I can fight very well. More of a brawler though, gotta get them into the van somehow and some of those guys are WAY bigger than me, so I got good.

“Ham balls for dinner?”

Allen chuckled…oh this was going to be a wonderful friendship.

Today you just found out your roommate with strange hobbies, like knowing how to pick a lock, knows how every puzzle and cipher by heart, or how to commit tax fraud, and so many other things, wasn't a guy with ADHD, he was an ex-assassin and now you have a gun pointed at your face

[lemonlover1110]

𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Sukuna

[Chapter 6] A Different Side

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Pairing: Trueform!Sukuna x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

Sukuna notices a certain glow to you lately. He’s not sure what it is, but as time goes on and you become rounder with his children, he sees something different in you. He doesn’t find you beautiful, that’s certainly not it.

Well, he certainly doesn’t mind looking at you. He did choose you out of any other woman to carry his child. There’s something nice about you that he likes to dote on when no one else is looking (he’d never admit that though). He won’t say that you’re beautiful, but he’d say that you’re the closest a woman comes to achieving that. But lately, there’s something about you that radiates, something that sticks with him even after you leave. 

Is Sukuna getting to like you? No, that’s absurd. He’s just seeing you in a better light since you’re carrying his children. It’s normal for someone to look at the mother of his children in a better light, and Sukuna guesses he falls under that category as well. As much as he likes to infamously stand out, this one time he relates to the crowd.

Even though he negates the idea that he likes you, you notice a change in him. He’s grown fonder of you. You assume that it’s because the nauseousness dies down and you’re finally eating what you’re served, just as he orders. Your taste buds aren’t fond of it, but you can eat it without puking.

You notice a change in how he treats you as time passes. He spends more time with you– Not just watching you, but actually doing an activity with you. Whenever you read, he listens; if you want to take a stroll, he joins your side, not just walking three steps behind you; if you play a game, he joins. Either he’s grown fond of you as his wife, or he realized he’s too bored by just watching you live your life. Either way, you’re happy with how it’s going.

“You’re horrible at shogi.” Sukuna points out after beating you for what feels like the hundredth time in the day. He likes your perseverance at least. Humans are so fascinating in that aspect. They refuse to give up even if they have no chance of winning. Sukuna has lost count of the times he’s killed someone because they bet on something that they had no chance of winning.

“Hina tells me I’ve improved! I’m always beating her.” You claim, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. What a pretty little fool you are.

“And why do you think that is?” Sukuna feels like he has to dumb it down for you, and you scoff. You cross your arms, resting on top of your very noticeable bump. Sukuna smirks as he looks at you. You’re at least three months along, and you’re already huge. There’s no doubt in his mind that you’re expecting twins.

“Would it hurt you to let me win?” You mutter, and Sukuna hums in response. You huff as you stand up, refusing to play with him anymore. Maybe it’s the reason why Hina always lets you win, you’re a sore loser. “I don’t want to play with you anymore.”

“Good. I need a challenge.” 

“You’re a big dumb loser.” You stick out your tongue at him, but you quickly regret your actions when he glares at you. You know he won’t touch you or harm you in any way, but a single look is enough to send chills down your spine.

“Calling me a loser when you’ve lost more games than I can count… That’s rich.” He responds, which makes your back stiffen. You’re taken aback by his response, considering how quick it is. You’ve never assumed that Sukuna would have a sharp tongue; to you, he’s simply loud and scary which is why people are terrified of him, so it comes as a shocker when he actually has a smart response.

“I’m going on a walk.” You tell him, causing him to rise and go to your side. There’s absolutely nothing that you’re allowed to do alone, and you feel suffocated. You’ve asked him to give you a moment to yourself daily but you have no authority over him, and he makes it clear by not leaving you alone.

“It’s getting colder. You won’t be going on walks next week.” Sukuna says, which is an order rather than a prediction. A slight pout comes to your face, knowing that you have to find something else to do. 

For the first time in your life, you’re bored. You have nothing to do, and you find yourself staring at a wall for hours on end. You have too much time on your hands, and you find yourself thinking about what the future awaits. You wonder if after giving birth to his children, you'll be able to see your family. And you don’t want to be overwhelmed by your thoughts, which is why you try to keep yourself entertained, always.

“What will I do then?” You ask him as you exit the room. Your question receives no response, just as you expected. He isn’t very talkative during your walks, he just listens to you with no response. You guess his presence is better than none during your walks.

“You’re right, it is getting chilly.” You try to make conversation when you get outside, but as to be expected, he doesn’t say anything. However, he does hum in response which you consider as a small win. 

You walk slowly, taking details of the giant place. You’re always amazed by its size, no matter how many times you walk past it. It’s truly fit for a king. You shouldn’t expect less for Sukuna.

“What are you planning to name your child?” You question, and you’re sure that you’re not receiving a response since after a minute, he’s quiet. You’re not disappointed by the lack of response, after all, you ask a million questions and he only answers ten.

“I don’t have a preference. You can pick.” He finally answers, which makes you completely stop in your step. He furrows his brows as he looks down at you, “What?”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.” You respond. As if the child that you carry isn’t yours as well, but only Sukuna’s. So far, you feel none of the maternal love that women claim to carry the moment they know they’re expecting. You’re expected to nurture them, but you know that you’ll have little to no authority over them; if anything you’ll be like a servant instead of a mother. “It’s your child.”

“You are carrying them, you have some control over that.” He replies, which is his way of telling you that he has no names in mind. He wants a child, the same way a man wants a pet. He didn’t give any forethought before completing the act.

“I’ll discuss it with Hina.” You end up saying, something which he won’t argue with. You continue your walk until you see a particularly dull spot in the palace. You point at it and tell Sukuna, “Some flowers would add some color to the place.”

“Winter is approaching.” He reminds you. 

“Spring will come again.” You respond, and he subtly nods.

“I’ll speak with Uraume then.” He replies, which makes a small smile appear on your lips. You intertwine your arm with his lower one, and he doesn’t bother fighting it off. Maybe you need some support for balance, and he isn’t going to push you off. Not while you’re carrying his baby.

“You know, while we’re at it–” You begin but a simple look makes you shut up. He knows you’re about to ask about your family, and you already know the answer.

Sukuna is tired of watching over you at around midnight. He spends every minute, every hour watching over you and he needs a break. Of course, he won’t leave you alone when you’re free to run around and get your dumb self in danger. He’ll just get Uraume or that dumb servant that you adore so much to watch over you while he… Visits Kyoko for the night. 

Maybe he should catch up on some sleep lost, but that isn’t quite as entertaining. He can sleep at any other time. He wonders if you’d get jealous about that, but at the same time he can’t really care for your thoughts.

He’s about to call out for Uraume to watch over you, but you begin to tremble. You look cold. He looks for something to throw over you and warm you up, but he doesn’t see anything. He thought he stocked up the room of literally everything, but he can’t find a blanket to throw over you.

He sighs. He should just let Uraume deal with this. Or your servant. All he knows is that this isn’t his job. Sure, he’s supposed to be your husband and whatnot but he isn’t responsible to keep you warm– But you’re also carrying his seed, and he’s responsible for the babies that grow inside of you. Sukuna sits down beside you, picking you up and bringing your head to his chest. 

He’ll just hold you for a minute. He’ll give you enough time to warm up before leaving. His hand goes to your back, and he’s hesitant before gently patting your back. 

“Haru.” You mutter, and he furrows his eyebrows. Who is that? Your brother? You’re shivering, your hands gripping the cloth of his kimono. It seems that you aren’t necessarily cold, but rather having a nightmare of sorts. 

“Wake up.” Sukuna pokes your forehead to get you to open your eyes. It doesn’t take much effort on his part to wake you up. You’re short of breath as you open your eyes, and immediately you notice that he’s holding you.

“What– What happened?” You can’t help but stutter as he puts you down. You feel as if your heart is about to beat out of your chest as you’re brought back to reality.

“You tell me. You were trembling and I had to help.” Sukuna answers as he stands up. You know that he isn’t going to stand around and listen to whatever you have to say, so you don’t bother speaking up; you don’t have the energy to waste your words for uncaring ears.

“Can you call Hina? Before you leave.” You ask, and he frowns.

“Who told you I’m leaving?” He questions.

“I’ve woken up a couple of times, and realized that you’ve been leaving the room lately.” You confess, since you doubt you can get in trouble for knowing the truth. It’s his fault that he leaves, he can’t get mad at you for noticing.

“I’m not leaving.” Sukuna decides. He doesn’t like the fact that you know his next move. He sits down again, deciding to ask, “What were you dreaming?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You leave him hanging. You’ve clearly woken up in a bad mood after your nightmare, and you’ve decided to test out Sukuna’s limits. You know that he won’t do you any harm, not while you’re carrying his baby at least.

“Haru… Is that the fragile little boy I healed?” Sukuna asks and you feel your heart drop at the mention of your little brother.

“How did you–” You begin to be cut off by him.

“You were calling out his name.” He says. “Someone really important to you from what I can gather.”

“He’s the only reason I’m here.” You murmur, and Sukuna scoffs. As if being the woman that carries his child isn’t an honor. “Yeah, I just had a bad dream about him. That was that.”

“Stop thinking about an imbecile. You are a queen, and he’s barely human.” Sukuna orders, as if it’s something that you can easily stop thinking about. You wish you could just forget about him, considering that you can’t see him. Every day you wonder if he’s okay, and if he and your aunt have enough food to eat. Alas, you can’t do anything against Sukuna’s wishes.

“He’s my brother. My family.” You argue, and he clicks his tongue.

“You stopped having a family the moment you became my wife.” Sukuna responds, and you feel nauseous at his words. “The only family you have now is the babies that are in your womb, and me.”

“Why can’t he be considered my family? He’s the only reason I’m here.” You remind him, and the words tick him off.

“He’s beneath you.” He says, and the words break your heart. Haru is all you have in the world, to hear that he’s beneath you makes you upset.

“Why–”

“Enough! I said you’re going to stop thinking about him, and that’s what you’ll do. Now go to sleep.” He yells, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. You end up nodding in response, knowing you have no other option but to listen. He looks down at you, watching you get on your side and cover yourself. “Good night.”

“Night.”

[dizzyduck44]

So let me get this straight. This weekend

Lewis makes some sarcy comment about Lando losing the lead in the sprint.

Lando leads race start to last corner, dragging his teammates arse round in his DRS the whole way, to then gives up the win on the line against team orders.

Stewards went for a tea break during quali, arrived back for Q3.

Max gets given a single place grid drop, losing pole.

Max goes on the war path with George, squares up to him on the drivers parade, (insert swear word of choice where you think appropriate) “I hope you and your FIA buddies are happy”.

Oscar cuts the pit white line in front of Lewis and is under investigation before the cars make it to the grid. 😡

Race starts, Lewis jump starts, Lando nearly takes the lead at the first corner.

Esteban (who unbeknownst to anyone was driving his last race for Alpine) collides with Franco in the first corner.

Two corners later Lance Stroll drives into Alex and gets a 10 second penalty and 2 penalty points.

Lewis gets a 5 seconds penalty for the jump start.

Liam then gets a 10 second penalty and 2 penalty points for causing a collision.

Maybe from earlier contact Alex’s wing mirror decides to go solo and sits on the start finish straight.

FIA has a meltdown. They turn the pit straight into a disco light, yellow/green/yellow/green/yellow/green/yellow/green. Double yellow. We select double yellows. No back to single yellows. No we really think this should be a double yellow.

Meanwhile drivers are pottering around, Max is pumping in fastest laps, race continues until Valtteri takes out the mirror and makes a bad situation 30 times worse.

The FIA have to do something now right?

NO.

Because by now Max wants the world to burn and has started screaming he doesn’t think Lando lifted during the flag Hokey Cokey.

Well Max they ain’t got time to care about that, because Lewis and Carlos now have punctures.

Someone at the FIA remembers they employ a safety car driver for a reason and send him out.

Safety car goes through the pits so the debris can be moved. (This option was available to them 10 minutes earlier) and Lando nearly runs into the back of Lewis who suddenly slams on.

Calm decends for a few laps. Until. Yeah it’s Max again. “Anything from that yellow flag?” (Remember this later).

Safety car is coming in, cars seem confused about when Max will go. Max and Lando are on the radio saying the safety car lights are still on. Lando’s team tell him they aren’t.

We start racing.

Hell breaks loose.

The stewards decide that Lando didn’t lift during the double yellow, despite the fact they didn’t know what flag to put out, and it changed as he passed the sign. 10 second stop go penalty and 3 penalty points.

Now I am well aware there will have been people watching who have never even heard of this penalty. Apparently the last one given was 2018. For comparison, the FIA gave Max a 5 place grid drop for the same offence at the same track last year. The same year they allowed a tractor and Marshalls on the track in the pouring rain with no flags.

Lewis gets a second penalty, this time a drive through, again don’t see many of those, it’s normally penalty added to your race time. By now I swear they are just looking for penalties they haven’t handed out yet this weekend.

And a 10 second penalty and 2 penalty points for Alex for causing a collision as well.

Sergio also gets investigated for dangerous driving.

BUT WAIT

We then give George a 5 second penalty and a penalty point for driving too far behind the safety car.

Post race Max continues to rant about George and how he effectively begged for the grid penalty and decides now he was asking about Lando as he thought “he had got DRS from a back marker” and wanted to be sure that was why he caught up. Note earlier comments he asked TWICE about.

Lando with zero context of what the world has just seen, takes it hard and thinks he is responsible for the whole shit show.

Oscar gets given a reprimand for his earlier pit lane incident.

Ted Kravitz has confirmed that the lights on the top of the safety car did in fact go out. But the drivers can’t see them because of a spoiler on the back of the car! The ones underneath did in fact NOT go out.

AND THEN

Fans have found Ferrari might not have lifted during the double yellows either!!!!

Seriously when pissed off fans are more on top of data than the stewards, what is even the point?

The FIA need to realise they are there for the safety of the drivers, teams and spectators. This is the point the teams need to band together and address the FIA, what were you doing for 8 minutes with debris on the track? You’ve handed out one of the harshest penalties for a situation you created. Two drivers had punctures because of a situation you created.

Honestly I know Esteban won’t be on the grid in Abu Dhabi, Lewis seems to have zero motivation to do it. Unless you are McLaren, Ferrari, RB or Alpine do you even care about this race?

Seriously so many errors were made in the running of this race today I would say strike it from the record, but Zhou and Sauber got points!!!! And that would be far too cruel.

But I leave you with this thought. The FIA can stop a race and abandon it due to poor driving standards. Does this go both ways? Can drivers stop and abandon a race for poor stewarding standards? Today would have been a strong candidate.

[demonic0angel]

*Crashes into your ask box without warning*

EDA! :33

HAII <33

I have a prompt for you <33

Is it too much to ask if I give you the Omegaverse prompt I made a while back XD I want to see your take on it >:DDD

Danny no Scent in an Omegaverse DCU timeline after escaping near thrice death with the infinimap(?? Forgot the name tbh) with the bats concerned and confused (maybe make Danny cat coded >:DD)

THAT'S ALL!

*Falls through the floor*

-A.E. 👻

(Hmmm, my take on the no scent!Danny in an omegaverse world is a little different bc in my mind, he’s a beta and what’s different is the cultures between both worlds. So here’s my take :))

“Danny, you don’t wear scent patches?” Stephanie suddenly asked.

Danny blinked and turned around. “Sorry, what?”

She gestured to his neck quickly, eyes darting around as if people would suddenly pounce out of the shadows to jump them, even though they were in the cave. However, it was to be expected because in this world, it was a taboo and sensitive subject. “Y-Your neck. You don’t wear scent patches?”

Danny said, “Ohhh… yeah, I don’t need them.”

Stephanie suddenly looked very worried. The few occupants within the cave were not so subtly listening in. Tim asked, “You’re not using scent patches? Then what suppressants are you using? If your scent is this muted, then the suppressants probably aren’t legal.”

Jason frowned and said, “It’s not healthy.” He looked over Danny, his mother hen side showing as he visibly resisted the urge to scent mark Danny for the third time that night.

Danny eyed them all with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t use suppressants either.”

Their eyes all widened. “What?!”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve never needed it. I can control my scent pretty well, so I never needed scent patches and suppressants.” Then he paused and awkwardly added, “Uh. I can’t afford them.”

He winced from the bad lie.

In truth, he had never bought them in his life. Scent patches and suppressants in his world were like bandaids, just an extra measure of protection, not like the life saving medicines they were in this world. Back in his universe, science had mostly focused on studies of omegas, betas, and alphas, and the research had paid off with massive advancements in civil rights, medicine, and general knowledge of secondary genders. As such, people could control their scents and instincts expertly, and every pup learned young how to do so.

Meanwhile, this world was the opposite. All of its resources went straight to making weapons and technology, neglecting secondary gender studies, which meant that the tech was beautiful, sleek, and advanced, but omegas were the bottom rung of the social hierarchy, betas were ignored, and alphas were lorded as superior. It was so bad that suppressants and scent patches were expensive as hell due to demand, and discrimination was rampant despite activists working to change it.

As someone who came to this world to take a vacation and have fun, Danny was very surprised that his way of living in his universe was considered extremely bizarre and even dangerously reckless.

Like now.

“What do you mean you don’t use either?! Are you okay?! Pup, is there something wrong with you? Are you sick??” Jason fretted, his scent souring with fear and concern as he patted over Danny’s body for abnormalities.

Tim was examining his scent glands, looking more and more confused by the second as he realized that Danny was telling the truth.

“Wait, so your scent can be controlled?! Or is this a mutation??”

Dick and Stephanie were also loudly screaming their concerns, frantically checking over him as if he would suddenly explode and die because he could expertly control his scent to hide itself and reveal nothing.

“Are you going to be okay?!”

“I’ve never heard of this before! We should call Dr. Thompson! She’ll know what’s wrong!”

Danny sighed and endured it all, nuzzling his cheeks back into Jason’s palms whenever he reached his face.

If they ever met Jazz, who could control her scent well enough to actually influence other people’s emotions, he was pretty sure they’d all pass out.

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 13)

summary: now that filming for deadpool & wolverine has finished, you and hugh go back home to new york and he asks you a very important question. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), hugh can't control himself, spooning (?) position, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 2.7k a/n: surprise! new chapter dropping a day early hehe. anyway, i've anticipated that this story will have a total of 19 parts (at least for what i have outlined!). we got a few chapters of some good ol' fluff and smut, so hope y'all enjoy! thank you all for reading! 💙💛 as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

You and the rest of the cast and crew are listening to Shawn make a brief speech about the movie, about all the hard work everyone’s put into creating this. It chokes you up, tears stinging your eyes as you do your best to take more photographs. This opportunity was once in a lifetime and now that you and Hugh will be heading home, you wonder if things will change. You had been by his side for the duration of filming and you can’t imagine going back to New York and not being able to sleep next to him, or even wake up with him by your side. 

You look up at Hugh for a moment, still in his Wolverine costume but a large black coat draped around him to keep him warm. You lean against him, his eyes gazing down at you as he leans down to kiss the side of your temple. After Shawn’s speech finishes, everyone claps and celebrates the end of filming. 

You pull away from Hugh to continue to capture moments, smiling to yourself. Some are smiling, some are crying – everyone who was part of this movie had given their all and you just can’t wait to see the finished product for it. You manage to sneak away from the crowd, deciding to walk around the set. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to get to do this again and certainly not with this group of people. It’s bittersweet actually – having to go back home and face reality. 

You stop walking for a moment and hear Hugh’s voice calling your name. You turn to face him, seeing him jog slowly over to you. He gently takes your hand and pulls you into him, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You snuck away,” he points out.

“Just wanted to get one last look,” you smile, moving your arms around him. “Can’t believe we’re gonna be home tomorrow.” 

“This project has been a dream,” Hugh admits. “And having you here made it even better.” 

You look up at him, linking your hands at his lower back. “Thank you,” you say softly. “For bringing me here with you.” 

“I’d miss you hell of a lot if you weren’t here,” Hugh chuckles. “Are you ready to be back in New York?” 

You shrug. “I’m gonna miss seeing everyone everyday. I’m gonna miss seeing you everyday.” 

Hugh smiles, bringing a hand up to tuck a few strands of hair behind your ear. “Me too, baby. I’ve gotten used to you being next to me when I sleep and wake up. Hard to think that we won’t have that when we get back home…” he continues. 

“We’ll manage,” you smile. “I believe in us.” 

Hugh grins. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” he teases.

“That’s something I usually say to you,” you laugh, burying your face against his chest. 

Hugh chuckles and holds you close, shutting his eyes as he holds you in his arms. He isn’t sure how things will change when you both go back to New York, but he has been thinking of asking you a question for months now. When he pulls away, Hugh looks down at you and gently leans in to peck your lips. “Will you stay the week with me when we get back home?” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Good,” Hugh says quietly. “Because I don’t think I wanna let you go yet.” 

“Hm,” you whisper. “You must really love me.”

“More than you even know, baby.” 

—

Back in New York, Hugh finds that having you in his apartment is where you should be. You’re so comfortable in his space and he enjoys the ability to wake up and sleep next to you. It’s something he had gotten used to during filming. The question he’s been wanting to ask lingers over him – even now, when you’re sitting on his couch in a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts with a book in your lap, he wants so badly to ask you the one question that’s been on his mind. 

He wonders if maybe he’s moving too fast, if maybe you’re not quite ready to take that next step in your relationship. Hugh slowly walks over to you, seeing you look up from your book and a smile immediately lines your lips. He feels his heart race at the sight – almost like he had fallen in love all over again. He watches you set your book on the coffee table and lean back against the couch, arms spread open for him.

Hugh crawls over you and settles himself between your legs, head resting against your chest as his arms wrap around you. He shuts his eyes, feeling your fingertips run through his hair as he lets out a contented sigh. “Hi, baby.” 

“Hey,” you whisper, smiling down at him. “How was the run?”

“Would rather have done cardio with you,” he teases and nuzzles his face further into you, pressing a soft kiss on your chest. 

“You’re insatiable,” you laugh quietly.

“Not true. I’m just addicted to you,” Hugh corrects, slowly opening his eyes to look up at you. 

You roll your eyes playfully, a small smile lining your lips as you feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “What’s gonna happen when I have to go home then?” 

Hugh bites his lower lip, chin resting against your chest as your fingers continue to run through his hair. “What if…” he whispers quietly. “What if you just stay here?” 

“I’ve been here for almost a week, Hugh.”

“I know, but I mean…” Hugh crawls further up your body, hand moving to prop himself up as he stares down at you. “What if you just move in?”

Your eyes slightly widen and you slowly begin to sit up, Hugh following your movements to sit next to you instead. His arm drapes over the back of the couch, a nervous expression written across his features. “You want me to move in? That’s– That’s a big step, Hugh. Are you sure?” 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he answers. “I want you here all the time, but if you still need time, still need space, then I understand. It’s just–” Hugh sighs. “I’ve been thinking about asking you to move in with me for months now.”

“Hugh…” 

He shakes his head, standing up from the couch. “Ah, it’s okay, baby. I don’t want to push you. We can reevaluate at another time.”

“Wait, hey,” you sigh, watching him walk towards the kitchen. You stand up and follow him, seeing him gather his cup and protein. He isn’t looking at you, focused on making his protein shake. “Hugh…” You walk around the counter and gently rest a hand over his forearm, urging him to look at you. When he does, you can see the distress in his features, the subtle embarrassment flickering in his expression. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he sighs. 

“Are you sure about me moving in?” you ask hesitantly. 

“Baby,” Hugh runs a hand over his face and lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sure, but if you’re not ready yet, that’s okay too.” 

“Ask me again,” you say.

“What?” 

“Ask me again,” you repeat. 

“Baby,” Hugh shakes his head. 

“Hugh, ask me again.” 

He bites his lower lip and turns to face his entire body at you. Hugh moves his hands to rest on your hips, clearing his throat anxiously. “Will you move in with me?” 

You move your hands to his cheeks, brushing your thumbs across his soft skin. “Yes, I’d love to move in with you, Hugh.” 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah, Hugh,” you smile. 

Slowly, a large grin lines his lips and he wraps his arms around your waist, lifting you gently off your feet. “Oh, baby, I love you.” he leans in and presses his lips against yours, moving his hands under your legs to lift you onto the counter of his kitchen island. 

Pulling away, you move your hands to his shoulders as he stands between your legs. His hands move along your thighs, biting the inside of his cheek as he keeps his eyes focused on you. “So, I’m moving in.”

“Yeah, yeah you are.” 

—

The next couple of weeks were spent moving your things out of your apartment and into Hugh’s home. This last year with him doesn’t feel real – part of you feels like you’re going to wake up and realize it was all just a dream. You’ve been doing a lot better with your self-talk, with your confidence, and it helps having Hugh and your personal trainer to help you. Jack, on the other hand, hasn’t reached out to you since that night on location. You’re grateful though because you aren’t sure what would happen if he continued to be persistent. 

After all of your things have been moved to Hugh’s place, you look around and notice that your life is now blending in with Hugh’s. He had told his kids about you, even having had the chance to meet them in person. You had told your parents about Hugh, hesitant at first because of the age gap, but they were just glad to see you happy after Jack. 

Hugh comes home late one night after dinner with Shawn and Ryan, only to find you already lying in bed, back facing the door as you’re asleep on your side. The blanket doesn’t do a good job at covering your body because it’s tangled between your legs, exposing your legs and backside for him. He clears his throat at the sight of you, dressed in one of his t-shirts and a pair of black panties. Quietly, he undoes his jeans and lowers it down his legs, kicking them silently to the side. He grabs the end of his shirt and lifts it over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Now clad in a pair of boxer briefs with his manhood straining the fabric, Hugh slowly climbs into bed, snuggling you from behind. 

His hand moves to your hip, slowly brushing it down the side of your leg and back up to tease the waistband of your panties. Hugh feels you move back against him, your backside now flush with his growing erection. You let out a quiet whimper and unconsciously roll your hips back into him. Hugh leans in and presses soft and light kisses along the side of your neck, your whimpers and moans coming out quiet and breathless. 

He moves his hand lower and pushes your panties to the side, his fingertips brushing against your slit. Hugh sees your eyes flutter open, mouth slightly agape as you stare up at him with slightly sleepy eyes. 

“H– Hugh,” you moan. “You’re back.” 

“Sorry I came home late,” Hugh whispers into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe as he slowly slides one finger into your depths. He groans quietly, feeling your wetness soak his digit. “Been dreaming about me, baby? You’re already wet.”

“Always dream of you,” you whimper, tossing your head back against his shoulder. 

Hugh smirks against you and uses his free arm to wrap around your shoulders, cupping your neck as he applies slight pressure to your throat. He hears you gasp and he thrusts another digit into you, beginning to move his fingers in and out of your soaking heat. “Love coming home to you,” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe. 

“Hugh,” you whimper, moving your hand to wrap around his wrist that’s slowly thrusting his fingers in lazy strokes. 

“I can’t control myself when I’m around you,” Hugh admits, keeping his fingers deeply flushed into your heat as he slowly begins to curl them within your depths. You arch your back against him, the sensations of his fingers, his throbbing length against your backside, and his hand around your throat becomes overwhelming – this wasn’t what you expected to happen when he came home from dinner.

“Baby, please,” you moan. 

“Need you bad,” Hugh growls. He pulls his fingers from you and uses the same hand to push his briefs down his legs, kicking them off and away from the bed. He takes a hold of himself and uses your slickness from his fingers to lubricate himself. “Won’t last long,” he admits. 

“Just need you, please,” you whimper, feeling his tip brush against your opening. “Hugh, god, please!” 

Hugh chuckles lowly into your ear, tightening his grip around your throat just slightly as he pushes himself past your folds. He groans and moves his hand from the base of his member to grip your hip, pulling you back into him as he pushes his hips forward. “Fuck, baby,” he moans. “Always feel so good around me.”

He moves the top of your leg slightly forward, opening yourself even further to him as he slides inch by inch into your tight and wet heat. Hugh drops his hand from your throat to grasp your breast from over the shirt you’re wearing, your back flush against his chest. This position is new for the both of you – it’s intimate, slow. 

With his hand on your hip, he grips it tightly as he continues his slow and deep thrusts, eyes falling shut. Hugh’s sounds of pleasure – grunts, growls, and groans – echo in your ear and it only drives you closer to your high. You feel every inch of his throbbing manhood move in and out of you, but your eyes widen slightly when his hand moves from your hip to your front, beginning to rub your bundle of nerves over the fabric of your panties. “Hugh!” 

“Yeah, I know,” he whispers with a growl. “Gotta come for me, baby.”

You nod and push back against him, his fingers applying pressure to your clit as he rubs it in circles. His thrusts become a bit more quick, almost erratic and you know that he’s close too. 

“Feels so good,” you moan, your walls beginning to tighten with each thrust forward. You rest the back of your head against his shoulder, eyes shut tight. Suddenly, when he growls into your ear, your walls tighten around him and you push back into him, body trembling against his own. 

Hugh grins to himself, holding you close to him as he thrusts in and out of you, using your tightened walls to get him closer and closer to his own release. “Baby,” he groans. “Gonna come, oh fuck–” Hugh shuts his eyes tight as he releases into you, his hips coming to a slow stop. 

You feel his warmth fill you up and he’s panting into your ear. When he pulls back slowly, you whimper, feeling the emptiness that his girth and length has left but feeling his seed trickle out of you. 

“I’m so glad you moved in,” Hugh whispers, placing a soft kiss on the side of your neck. “Can have you whenever I want.” 

You smile and slowly move to lie on your back, readjusting your panties to cover yourself up as you stare up at him. You reach up and place a hand on his cheek as he leans into your touch, turning his head to kiss the inside of your wrist. “That was a nice thing to wake up to,” you admit.

“Yeah? You like that, huh?” Hugh winks. 

“Oh yeah,” you smile. “Guess I have to return the favor and wake you up in my own way now.” 

Hugh smirks and lies on his back, pulling you to his side. “Looking forward to it, baby.” 

“How was Ryan and Shawn?” 

“Good,” he answers. “Just planning for the press tour,” he says softly, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Wish you could come with me.”

“I’m all booked with shoots for the next three months, baby.”

“I know,” Hugh turns his head and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’ll at least accompany me to the premiere of the movie right?”

“Like a red carpet premiere?” 

Hugh nods. “Yeah, I’d really love for you to be by my side that night.”

“It’ll be the first event since we got together…” 

“Is that okay?” 

You nod and lean up to peck his lips. “As long as I’ve got you, Hugh, that’s more than okay.”

Hugh grins. “And you’ve got me, baby. Always have, always will.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss

[certifiablyinsanez]

Mammon is great ace representation: an essay on aphobia in the Hellaverse fandom

I’m seeing a lot of people be mad about Mammon having a thing for Leviathan. And I’m going to need the fandom to step back and examine these issues, because they are 100% rooted in aphobia. I have been out as an oriented aroace person for over 10 years if you want to doubt my credentials, rather than listen to my analysis, lived experience and reflect.

So. Tell me Hellaverse fandom; why, when it comes to Alastor, who is a character who very clearly has zero interest in others, it is always a chorus of people saying “aces can have sex”, “aces can enjoy sex”, “it’s not harmful to the ace community to use Alastor for shipping material, he isn’t real and asexuality and aromanticism is a huge spectrum”, “Aroace people can still date and have sex”?

But when it comes to Mammon, he is “bad asexual representation”, he “clearly experiences sexual attraction”, “he can’t be demisexual”, etc.

No genuinely, why is this? I want you to examine this, think on it from a place of neutral examination and come to your own conclusions. Because this is a worrisome double standard. This can for starters, be an instance of fat phobia. Because out of the two of them, Alastor is thin, and therefore closer to the beauty standard, which is hysterical considering that Alastor canonically has horrible hygiene, and I don’t think I know a single person who thinks that stank ass body and breath is attractive. Mammon, as seen from the slovenly way he eats, can potentially be assumed to have poor hygiene as well, but it has a very different connotation because of his weight. [Research the connection between thin privilege and body odor/hygiene. It’s very real].

I can spend a lot of time and energy going into the shipping dynamics between the shows, as well as how Alastor is a more “shippable” character in comparison to Mammon, but I honestly don’t find this as interesting or as compelling as to what I’m about to say next.

Because aphobia in the real world is still very alive and well today. In my 10+ years of being in the ace community, I have genuinely spent a lot of emotional energy, time, knowledge, experience, and compassion, just fighting for the right to even be acknowledged as queer. I have vivid memories from when I was first out of the closet at the age of 16, telling ace people across apps and forums that they were valid, that they weren’t broken, that they were deserving of love, respect, and a place in the queer community. I was telling people, younger, my age, and older that they shouldn’t kill themselves, that they had worth beyond what they could do in the bedroom for others. I had to convince people that they didn’t owe anyone sex, and that they were in fact being sexually abused by their partners. I was on the phone with people in tears. I spent HOURS of my life in these DMs at an age where I was a suffering, mentally ill queer child that was also being victimized by aphobia. Still to this day people think the “A” stands for ally. And still to this day people have discord about our community as a whole. I have had to sit and watch as people went from loudly proclaiming with their whole chest that asexual people didn’t exist, or at the very least weren’t queer. Then years went by and it became less and less okay to say things like that, because asexual people finally had fought long enough and had supported each other enough that we discovered our voices and began to use them. So people were finally facing the consequences of saying bigoted shit.

And now that they can’t say that asexuals aren’t queer, they moved on to another group. Demisexuals. Demisexuals by far have it roughest, because while there are many micro labels in our community to explain our diverse range of experiences, demisexual is probably the most well known one. And every handful of months or so I have to use my voice once again to stand up for my people, because an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us, and people on the internet have made it clear that they have no qualms of attacking us. The asexual and aromantic community have made extremely valuable contributions to the queer community that are entirely overlooked because we are not valued in it.

And this is why I have been an outspoken proponent of my displeasure over Alastor being a character that is the most shipped with others, and my disdain for the fanbase has grown even wider after Mammons appearance in Mastermind. It is a painful reminder of all the discrimination I’ve faced over the years, that my community still goes through. Because people are contrarians. Alastor is canonically asexual, and other aspects of his character are reflective of aromanticism as well. Well, the fanbase doesn’t like this so much. If you genuinely pay attention, you’ll notice this is a trend with a lot of other aroace characters. My favorite example is Peridot from Steven Universe, a canonical aroace character. In the show, Peridot goes through a lot of unlearning and growth. The scene where she tries to fuse with Garnet has massive implications for a few reasons. Because one, she is genuine in her desire to understand Garnet, and fusion better. And two, fusion while forbidden on Homeworld, is commonplace and normal in the Crystal Gems. As a Crystal Gem, she feels this is what is now expected of her. This is a major experience in the aspec community, as living in a cis heteronormative society means that sex, marriage and children are all things expected of each individual, which is dangerous and harmful ideology to everyone, asexual/aromantic people as well. Peridot couldn’t go through with the fusion, but that didn’t stop the fandom salivating, and foaming at the mouth over a potential Lapis/Peridot fusion. People were genuinely mad at Rebecca Sugar for never making that pairing canon, when they had absolutely no right to behave the way they did. Let’s not forget how the fans also misgendered Rebecca Sugar constantly. It was absolutely bigoted.

This is happening with Alastor. Fans feel entitled to ship him with whomever, an entitlement that is not seen with other characters. When people ship Vaggie with Angel, there is backlash, and for good reason. Because people understand that despite the fact that Vivienne Medrano said people can ship whatever, shipping a gay man with a woman and a gay woman with a man is…gross. It is wrong, it is disrespectful of their identities, and is forcing heteronormativity onto characters that are strict in their sexualities. Most people are able to recognize the thinly veiled homophobia. But Alastor does not receive the same treatment, and in fact receives the opposite treatment. I don’t know what I could say to convince you that the aroace coded character in a show being the #1 most shipped is thinly veiled aphobia the same way Vaggie x Angel is thinly veiled homophobia.

Now what does that have to do with Mammon? Mammon seems to not be aroace coded like Alastor, and for some reason, that has thoroughly pissed people off. Because Mammon is not the “acceptable” caricature of an asexual person. Most allosexual (non-asexual and/or aromantic people) view being asexual as being synonymous with being aromantic, which shows a painful lack of understanding and at times respect for the diversity of our community. Alastor fits this category, so he’s an “acceptable asexual”, while also essentially being a toy for shippers. But Mammon, with his clear attraction to Leviathan, is a “bastardization” of the asexual image. When we aren’t being viewed as broken, we’re often being viewed as chaste, virginal, and innocent with attachments to infantilization. But Mammon, with his aggressive and even icky approach to flirting with Leviathan, is seen as a subversion of this, which for people who don’t understand our community, hate. And these people are blaming Vivienne for having “terrible ace rep” when in actuality, having multiple ace characters having very little in common is actually fantastic rep. Because there are many labels in our community that Mammon can fit into as an asexual. To me, he looks like a sex-positive, high libido, demisexual. He’s known Leviathan for thousands of years, of course it makes sense that he would be into her, but not into anyone else which would explain why his “posse” are just female robots. This could also be because of his classism, but I genuinely think that he’s just demisexual. And you already know how people feel about demisexuals.

If you’ve read this far and have genuinely set aside your biases and personal feelings like I requested in the beginning, I appreciate that. Because from my own lived experience, the double standard between Alastor and Mammon doesn’t annoy me; it frightens me.

Because what the fandom is actually saying when they do these things is this:

“We see you as a homogenous group. Your voices go in one ear and out the other. If you don’t conform to our values and standards, we won’t give you the respect or recognition you deserve. If you don’t conform to my view of your group, you lose my “allyship”. We do not see your identity as a sexuality in its own right, but rather a literary device we can play with. I do not care to learn more about your community, your culture, or your struggles. I barely (if at all) acknowledge you as your own sexual minority and marginalized group. I barely acknowledge (if at all) that you are queer at all. I do not care about your feelings about societal biases that I might carry, I don’t care about how you’ve lived it, because it takes away my fun and fantasies. Because I devalue your group as a whole, your voices mean little. Your narrative is mine to do with as I please.”

I really hope you can see my perspective and understand the sincere place this comes from. Thanks for reading.

[plaidos]

this is a nice, long, unhinged rant that completely hallucinates a new series of points to respond to but…. well, i don’t actually think any of the exaggerated things you’re saying about me like “Dropout is the devil” or “Dropout should be shut down” — i have been kindly (but firmly) pointing out that Dropout has an abject problem with lack of transfeminine talent comparative to other demographics, and how it’s immediately noticeable. and they do, and it is 🤷‍♀️

if other people are expressing that that’s why they dropped their subscription, that’s why they don’t watch any more — they aren’t “going after Dropout” or “trying to get them shut down” — they’re just not forking over their money to pay for shit that doesn’t platform voices like theirs any more. And I don’t blame them, why should other trans women who care more about seeing ourselves represented have to pay to see a bunch of TME and cis people exclude us for years at a time?

Also, let’s be real — Dropout are in LA. There is no shortage of established transfeminine talent in LA that they could be helping further establish by providing a platform for. LA has one of the highest populations of trans women in the entire world, actually, so I really don’t buy that it should be hard to find any of us qualified to be on the show, and it’s very sad of you to genuinely believe that we as a community just don’t have enough talent to have been picked out & this must just be a coincidence. Like, maybe you don’t know any fantastic transfeminine comedians — I’ve met loads. Girls from LA who are close to Dropout’s production have personally reached out to me and told me that the in person vibe is absolutely that it is an intentional & maintained absence of transfem acts.

I think that if you have interpreted anything anybody has said here as “Dropout is the devil” “Dropout should get shut down” you should probably spend less time on the computer to be honest.

- A trans lady who has been out for ten years and doesn’t need to be condescended to about something she understands very well.

the problem is, i am actually the type of person who is totally primed to be all about Dropout and their various shows & content. and i always said i WOULD be into it if they actually started featuring trans women outside of One Off Tokenistic Appearances. and then… they just never stopped doing that, all whilst landing more TME queer people in recurring roles, platforming people who are transmisogynists, making transphobic jokes about transfem NPCs in d20 etc.

and so i never got into Dropout! it just really is a shame, considering how much of tabletop rpg culture & history was built off of the backs of trans women’s work. really disappointing for a group of people who keep jerking themselves off about how much they hate terfs, JK Rowling and Harry Potter, and how much they love uplifting marginalised voices, to not actually put any effort into representing some of the most marginalised voices around their table. 🤷‍♀️

[onadarklingplain]

happy qatar race weekend to all those who yearn for the galex hot lap video. here's one possible reason they never posted it By the time Alex rounds the last corner and comes onto the finish straight, feet landing on the pavement in time with Patrick’s, he’s disgusting with sweat, covered in a fine layer of grime. It’s late enough that the track has quieted a little from the feeding frenzy of media day, but someone has been doing hot laps, the screeching sound of the tyres echoing around the track, the smell of rubber heavy in the hot air.

The track is so flat and featureless that he can see the group from ages away, the distant figures getting clearer, more distinct, the closer Alex gets. It’s obvious it’s Mercedes by the time he rounds the last corner, the team shirts bright under the floodlights, but he doesn’t clock that it’s George until it’s too late.

“Albono,” George calls out just as Alex is about to escape down the pit lane, and everyone’s heads turn. He’s smiling, relaxed, one hand curled loosely around a crash helmet, his hair a mess.

The last thing Alex wants to do coming off the back of a DNF is schmooze with whatever VIP George has been tasked with showing a good time. He had done enough interviews already — he was done putting on a polite facade. He looks at Patrick like Patrick is at all likely to save him from this interaction: conjure a fake debrief or invent dinner plans, anything, something. It’s basically Patrick’s job, Alex thinks desperately, to streamline Alex’s weekends, spare him unnecessary distraction. The fucker just looks back implacably, shrugs. 

“Should’ve known it was you on track,” Alex says, because he has to say something. “We were almost run down at least twice.” Now that he’s stopped moving, he can feel the lactic burn in his muscles, a soreness creeping in all over: his legs, his chest, his lungs.

George laughs, sharp and loud like there aren’t a dozen people watching them have this conversation.   

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Without even saying anything real, his voice sounds impossibly fond. It’s written all over his face, everything. Alex’s throat feels tight; he tries to tell himself it’s just the heat, the relentless humidity.

“I’m talking about vehicular manslaughter, mate,” Alex jokes, and several of the dozen on-lookers laugh.

“I’m a very careful driver,” George says, laying his free hand over his chest in mock hurt.

Alex has already opened his mouth to refute George’s outrageous lie, half a dozen examples on the tip of his tongue, when someone from the socials team appears in between them. “Alex, do you have some time for some quick photos for the channels?” Alex looks back at Patrick again, who just shrugs again, the traitor. He’s really leaving Alex to the dogs this weekend. 

Alex is only halfway through stuttering through his own crap excuse when the entire Williams marketing team appears from nowhere like there’s some kind of inter-team bat signal or they have spidey senses whose only function is alerting them to postable moments happening on track.   

“I can do you one better, Albono,” George says, and before Alex can brace himself, George is stepping closer. A second later, he’s holding a helmet to Alex’s chest. “I’ll show you a bad driver. Get in the car, I’m giving you a ride.”

Alex hasn’t been in a car with George since their road trip back from Monza, and now the very idea of it feels somehow — dangerous. Like all the unbalanced tension between them is going to come tottering over with the first graze of the accelerator.

He tries, feebly, to say that he wouldn’t want to take time away from a sponsor, but it doesn’t work. He’s in the passenger seat, camera pressed into his hands before he can work up a coherent protest. The door swings shut, and when Alex looks over, George is grinning like an idiot, his cheeks all squished up against the sides of his helmet. Nothing for it. The red recording light is already on, the show already started.   

“George is going to show me how to do a lap of Qatar and impart some wisdom, isn’t that right? Williams driver solidarity.” Alex says for the video before the silence has a chance to grow, and he angles the lens so that George is filling the viewfinder, his hands wrapped nonchalantly around the steering wheel.

“I’m going to show you how a good driver does a lap of Qatar,” George corrects lightly, shifting into gear and stepping on the accelerator.

Alex doesn’t mean to yell, but the second George pulls away from the line and goes into the first corner, he forgets entirely about the camera in his hands and makes some noises that aren’t befit the dignity of a Formula 1 driver.

“Is this revenge for something?” Alex asks when George breaks too late into the second corner, and he gets thrown against the seat belt.

“You’re telling everyone I’m a bad driver,” George says ridiculously, and when Alex chances a glance over, he’s pouting, his lips pushed out in a show of petulance. “You said it on the fan stage in front of everyone, mate. There are like a million TikTok’s, I’ve been sent the link at least half a dozen times.”

“The evidence is conclusive from where I’m sitting,” Alex says. “Not sure I’m going to make it to the end of this season if you keep driving me around. In Monza —”

He cuts himself off before he can say anything stupid. They’re not talking about Monza, they haven’t talked about Monza. Alex had kind of been planning on never saying the word Monza in front of George again.

“Look,” George says, and when Alex chances another glance over, his face is all flushed, a pretty pink working down his neck. “Monza — I didn’t mean it. You can just like, forget about — forget I did that. Pretend it didn’t happen.”

Alex had mostly been thinking about how fucked up he had acted, but before he can say that, George goes into a corner, and Alex’s body slams sideways, the whole line of his body flush against the door, handle digging into his ribs. He’s starting to feel vaguely sick, the last drinks bottle Patrick had pressed on him sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach, and the lights are going by dizzyingly fast now, everything a blur outside of the car windows. 

“George, fuck, Jesus Christ,” Alex pants. It’s like all the air has been shocked out of his lungs. George is surely right on the limit, the rear of the car stepping out like crazy, the rear wheel dipping into the gravel. “Oh my god, George, Georgie, fuck, come on, please.”

Alex expects George to laugh at him, expects him to rub it in a little bit, call Alex a baby, but he’s still focused when he brings them into the next corner, jaw clenched tight, right on the edge of too fast, and Alex throws out his free hand wildly, looking for anything to steady himself — the hand break would be ideal, but failing that, he’ll take whatever: the seat back, the centre console, George’s thigh — except what he finds isn’t George’s thigh at all. He’s overshot his mark catastrophically.

It’s shock enough to make his brain forget about his engrained fear impulse entirely, all the adrenaline in his veins redirected in one violent realisation: George is hard.

He should move his hand. If he just moves his hand real quick, it might not even be weird. It will just be another thing to not talk about.

Instead, Alex finds himself saying “George,” again and somehow, he’s enough out of his body that he manages to make it come out vaguely normal. He feels barely in control of himself as he squeezes just a little, feeling the outline of George’s dick through his trousers.

“Alex,” George chokes out, but he doesn’t let up, throwing the car into the hairpin with just as much vigour as before, the squealing of the tyres suddenly louder in comparison to the unnegotiated silence that’s settled in the car. Alex’s hand shifts a little with the momentum, and the heel of his palm rubs against the head of George’s dick, drawing out a whimper that Alex almost can’t hear, small and sweet and delicious.

It’s very stupid. They’re in a fuck off fancy car that neither of them owns, and it would be mortifying to explain how it ended up in the wall. Both of their teams are waiting for them in the pits. Alex doesn’t even — He told George that he didn’t — Even though Alex had —

“Come on, George,” Alex says again, and he lets his fingers inch down lower so he’s cupping George properly. When George takes the next corner, he does such a showy drift that Alex has to squeeze again, his fingers tight, dragging along the dark linen. Everything outside of the car is a blur now, the universe narrowed down to one moment, one car, just like it had when they were idiot kids, when they didn’t know any better.

“Alex, fuck,” George says, and when Alex looks over, his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, like he’s biting back something more. Alex wishes he could see more of his face, wishes the stupid, glaring helmet wasn’t in the way.

“I see why you’re such a criminal on the road,” Alex says. “If you’re distracted like this constantly. What do you call this lap time?”

“I’m not—“ George starts before Alex shifts his wrist again, drawing out a delicious gasp. “This isn’t like, a regular— Jesus Christ, you’re a menace.”

Alex has to give it to him; even if starts missing apexes, spilling messily into the run-off, he manages to keep the car running. In the privacy of his mind, Alex can’t say without reservation that he would be able to do better. It makes him redouble his efforts, a destructive, unsuitable urge bubbling up to drive George to distraction, to make him put all his cards on the table for real, no take-backs. He drags his hand steadily up, building a relentless rhythm, drawing out the sweetest moans even as George keeps worrying away at his lower lip.

It’s when they’re just coming into the final sector, running down the sweeping straight between 11 and 12, that George suddenly says, his voice high and breathy, “Alex you can’t, I’m going to come, please.” He’s properly squirming against Alex’s hand now, his hips canting up, looking for more, and Alex’s fingertips feel almost numb, tingling with too much sensation.

“Yeah,” Alex says, encouraging. “Yeah, you are. Come on, come on.”

Alex isn’t even looking at the track anymore, has no idea where they are. Everything feels messy, sloppy, and he can’t take his eyes away from George, the frozen bliss on his face, his creased brow, scrunched nose. His mouth has fallen open, a silent cry, the spit shine on his lips catching the lights. It’s like the snap of a rubber band when George’s dick jerks against his hand, and Alex can feel the warm wet even through the layers of fabric. The feeling is so all-consuming that he hardly even notices that they’re spinning out until the force of the car launching over a curb jolts his hand away.

His eyes close on instinct, braced for an impact, but when he opens them, they’re fine, the car merely facing the wrong way up the track, stalled out. Next to him, George is panting, his hands still gripped tightly around the wheel. He looks unfortunately wrecked, considering they’ll both have to parade in front of a dozen cameras the second they bring the car back, but Alex thinks he’s maybe never looked better, a light sheen of sweat sitting on his face, glistening in the light. It hits him all at once, a sudden surge of undefinable emotion. George is — mad, perfect. He was an idiot, in Italy, for not saying yes when George asked. He was an idiot for putting it all at risk.

There’s a second when Alex worries that he’s really fucked up, and he tries to delicately defuse the tension. “Okay, so when I said you were a bad driver, I didn’t really—”

“Alex, so help me,” George says. His eyes are still closed, but his shoulders have relaxed, all the tension slipping away from his face. “You are never allowed to say shit about Monza again after this, I mean it. Not when I — I’m supposed to bring two more VIPs around after this, and I’m disgusting now.”

“Right well, you’re the one who put me in the car,” Alex points out. “So I don’t see how that part is my fault. This was fully your bad idea.”

Alex almost misses it entirely when George says, his voice barely above a murmur, “It was a good idea.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He can’t refute it, but to agree would be — he doesn’t know. He adjusts himself carefully, tucking his dick up into his waistband, but they can’t stay there long. Someone is bound to come investigate if they don’t get moving sharpish after a spin.

“We’re going to have to burn this memory card. Or like, run it over. Would that work?” he says eventually, remembering the camera in his hand. He definitely hadn’t kept it on George, but whatever it caught was surely damaging for both of them, even if it was just a view of the floor and — noises. He’s already fishing out the memory card, thinking of the most reliable methods of destruction, when George grabs his wrist.  

“Don’t—” George starts. “Do you have to?”

“Do you really want the whole media team to hear your come noises, mate?”

“No, god no,” George says quickly. “But like. You could come around to mine tonight if you wanted. We could do a little last-minute— onboard review, if you will. While you—”

“No, okay, I get it, let’s leave some suspense,” Alex says. He can feel the smile on his face, so wide is almost hurts his cheeks, muscles jutting up against the cushioning of the crash helmet. “I’l —”

He doesn’t know how he’s going to finish the sentence, but he knows, with a sudden and unexpected clarity, that it’s what he wants. He slips the memory card into his shoe and readies the excuse in his head, heat curling low in his stomach.

[cheust]

You get isekaid/transmigrated into the batfam as the neglected child but instead of being lowkey and sneaky with trying to figure out how to get home, you grab a pot and a wooden spoon and start screaming down their hallway while beating the pot to get their attention.

You’ve read the manhwa! You know the “they’re different! We must love and cherish them now!” Trope and guess what? You have no time for that. You want to go home and you want to go home now.

Also what if you get neglected siblings memories and just start doing psychological warfare because eff them, that’s what they get, what are they gonna do? Oh and your favorite target? Alfred. No not Bruce, not the batboys or girls, but Alfred. After all, he did have the power to integrate og sibling into the family but didn’t, and you see that. You see how he cares enough to comfort og sibling but not care enough to actually change their reality. It pisses you off, naturally.

—*—*—*—*—*—*—*—

You sit at the kitchen counter, watching Alfred as he prepares dinner for Bat and Birds. He was oddly, in your opinion, at peace. At peace in the kitchen as he organized the ingredients, prepared the recipes with so much thought and care to each member of the family, keeping their dietary needs and preferences in mind. Did he ever put that much care into the original person whose body you’re in? You bitterly doubt it.

“You’re quiet this evening, young master.” Alfred hummed while he worked. You didn’t like that, how he called you ‘young master’ like you were apart of their lives. Like he knew you. Just how easy was the original to replace to them?? Did they mean nothing to the one who actually attempted to raise them?

You lose your appetite instantly.

“Don’t call me that, Pennyworth. You know I’m here temporarily.” You were trying to be polite tonight, hell some would say even nice.

You made it clear within the first hour of being in the young Wayne’ body that you did not belong in it, did not want to stay in it or be apart of their lives. Some might say you were having too strong of a reaction, or being mean for no reason, but that’s not how you saw it. You saw the memories your host had of those people. Even your hosts body still remembers. Muscle memory you suppose. It’s the only explanation as to why you shook with such terror and nausea at being in the same room as that rude 12 year old. Why it trembled with such joy when the patriarch, Bruce, placed his hand on your host’s shoulder, promising you that they’ll watch after you until you are returned home.

It’s disturbing, feeling such strong feelings that you know aren’t your own, especially for these… creatures.

“You seem quite sure about that, young one. Have you made any progress in your search?” Alfred asked as he chopped some arugula for a salad. Weighting your options on whether or not you tell the truth, you chose to lie. It’s not like he really deserved the truth.

“No.. it’s all gibberish to me.” You said as you reached over the counter and grabbed a slice of cheese to eat. You felt awful for your host, so desperate to prove their worth that they were sloppy, unfocused.

Your host didn’t die, they accidentally switched places with you while trying to prove to their family that they were strong and skilled enough to help, you knew that they were hoping that if they proved themselves that they’d finally be seen, finally be listened to. You hated how you could feel their hope in those thoughts. You hated it more when you realized that the hope that your host held onto with their whole being was as shallow as a drop of rain.

But the truth was you understood most of it, the ritual, the ingredients, the intent was what got messed up. A ritual to gain what your heart desires. Your host’s wrote that their intent was to gain power to be able to work alongside the vigilantes, but you can safely assume that their heart had different desires. A desire to be gone from the Bats and Birds, you guessed. That’s what you would want, but you can’t be to sure.

“Well, maybe Master Bruce can contact some of his colleagues.” Alfred offered with a gentle smile, it was the same he’d wear to help placate your host. The knot in your stomach twisted tighter in discomfort and disgust. The cheese turning bitter in your mouth.

“Yeah. I’m sure his colleagues are reliable…” you lean back in your chair, staring into Alfred’s sharp eyes. Both of you knowing that you were both testing and watching the other. “Let’s hope they are reliable as you are with Mr. Wayne, Pennyworth. Let’s truly hope.”

—*—*—*—*—*—

I hope y’all enjoyed this! Sorry for the typos and characters being OOC! First time truly writing something for the public

[marauder-misprint]

Ahhh congrats on 200!!! For the prompt list requests could I get a fic with James x fem!reader for #95? I could just see him doing something so mundane like polishing his broom and she’s just drooling over his arms haha

My first James Potter for this account ♥︎ Thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! (reader is a bit more gn! than fem! but I think it's implied enough?)

Broom Polish

James Potter x reader

1.1k words

cw: fluff

You had half a mind to open the window. The smell of the broom polish must be getting to you, you thought. You can’t stop staring at his arms. The way the muscles flex as he rubs the polish over his broom handle. He’s been at it for at least fifteen minutes and you’ve been unable to look away since he started. The book in your hands is long forgotten.

You and James were just hanging out. You had originally been hanging out with all of the boys, but each left to do something else, leaving you and James. Remus had prefect duties, Peter had study group and Sirius had detention. So you were on the window’s ledge, holding a book but not reading it, and James was on the floor, not too far from you, with his broom, a cloth and the pot of polish.

“You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to,” James says, still working the polish into his broom’s handle. “They can’t stand the smell of the polish so I have to do this when they aren’t here.”

You swallow thickly. Your eyes flick up to his face and then back to his arms. “I, erm, don’t mind it.” Lies. The smell was enough to make you feel light headed. But maybe it was James’ arms. God, that made you feel pathetic. That you were even considering that idea. 

“Really?” James asks, looking up at you and noticing that you’re staring. “You don’t mind the smell?”

“It’s like how some people don’t mind the smell of petrol,” you say and then immediately remember that James won’t understand that, being pure blood. 

“Uh,” he says, not getting it. 

“Never mind. It’s a muggle thing,” you say quickly and offer him a smile, hoping he just goes back to polishing his broom and you can return to your not-so-discreet staring. 

While James does go back to work, he periodically looks up and sees you staring each time he does. He doesn’t even remember the last time he heard a page turn. It wasn’t like the dorm was loud with just the two of you. He should’ve heard pages turning. 

“Are you watching me?” he asks with a smirk.

“What? N-no. I’m not watching you.”

“Yes, you are.” The smirk widens into a grin. “You’re watching me.”

“I am not watching you,” you say more firmly.

“Is this really turning you on? I’m not doing anything.”

“Who said I was turned on?” You feel your face begin to heat.

“You did, when you denied watching me.”

“I-I am not…” He gives you an amused look. “Okay, fine. A bit. It’s not my fault you got nice arms.”

He sets down his broom and polish and looks down at his arms, as if trying to see what you meant. He flexes, relaxes and flexes again.

“Hmm, I suppose I do.” He looks at you again, the widest grin you’ve ever seen adorning his face. “You like my arms,” he says teasingly.

“I appreciate what Quidditch has done for them.”

“You like my arms.”

“Shut up, James.” Your blush is growing slightly as he doesn’t drop.

“But it only begs another question.”

You cross your arms and lean backwards. “What?”

“Do you like more than my arms?”

“Wha-what?” you stutter. 

“Do you like more than my arms?” he repeats. “Or, do you like more? Of me.”

You’re blushing furiously. “James, I-”

You’re cut off by him moving closer to you. You feel your breath hitch with him so close to you. 

“Do you?” he breathes. 

“I-”

He keeps moving closer. At this point, his face is only a few inches away from yours. You can smell his cologne, it finally breaking through the thick scent of polish. You could see the tiny flecks of gold and brown in his hazel eyes. You felt an urge to run your hand through his mess of hair, to move it away from his face. You don’t dare move though. 

“Do you like me?” he asks, sounding more serious this time, almost vulnerable and curious. “Do you like me as more than a friend?”

You’re having a hard enough time breathing that the thought of answering his questions is forgotten. Not that he had let you answer his last few questions. You try to take a deep breath. You can taste the broom polish in the air; it probably doesn’t help that it’s all over James’ hands and some of his clothes. 

“James, I-”

“Well, darling, do-” 

You muffle his voice with your hand over his mouth. 

“Would you let me answer?” you nearly snap.

He nods. He lets you keep your hand over his mouth, not attempting to lick or bite you as he might’ve if you had done this at any other time. You take another deep breath; your heart is pounding in your chest. You know your answer. Now that you have him quiet though, you’re having trouble getting the actual words out.

You’re not sure when it happened. When all the platonic touches didn’t feel so friendly. When you swore the stolen glances began to linger longer. When you started to feel your face soften when you looked at him. When you started to treasure the alone time you had with him more. When you started to wish that he would see you as more than a friend, because that’s how you were seeing me. 

“I do,” you whisper. Panic takes over your heart. “Like more than your arms.”

You feel him smile under your hand, which he slowly reaches up to remove. 

“Do you like me?” he asks, his voice just as quiet and sincere as yours.

You can’t lie to him now.

“Yes.”

“Oh thank Merlin.”

Your eyes are wide in surprise at his response. You weren’t expecting that. And you weren’t expecting him to lean forward just enough so your lips touched. It’s the gentlest of kisses, tainted only by the stench of broom polish. Maybe those stolen glances and lingering touches hadn’t been as one-sided as you had tried to convince yourself. 

When James pulls back, he’s smiling just as widely as before, but there’s something different. Maybe a more content look? More satisfied? More happy? You’re not entirely sure what your own face is doing as a reaction as you’re too focused on trying to read his. 

“Feel free to stare at my arms all you want, sweetheart,” he says smoothly. “As long as I can kiss you all I want.”

You nod, a smile coming to your face. 

“Please,” you say encouragingly.

Then you lean in and kiss him. It’s a bit more forceful than when he kissed you, but you know it’s welcomed. And you know that you’ll be getting more time alone with James in the near future. 

[sanctuaryroses]

I want women to be able to be direct, occasionally cuz all ppl do it rude as well, without society treating her horribly for it and getting weird over it. I want people to allow women the same grace they allow men. The same level of understanding and empathy. „Maybe she has a bad day“ „maybe I did smth wrong and upset her“ „maybe she has a point and I judged to quickly“

I want women to get to be human. I want ppl to stop pretending like women are these social friendly creatures that don’t have any directness to them or any assertiveness.

I don’t want people to idealise the idea of women being so kind and nurturing and then get offended when a woman is just human instead.

Girls that are assertive and opinionated growing up in school always get held back and told to be friendlier whilst the boys are praised for it.

I hated seeing that growing up over and over again. Strong, confident girls had to fix their „flaws“ where there were none. It’s telling that boys then aren’t held accountable for actually acting out and breaking rules a lot of the time.

They take perfectly fine girls and tell them they’re to loud, to rude, to demanding. Just for refusing to be verbally dominated and arguing back. They get cut off and when they don’t take it they’re seen as the aggressor.

Hate it. Each time a girl gets scolded for doing what most men and boys do all the time and no one has an issue with it there, an angel loses its wings.

[seasprincess]

Hiiii!! Could you please do princess!reader x Rafe angst to comfort 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Kinda like a sofia at the country club moment, like princess overhears Rafe saying something about her that he didn’t mean? Maybe about her being overly clingy? Idk just a thought! Hope you’re doing well, happy 100!!

angst to fluff!!

“I don’t know man she’s just like clingy.” Rafe shrugs as he looks at Topper, sipping from the glass. His muscular hand coming to rub the back of his head as he adjusts in his seat.

He’s just gossiping with Topper. Honestly they do it more than you and your fiends. Talking about everything and nothing.

But what Rafe didn’t realise that the clingy girl in question was walking back. And that girl heard everything.

For the past few days Rafe’s words have been practically ringing in your ears as you lay in bed. Shutting yourself off from him as you go quiet.

At first Rafe thought you were in one of your moods. That’ll pass in a day and you’ll be right back with him.

But when you cancelled going shopping with him. He immediately knew something was wrong.

“Why aren’t you answering me?” Rafe says, slightly pissed as your bedroom door swings open. He’s uninvited and unannounced. Typical for him.

One thing Rafe hates is him being ignored. He can’t stand it.

He can ignore people sure, but if someone ignores him. That’s a no.

“I did.” You say as you adjust the sleeves of your hoodie. And Rafe notices that. Not the fact you adjusted your hoodie, the fact that it’s your hoodie and not his.

He’s done something for sure. He knows that now.

“Well not answering my calls or messages seems like ignoring to me.” Rafe is snarky as he talks. He’s honestly more sassy than a teen girl most of the time. “So what have I done?”

You shrug. Not wanting to answer him. Not wanting to get into anything right now.

“Just felt clingy.”

Immediately a lightbulb lights up in Rafe’s head, realising what’s happened. Remembering which moment you went quite on him. That moment in the country club you came back and werent your normal self.

“This is about the country club isn’t it?” Rafe says as rubs his head, eyes watching you as you look away from him. You can’t make eye contact with him. Too worried that if you do the tears that are pricking at your eyes will fall.

Which of course they start to do. Slowly rolling down your face as you keep looking away from him. Not wanting to look at him as it would make it worse.

So you just continue hugging the pillow that rests in your lap.

“Princess come on.” Rafe sighs as he sits down on the bed in-front of you. Hand coming out to touch your thigh. Slowly he begins rubbing it with his thumb. Hes the one averting his gaze now as he looks off to the right.

He hates to see you cry, hates it even more when he’s the reason behind it.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I was just stupid okay?”

“Mhm.”

“I was answering Toppers question. About why you like to cling on to my arm all the time.” Rafe’s eyes lock onto you. Wanting to make sure he’s not making this even worse than it already is. Like he usually does when he opens his mouth. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing alright?”

You look at him finally, listening to his words. Taking them in as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

“Really?”

“Yes. I like you by my side. Showing you off as my girl.”

Rafe’s hand comes to your cheek, thumb wiping away any of those excess tears as you sigh. Leaning against him.

Of course there was more to it. Of course you jumped to conclusions. You just felt bad, you just think the worst.

“Now we’re going shopping so get up.” He places a kiss on your head before helping you up.

[revelboo]

RAHHHHH the rammatra fic outta nowhere had me going ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

(Tbh I think he and genji were my gateway drug to robots)

Absolutely scrumptious as always

Anti-Gravity Pt 2

Ramattra x Reader

• Ankle screaming when you put weight on it, you use the length of rebar like a cane to pick your way closer to the pinned Omnic. He still has one good arm, so you’ll need to be quick. Drive that rebar deep as you can, through that baleful optic and out the other side. Omnic aren’t people, they’re not alive, just a clever impersonation of it. Except. You remember months ago, getting caught on the outskirts of a mob running down a lone Omnic. Watching them pull it to the ground, but doing nothing to stop them. It wasn’t your problem, you just wanted to go home. But it hadn’t begged or pleaded with its attackers. All it had said while it still could speak was that it was ‘seen in the light of the Iris.’ Like it believed it was more than just a machine. Raising the rebar, you stare down at it. Him, Ramattra. A machine. Just a machine.

• Servos curling in a fist, he tiredly watches the human poised to attack him. One side of your face smeared with blood from a sluggishly bleeding wound at your temple. Baring your teeth at him, rocking forward, but faltering. And your hands are shaking as you make to lunge and then stop yourself again. Finally meeting his optics. “You’re a monster,”you tell him, voice tired as you slump down on a pile of rubble nearby. Above the two of you something shifts and dirt patters down. He understands that hate in your eyes, but your mercy takes him by surprise. “You deserve to die,” you add, voice angry now. At him or yourself?

• “If I’m a monster, it’s because your kind gave me no choice,” that low, digitized voice growls as he tries to drag himself more upright before giving up. Head tipping back to stare at the rubble above them and you follow his stare even as his words whisper through you. Make you think of that Omnic dying for no reason at all, torn apart by that mob. What had it even done? Just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Dared to exist?

• Growling softly, he knows that if they start messing with the debris above, it’s likely to come down and your mercy will mean very little when you’re both crushed. “There’s always a choice,” you counter, rolling up your pant leg to gingerly prod at your ankle and he watches your little shoulders hunch. From above, there’s another shower of dirt and rocks, the drip of water becoming a steady stream from a busted pipe.

• You’re afraid to take off your sneaker and see how bad it really is. Afraid you won’t be able to get the show back on if you do. The only thing you’re certain of it’s that you can’t stay here. You’re not sure if you’re in the sewer or in some kind of maintenance tunnel, but you don’t want it to become your tomb.

• “Your naïveté will get you killed,” he growls, watching you turn your attention back to him. To his trapped leg. While you can still walk, he can’t. Not alone. Doesn’t have the energy to swap back to nemesis form to try and free himself, too damaged to risk it. Ignoring you since you’re apparently not going to try and end him right this moment, he tries to free his pinned lower leg. Tensing when you limp over and drive that rebar under the broken wall crushing him and pushing down on it like a fulcrum. Too small to budge it at all, but still trying. Above them something creaks and scrapes. How long? Minutes or hours? And he follows your attention when it drifts toward the dark tunnel. “You can’t see in the dark, but I can. Find something sharp. Metal.”

• You stare at him, attention drifting back to his lower leg. Knowing you’re not going to get him free in time, but he’s right. It’s pitch deeper in and the only light is coming through the shifting rubble. You’ll never find a way out without him. Limping sends jagged shards of pain through your leg and knee, but you find something useable and carry it over. Feeling oddly squeamish as he positions it against the joint of his knee and you realize what he wants. Just a machine, you remind yourself as he tries to saw at the joint, making a low, snarling sound of very real pain. And you grab the sides of the metal fragment and drive it down. Again and again, feeling the edges biting into your palm. It takes both of you to sever the lower half of his leg and your palms are cut up and sticky with blood as you offer him a hand. “You’re still a monster,” you tell him as he lurches unsteadily upright with only one leg and one arm. Skin crawling as he leans on you and nearly knocks you both down with his weight. He’s silent as you grit your teeth and start moving, letting him use you for balance. Because even if he’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve to die like this. No one does.

Previous

[scarletwinterxx]

benefit of friends - kim mingyu imagine

god really made this man to be the most perfect one😭 how to get your own kim mingyu (asking for a friend) lol anyways hope you like this one!

for my other svt fics, check them here

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing.

Work is work. Fun is fun. Feelings? Well, they’re like those receipts stuffed into your wallet... you’ll deal with them later.

Your arrangement with Mingyu, your ridiculously handsome coworker-turned-“friend-with-benefits,” was supposed to fall neatly into the “fun” category.

No strings, no expectations, no messy emotions.

But tonight, at the company dinner, you’re beginning to realize that neatly labeled boxes have a way of getting jumbled when Mingyu’s around.

The restaurant is buzzing with chatter, glasses clinking, and the hum of soft music in the background. His deep, warm laugh carries over the noise, drawing glances from everyone at your table. He’s always been effortlessly charming, with his broad shoulders, that perfect smile, and a sense of humor that’s impossible to resist.

And right now, someone else seems to have noticed.

A junior marketing associate, her name slips your mind, but she’s all bright eyes and flirty giggles. She's leaning just a little too close to him. Her hand grazes his arm as she laughs at something he said, and you swear you see her fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary.

Your chest tightens, and you quickly take a sip of your wine, hoping the bitterness will drown the unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up your throat.

Jealousy.

It’s ridiculous, really. You and Mingyu aren’t together.

You’ve both made it clear: this is casual. Easy. No messy emotions, remember?

So why does it bother you so much when he leans in to whisper something to her, his grin widening as she laughs again?

“Are you okay?” a colleague asks, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, forcing a smile.

But your eyes can’t help darting back to Mingyu.

Later, as the group begins to thin out, people leaving one by one, you make your way to the bar for another drink.

You need something. Anything to steady your nerves. You’re swirling your glass idly when you feel someone slide onto the stool beside you.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Mingyu says, his voice low and teasing.

You don’t turn to look at him immediately. “I’m just tired,” you lie.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning a little closer. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it makes your heart race.

“Tired? Or… distracted?”

That gets your attention. You glance at him, and he’s watching you with that playful glint in his eye, like he already knows exactly what’s on your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning indifference.

“Oh, don’t you?” He grins, and it’s infuriatingly attractive. “You’ve been glaring daggers at poor Mina all night.”

So that’s her name. Mina.

“I wasn’t glaring,” you snap, a little too defensively.

He laughs softly, leaning even closer until his shoulder brushes yours. “You were. And, for the record, it was kind of cute.”

“I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Really?” His voice drops, and suddenly the air between you feels charged. “Because it looked a lot like jealousy to me.”

You turn to face him fully, ready to argue, but the words catch in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you—intense, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Mingyu,” you start, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“Relax,” he says, smirking. “I wasn’t interested in her, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and you hate how much that admission makes your pulse race. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, turning back to your drink.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice warm and teasing, “but you like me anyway.”

The car ride home is quieter than usual. Mingyu insisted on sharing a ride, though you suspect it’s less about convenience and more about prolonging the teasing

As the car pulls up to your apartment, you hesitate for a moment. You should say goodnight and leave it at that.

But when Mingyu’s hand brushes yours as he moves to open the door, your resolve wavers.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice casual, though your heart is anything but.

He smiles knowingly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Your apartment feels smaller with Mingyu in it. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to boil over as he follows you inside, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, his tone teasing but softer now, “if you’re going to get jealous every time someone flirts with me, we might have to renegotiate this whole ‘just friends’ thing.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you say again, though even you don’t believe it this time.

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can come up with a retort, his hand cups your cheek, and suddenly you forget how to speak.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, but he cuts you off with a kiss—soft at first, almost tentative, before it deepens. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

You don’t remember moving, but somehow you end up against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing down your neck as your hands tangle in his hair.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur, though it comes out more like a sigh.

“And yet,” he says, his breath warm against your skin, “you keep me around.”

His lips find yours again, and this time there’s no teasing, no games, just the kind of intensity that leaves you breathless and wondering how you ever thought you could keep this casual.

Later, as you lie tangled together on your couch, his arm draped lazily over your waist, you realize your carefully labeled boxes have completely unraveled.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re okay with that.

It starts at a casual get-together with some of your friends. Mingyu wasn’t supposed to come. You invited him half-jokingly, figuring he’d have better things to do on a Friday night. But to your surprise, he’d shown up, effortlessly sliding into the group as if he’d always been part of it.

And now, you wish he hadn’t.

Not because you’re upset he’s here.

Far from it.

Mingyu has a way of making everything more fun. It’s just that you’re too aware of him, standing across the room, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds like he’s keeping tabs on you.

You’re talking to a guy.

what was his name again? Jae? Jin? Mingyu thought to hinself.

The guy has clearly been angling for your attention all night but you don’t notice. You’re oblivious to the way he leans a little too close when he speaks or the way his hand brushes yours unnecessarily as you reach for your drink.

Mingyu notices, though.

From his spot by the makeshift bar, he’s gripping his glass a little too tightly, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. He tells himself it’s fine—you’re not his, and he has no right to feel this way. But when Jae-or-whatever laughs a little too loud at something you’ve said, leaning in like he’s about to touch you, something snaps.

Before he knows it, he’s crossing the room.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, his voice smooth but laced with an edge as he steps between you and Jason, casually sliding his arm around your waist. “Didn’t realize you’d made a new friend.”

“Mingyu? What are you doing?” You blink up at him, surprised

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. His gaze shifts to Jason, who suddenly looks less sure of himself. “Who’s this?”

Jason clears his throat. “Uh, I’m Joon. We were just talking.”

“Talking, huh?” Mingyu says, his smile sharp. “That’s nice. But I think she’s good here.”

“Mingyu—” you start, but he’s already steering you away, his hand firm on your lower back.

You glance back at Joon, who’s standing there awkwardly, but Mingyu doesn’t let you linger. He leads you out onto the balcony, where the cool night air hits your skin.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, spinning to face him.

“What was that?” he counters, his voice low and tense. “That guy was all over you.”

“He was not!” you protest. “We were just talking.”

“You’re so oblivious sometimes, you know that? He wasn’t just talking, he was hitting on you.”

You cross your arms, irritation bubbling up. “And what if he was? It’s not like you get to decide who I talk to.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he steps closer, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Maybe I don’t,” he says quietly, his voice dangerously calm. “But I didn’t like it.”

Your breath catches. His proximity, the intensity in his gaze—it’s overwhelming

“Why do you even care?” you ask, though your voice is softer now, less sure. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and suddenly the world feels smaller, like it’s just the two of you on that balcony.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Your heart pounds as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours

“I care,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something that feels too big to name, “because you’re mine.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“Mingyu—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves you breathless. It’s not soft or tentative like before—it’s possessive, claiming, as if he’s trying to prove something to both of you.

You don’t resist. Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as his hands slide to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we said no feelings. No strings. But I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

Your chest tightens, and for once, you don’t push him away. Instead, you reach up to trace the line of his jaw, your touch soft.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words. “But I guess you're my idiot.”

His smile is equal parts relief and triumph. “Damn right I am”

Back inside, the party continues without you, but neither of you cares. You end up in your apartment again, the tension between you finally boiling over.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no teasing. Just the two of you giving in to what’s been building for weeks. His hands are everywhere, mapping every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing you, and when you pull him down onto the couch, he follows without question.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough and low as his lips trail downward.

“Say what?” you manage, your breath hitching as his hands slide under your shirt.

“That you’re mine,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, hidden beneath all the confidence.

You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’m yours,” you whisper, and the way his expression softens makes your heart ache.

“Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m yours too.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like a promise.

[ladyazurith]

More thoughts on Cater's Dream.

So I wanted to post some of my thoughts on the preview we got for Cater’s card. First off, I’m excited, I thought it would probably be January at the earliest before we saw Heartslabyul’s arc. Cater’s dream is one I’ve been looking forward to the most but also held some anxiety. I’ve taken a lot of time to analyze his character from the pieces sprinkled in the main story, various events, and personal stories we have. I’ve probably looked at every scrap of information and interaction we have for him. He’s a character near and dear to my heart, likely not a surprise for anyone who’s seen my writing.

For the actual Analysis:  

Firstly, I do personally think it’s pointing to him being in charge of *something* the title of King is pretty straightforward, along with the crown on his cheek in place of his diamond. While I can agree it is possible and likely pointing toward him being Heartslabyul’s Dorm Leader/Housewarden in his dream. I think this is an odd choice for his character. The only way I see this being a way that leads to ‘happiness’ for him, is because he’s the type of person that likes to help other people. This has been demonstrated over and over. And by taking on the role of dorm leader, he’s taking that pressure off of Riddle and Trey, which is what leads to Riddle’s overblot. In this position, he can make their lives better/happier. 

I also think the presence of his skateboard indicates that his version of the dorm will be very laid back, where people aren’t afraid like they were under RIddle’s rule pre-overblot. 

There is also the idea that this is all misleading, and it has nothing to do with Heartslabyul and his “King of Tricks” title is because he’s overseeing some kind of Skateboarding tournament. But that’s not a ‘real’ prediction just a bit of a joke I thought might be funny. 

What I don’t think this indicates is that he was the *former* house warden/dorm leader as I see many people speculate. It’s an old theory but had been going around more now that this card has been revealed. To me, that theory never made sense, for two main reasons. One is very blatant. Riddle respects Cater, a lot. He sees him as a friend and even looks up to him in certain areas (he makes comments about not embarrassing Cater in flight class etc). And it’s very clear he doesn’t respect the former dorm leader *at all*. And Secondly, it doesn’t fit Cater’s personality to pursue that position. He doesn’t want the responsibility. If it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll accept it, but I’ll be looking for a really good explanation for the things I’ve mentioned here.  There are other problems I have with the theory but honestly, they’d take their own post. 

One of the things I hope to see in Cater’s dream because it would fit in with Malleus’s own struggle and what we do know of Cater and his struggles, is that he’s surrounded by people he’s truly friends with in his dream, who he doesn’t have to worry about saying goodbye to. It’s referenced more than once that Cater has moved around so much and struggles to be remembered by those he meets and has a hard time forming bonds with other people. If they don’t leverage that angle here I will be unbelievably disappointed.