#so why not bring back them for one last fight

[hysteria-things]

PLEASE WRITE LIKE A LITTLE BLURB OR SOMETHING ABOUT MATT GRABBING READER'S FACE LIKE HOW HE DID WITH CHRIS

thank you😭

TEMPTATION (part two)

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!matt x babysitter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you fight to not fall for matt’s charm for the second time the same day, but the tension is too strong that you can’t resist.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, oral (female receiving), fingering, praising/degradation, p in v (pull out method), stomach bulge

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,563

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: i want to get through my requests and sprinkle them into fics so if you see something that seems like it was requested a while ago that’s why LOL

clinking of dishes and water running is a good distraction. the sudsy soap coating your hand on the sponge as you wash a plate feels warm on your skin. you’re focusing as hard as you can on your senses, matt standing just a few feet away while you’re helping him clean up after dinner.

he brought evelyn to bed a few minutes ago, and now you can feel him staring into your back. your heart pounds in your chest, thinking about what occurred only this afternoon in this same kitchen. nobody made a peep about it after it happened, but that’s all you’ve been thinking about all day—his cock moving past your lips so naturally, his grunts and groans intensifying the closer he got, his praises, the way he made you look up at him with the soft grip of his hands on your cheeks…

you bite your lip and clench your thighs at the thought, but you shake it out of your head the second it arrives.

you can’t do that again. that was a mistake.

when you dry the last dish and place it into the cabinet above, you jump when you notice matt standing directly in front of you when you turn around. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” he chuckles. “i want to thank you for your help today. you know, with ev and all.”

“you’re welcome.” you say quickly, taking a long exhale. “it’s my job.”

his arms cage you in against the counter, each one planted on the edge of it by your sides. he groans, leaning into where his lips ghost yours, and your chest heaves even faster. he takes his knee and parts your legs with it, pressing firm against your covered mound. he starts kissing down your neck, biting at the skin in the process. not to leave marks, but to show you how desperate he is for you as much as you are for him. “tell me to stop.” he mumbles against your jaw, bringing his face up to meet yours again.

your eyes dart over his features, shaking from how turned on you get from such little contact. “i can’t.” you whisper, heart beating rapidly.

“say it.” he murmurs, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you gasp slightly. “say that you want me to stop.”

“no,” you say shakily. he’s so fucking mesmerizing that it annoys you, but you’re aching for his touch, his body, him. it’s only been a month of nannying for him, but goddamn do you need it bad.

matt pulls back, frustratingly running a hand through his hair. you let out a sigh, finally being able to breathe when you think he’s going to walk away, but no. he grabs your hips and lifts you roughly onto the counter, caging you in once again by pulling you towards him with a hand possessively wrapped around your waist. “you’re fucking killing me.” he pants, moving to raise your arms above your head to remove your shirt and unclip your bra. he smirks when you help him get off your leggings, throwing them aside. you wince when the elastic of your panties snaps against your flesh when he rips them off.

“fuck.” he breathes, scanning your body over and over again. “fuck.”

your nipples are hard peaks, breasts moving with each breath you take. there’s a sticky mess on your thighs, your dripping hole aching for his cock. he hurries to get his shirt and pants off, eyes still locked on your flushed body.

“look at her,” he says, thumbs spreading your soaking folds. his eyes look frantic and hungry, pupils dilated almost fully as he admires your pussy. he runs a finger up the slit, and you shiver. “she’s practically begging for me.”

the ticking of the wall clock seems to become louder when you watch him kneel, hot breath against your sensitive heat. he flicks his tongue once… twice… three times over your clit, and you jolt with each lick. he runs a hand over your thigh, squeezing the inside before he starts to suck at your bud, also soaking one of his fingers with your juices before inserting it. a hitched gasp is caught in your lungs, matt putting in his middle finger next.

his eyes roll back, tasting you and fucking you with his fingers at the same time. you whine, gripping tight onto his hair for stability. he groans, adding a third, scissoring the digits nuzzled into your cunt. arching your back, you moan from how full you feel already. you’ve never been fingered with more than two, but this—

you snap out of it when he goes in with four, and you’re so wet that they move in and out quite easily. he hums approvingly, the vibration letting another moan slip out of you. the erotic sounds of his tongue and squelching from his fingers make your toes curl. you can feel him stretch you out at the way he moves his digits, and you clench around them.

keeping your grasp on his head, your low moans turn into whines. he’s eating you out like a starved man as if you’re his last meal. it seems that from now on whenever matt is hungry, he’ll just go for your pussy. your eyes flutter, mouth agape when your hands reach to your tits and clutch hard, twirling your nipples.

he pulls his mouth away from your swollen clit, licking his lips to get an extra taste. his knuckles plunge harder, curling his fingers to hit that spot right where you want it. you start to twitch and quiver, the knot in your stomach snapping the second it appears. he slides out the digits from your still-tight hole.

you’re left a trembling mess, settling down from your orgasm when he stands back up. he wants to kiss you so you can taste yourself, but he can’t. sex is one thing, but kissing you is another. it’s more dangerous because if he does, he won’t ever turn back from wanting you.

instead, he forces his fingers into your mouth, and you lick them clean with a satisfied hum. “good girl…”

then, his palms hold the creases of your knees, lifting and spreading your legs open. his dick throbs, wrapping his hand around the base and pumping himself a couple of times to get him harder than he already is. looking at your naked body while he does so makes him grunt, hair sticking to his forehead from sweat. he nudges the head between your folds, coating it before slowly pushing into you.

“come on.” he grunts in concentration, watching your face contort in pleasure when he pushes in inch by delicious inch. “good girl, stretching out for me.”

you let out a small yelp when he’s balls deep, slamming your eyes shut from the pleasurable pain by accommodating his size. “shh, shh.” he soothes you, pecking your shoulder. he starts thrusting slowly, but gradually gets faster when he feels you split open for him. “there you go.” he sighs contently, spreading your legs even wider to get deeper. “what an obedient slut, taking my cock.”

your hold onto the counter for dear life, moans getting more high-pitched until you slap your hand over your mouth. evelyn is sleeping just upstairs, and you have to remind yourself of that. your vision is blurry from the tears forming in your lids, eyes rolling back so far that only the whites show.

strings of cum connect to his thighs and your cunt, the sight having matt drilling into you faster to the point where his tip reaches your cervix. you feel the bulge in your belly when he bottoms out, and that alone has you clamp down on his dick harder like a vice. he curses under his breath when he sees himself peeking out of your abdomen. “such an innocent whore.” he coos, and you moan from the degrade, it being muffled by your palm. “you like this dick?”

removing your hand, you babble some ‘fucks’ and ‘oh gods’ when you clench repeatedly. you start to spasm again, the same hot feeling building up like it did before. you’re not a screamer by any means, but your pants and whimpers alone have matt’s thrusts get sloppier. he notices your expressions and smirks.

“look at me.” he snarls, hips snapping against your ass and grabbing your face with so much force that your cheeks squish. your eyes flutter to look at him, half-crossed. he smiles menacingly at your dumbed out face before speaking. “i want you to look at me when you cum. i want you to look at who’s fucking you this good.”

moaning in response, some spit coats the corners of your mouth. he can tell you’re close by your incoherent voice and squirming, but he’s also not far behind either. you throw your head back, biting your lip to lessen your filthy sounds when you gush around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth. he pulls out with a wet pop and groans, balls tightening as he spurts hot cum all over your stomach.

it takes a load of silence to get your breathing back to normal and your brain less hazy, tilting your head when you realize something peculiar painted with his semen: the letter ‘M.’

he must be so damn proud of himself.

��𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @mattgirl4lyfe @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @sturnsmadl @starz4star

[caffeinatedvigilantewriter]

So Demon twins but Danny was never raised in the League. He was brok sickly so Ra’s chucked him in the Lazarus pit and he never came out.

He emerged on the other side of the world in a pool of ectoplasm and got adopted by the Fentons.

14, he died.

15, he had a clone, Danielle, and she went to travel the world, starting in Venice

He knows he was adopted, Vlad spilled the beans during a fight, and when he was 16, he decided to tell his parents he was Phantom. (for the first time in my prompts) It went well.

When he was 17 and about to graduate high school, he decided to do a DNA test and find out who his bio parents are.

Bruce Wayne and an Unknown

Sends a letter to Bruce and doesn’t really expect a response.

He gets one.

Bruce Wayne knocks on his door 5 days after he sent the letter and offers to let Danny stay in Gotham with him while he takes a gap year. Danny agrees.

He meets Damian (doesn’t really matter is Damian knew of Danny existence or not) and everyone else and has a great time.

Eventually, Danny brings up things that alludes to his vigilante past

“Ya know, back when I was dead-”

“Metaphorical, right?”

“… sure. Anyway!-”

-

“Killed 17 people?! Tsk tsk, my rouges would never! Not even the clown! So, do you want Thai or Indian takeout?”

“… what was that?”

“Thai or Indian?”

“What- no, that not what I- *sigh* Thai, please.”

Eventually, he brings up his Dani.

“Oh yeah, my clone loves to travel!”

“Your what?”

“My clone! She’s more like a sister though.”

“Okay… where is she??”

“Shes traveling. Last I heard she was running with a group called the League of Assassins. Or was it assailants?”

“👁️👄👁️”

“Do you want to meet her..?”

“YES.”

-

So Dani joined the LOA. Not the worst thing she could’ve done.

Talia took one look at this girl she found in Venice that looked exactly like her beloved and thought ‘why not?’ And offered her a place to stay.

Dani took one look at this women she met in Venice that offered her a place to stay and though ‘bet’ and accepted.

So she’s been running with assassins. It’s not that bad and she learned how to fight. Talia mothers her and protects her from Ra’s good mom Talia, she will not raise Danielle like she raised Damian Eventually Dani gets a message from Danny saying that his biological family wants to meet her.

She goes with Talia’s okay and heads to Gotham.

Unlike her template, she knows that the Waynes are the Bats and loves teasing them about it.

“You’re billionaires, right? Wow, I really hope you don’t have a secret lair under this mansion!”

“… right, right. That would be weird.”

Damian doesn’t know what to make of Danielle. On one hand, he’s always wanted a sister, and she’s biologically related to him. On the other hand, she willingly works with the people that took away Damian’s childhood.

Danielle doesn’t have the blind devotion to the LOA that he had, and he thinks that she’s been manipulated by Ra’s and spends his time trying to convince her to stay in Gotham with them.

So now Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul get into a custody battle. (Talia wants also Danny and Bruce wants Dani)

Wind of it reaches the press and now the whole world is invested.

[honeygr-ls]

The Shadows And The Light - Chapter One

In the chaotic streets of Zaun, you run a small clinic, offering help to anyone who needs it. When Sevika, Silco's notorious right hand, shows up wounded, an unlikely bond forms between you. As she struggles with her violent life and feelings of unworthiness, you challenge her to see herself, and the people of Zaun, differently. Through shared danger and quiet moments, your connection begins to grow and flourishes into something beautiful

The clinic reeked of antiseptic and blood, the metallic tang hanging in the humid air of Zaun. You tightened the straps of your apron over your shoulders, wiping sweat that threatened to trickle down your brow. You were exhausted, tending to injuries and sickness throughout the whole day and night. Another gang fight, another line of broken and injured people stumbling through the door of the clinic.

The clinic had belonged to your late mother, left to you after her untimely and tragic death. You had taken her place as the clinic's head doctor, treating and taking care of Zaunites for around three years already.

You had just about finished cleaning up the last of the bloodied tables in the back when you heard a faint rattle at the front door of the building. Curiosity led you to the front door (not before grabbing a sharp scalpel for protection, of course), and you startled back when the rattling got even more frantic. Your eyes widened, and your heart leapt to your throat, but you steeled yourself and cracked the door open.

Your eyes widened at the sight of Silco's right hand, Sevika, towering over you as she clutched her side. Her face was pale and slick with sweat. You could notice her grey shirt was seeping with crimson blood. Her mechanical arm rested up against the door's frame, the faint whirring of its gears filling the silence.

“Well? You gonna let me bleed out here?” She barked out, her voice laced with a pained strain.

“Shit, right, come in.” You rushed out, widening the door and ushering her inside.

She stumbled in without so much as a thank you and swayed back and forth before she collapsed on your worn-out (and freshly washed) examination table with a low grunt.

You got to work, thoroughly cleansing your hands in alcohol to disinfect them, as well as grabbing your sterilised tools and bringing them over to the steel table next to where Sevika lay. Tension hung in the air as you started to survey her state and injury wound.

Sevika had always been larger than life - commanding, cold the kind of person who hardly ever asked for help. You've seen her around Zaun multiple times and often heard of her through whispers of your clients, But this is the first time she has ever come to your clinic, which caused confusion to swirl through your brain. You never got why she hadn't come before as you knew how much of a ruthless fighter she was, which was bound to end in injuries. Your help was free of charge aswell, the clinic running on donors and loans from a numerous amount of different people.

Snapping back to the task at hand, you pressed down gently around the wound (which you confirmed to have been caused By a bullet), surveying Sevika's reaction. She groaned and twitched on the table, spewing out a string of curses and glaring at you with fury in her eyes.

“Sorry,” you looked up at her with a guilty expression on your face. “I'll have to cut open your top so I can properly disinfect the wound and remove the bullet.” You said briskly to mask your unease.

Sevika puffed out a breath, glancing at you as a faint, pained smirk tugged at her lips.

“If you wanted to see me naked, you could’ve just asked.” She groaned out, shifting slightly on the table.

“I cannot believe you're joking right now.” You replied through clenched teeth, turning around to grab scissors to try and mask your blush. You took a deep breath and turned around, starting to cut her top open.

You inspected the wound more closely once her top was off.

“Mm…this is deep, how long has it been bleeding?” You asked as you slipped on a fresh pair of gloves.

She let out another pained huff and your eyes flitted up to her face, sweat beginning to drip down her brow.

“Couple hours. Got attacked on my way back from a meeting. Didn't think I'd need stitches.” She gritted out, squeezing her eyes shut.

You hummed and pressed a clean cloth to her wound, causing her to jolt and hiss in pain. “Clearly you were wrong.”

Sevikas glare burned into your skull, but you didn't falter. “Stay still.” You ordered, reaching over to your tray of tools and grabbing a syringe of anaesthetic. “This is going to hurt if you don't.”

“Probably hurts less than most of the shit that goes on down here.” She huffed but complied with your instructions anyway, leaning her head back with a soft thud against the cool steel of the table.

The words hung between you, an understanding surrounding the two of you as you cleaned up her wound more thoroughly.

“You keep up saying shit like that, and I'll start to think you're into poetry or something.” You murmured, breaking the tension between the both of you.

“Nah, poetry isn't really my style.” She chuckled weakly.

“Hm, you don't say?” You quipped, Beginning to thread the needle, getting everything ready for when you put her under with anaesthetic. You cast a glance her way and faltered when you seen her expression. You wondered to yourself how this was the Sevika that most of the undercity feared - A ruthless fighter proud and unyielding. Yet when you looked at her now, all you could see was a tired woman who was in pain.

“Why do you do this?” She asked, her voice just above a whisper.

Your hands faltered at her question. “Do what?”

“This.” She gestured vaguely around the room, “Helping people, you don't even bring in any profit from it. What's the point?”

“I don't care about profit. I care About helping the people of Zaun to the best of my abilities Because, for fuck sake, no one else will.” You gritted out, anger overcoming your senses as you pictured all the homeless, starved, broken down and abused Zaunites in your head. You had never thought about making A profit out of what You had done; it just wasn't in your nature. All you wanted to do was make even the slightest of differences for the people suffering down here due to Topside’s negligence.

Sevika stared at you, her grey eyes roaming over your frame. “That's naïve.”

You sighed. “Maybe…but I would rather try than cast a blind eye to it.”

You grabbed the anaesthetic needle and lined it up to her skin. Giving her no warning before pushing it in. After a few seconds, blackness swarmed her vision, and she slacked against the table, out like a light.

[teecupangel]

Submitted by @saberamane

Had a story idea pop up in mind.

Desmond only ever met the digital Clay on Animus Island, a version of Clay which was perhaps a bit more sane than actual Clay had been at the end. But Desmond likely wouldn’t think of that…

So typical time-travel happens, only Desmond brings Clay along as a dort of ‘second chance’ for Clay. 

(But it’s actually more of a 'I don’t want to be alone’ thing, Desmond just doesn’t admit that to himself.)

So for Desmond, it’s an expected thing to wake up on a random Firenze rooftop, he wanted them to land in a familiar place at a time where they could begin to 'fix’ things…

Only Clay isn’t happy.

For Clay, he wakes up to a nightmare.

The last thing he remembers is using his own blood to fingerpaint all over the walls of his 'room’ and around the Animus, and then bleeding out on the animus as he uploaded a part of himself to help someone he will never even meet. 

So when he wakes up and see the bright terracotta rooftops of Italy, he snaps.

Was this really what was happening right now?! He died in the Animus so now he had to live in this hell? Even in death he couldn’t escape?!

Probably not his proudest moment, but Clay strangles the first guy he sees. Who just so happens to look a lot like Ezio.

Even better.

(Meanwhile Desmond is wondering why Clay is literally trying to kill him.)

===================================

Additions by teecup:

The only reason why Desmond didn’t die was because they appeared in the past at the exact moment Ezio and Federico are jumping the rooftops after fighting Vieri. They pulled the two apart and…

Well…

Clay is still reeling from the effects of his rage and the fact that he believes he’s living a nightmare and tries to attack Ezio.

This forces Federico’s hand and they both returned home with Desmond and an unconscious Clay.

Desmond is surprisingly calm about all of these.

If anyone has the right to try and kill him, Clay would be top 4 of that list (the top 3 are his ancestors). He did understand Clay’s mad rambling and pieced together that Clay doesn’t remember their time ‘together’.

So when Ezio asked him if Desmond was alright and if Clay is a danger, Desmond did the first thing he could think of.

Say he’s alright and that Clay was simply having one of his episodes.

‘He’s not usually like that.’

What he doesn’t see is the fact that Ezio and Federico could clearly see the marks and bruises left by Clay’s attempt on his life and how they misunderstood his acceptance to this situation as a kind of resignation that keeps happening in his life.

So Federico and Ezio tell Desmond to stay here for now and they’d ask for a doctor tomorrow for Clay.

Desmond agreed because he knows tomorrow is the day that the guards will try to take the Auditores away.

Clay wakes up late at night, sees Desmond sitting on a chair next to his bed and goes…

Yeah.

He was still in hell.

He hears Desmond out and thinks Desmond is an idiot.

“You’re thinking of changing the past without even thinking of the danger it might put us. We can end up not existing if we change Ezio Auditore’s life.”

“So?”

Clay blinked.

“We already died once, Clay. We’re alive right now but we don’t really know if we’ll stay alive even if we don’t do anything.” Desmond placed a wet towel on Clay’s head and Clay threw it off as he glared at him, “We’re living in borrowed time anyway so...”

“Why not just do whatever we want?”

Clay’s lips twitched.

This man was insane.

He said ‘we’ as if he expected Clay to agree with him.

As if he trusted Clay would have his back.

Desmond Miles was created by the Isus to be the closest to them and it showed with that annoying confidence.

... and that charming smile of his.

Clay wanted to carve that smile off.

[fairlyang]

Mine🏹

w/c: 2.1K

pairing: boxer!kate bishop x ring!girl!reader

tags: 18+ smut. kissing, teasing, dirty talk, groping, bright idea, 69, eating each other out, sitting on her face , fingering, lil bratty

smutmas masterlist | main masterlist

it was late at night and the streets were for the most part vacant besides the bright neon lights of the club that had the underground boxing ring. the fights had ended for the night and people were clearing out. the snowfall was light but fast, only barely coating the streets as everyone got to their cars to go home before the sun came up. 

kate was getting her earnings from her big fight. tons of bets on her winning and the boss had to give her her cut of it which ended up being even more than she anticipated. the funny part was the man she fought had been talking so much shit all week just to get knocked out on the sixth round, not even finishing all the rounds. 

had a big mouth just to barely last halfway into the match. 

she stuffed the wad of cash into her bag and walked past all the people congratulating her just so she can get to her dressing room. she was keeping an eye out for you but you were nowhere in sight which had her trying not to frown, just assuming you went home after it ended. she could always spot you in a room of a hundred people except for right now apparently.

she opened the door, walking in and throwing her bag to the side and closing the door shut so she could change. but her plans instantly changed when she saw you sat on one of the benches with her winning belt in your hands. “it’s a nice one, another for your collection.” you say, lightly running a finger over the bold letters then look up at her. 

“even matches your attire.” you add making her chuckle. 

“well let’s just say i pitched the color idea…” she joked and slowly walked over to you. 

you placed the belt on the bench and stood up, never looking away from her as she stood in front of you. you both kept quiet just staring into each other eyes in a silent staring competition while you fought the urge to pounce on her. 

she had to keep her eyes on yours and try not to look elsewhere because you looked fucking good. that went on for a few more seconds before she cut the silence short, unable to help herself, “you looked like such a star out there..” 

you fought back a laugh and rolled your eyes making her smirk while she wrapped her arms around your waist, quickly pulling you towards her, “i’m pretty sure that was all you katie.. you were the one that knocked a man out, adding yet another knock-out to your list.” you murmur and she shrugs. 

you snake your arms around her neck as she leans her forehead onto yours, “you know damn well the men come here for two things… to see some good fights and to drool over the ring girls.” 

“can’t say i blame them though…” she whispers and tries to lean in to kiss you but you lean back just to tease her. 

“your coach would.” you joke making her scoff, “clint gets mad at everything, i just had my eye on the prize.” 

“oh is that right?” you coo and she nods, squeezing your waist while you just bit your lip, “mhm… couldn’t help it either, just looked so pretty up there after each round.” 

“good thing is the men know they can’t have you..” she whispers, making you hum, “yeah? why’s that?”

she brings a hand up to cup your jaw then whispers, “because you’re mine.” 

you nodded and she leans in, pressing her lips gently against yours. you kiss back matching her rare softness. that quickly changes when her second hand snakes down to smack your ass making the kiss heat up fast and before you know it she’s undressing you. 

your shorts were off and she had you sit on the bench before helping you lay down then quickly bringing her bag over for you to lay your head against it. she spread your legs, laid on the decently wide bench so she wouldn’t fall off. 

she wrapped her arms around your thighs and kissed your clit over your thin panties. your legs shook in anticipation which had her grinning like a cheshire cat, absolutely relishing the way you react to her touch. she looked up at you, chuckling because of how you were already pouting and she's hardly even done anything, “oh sweet girl, you extra needy tonight or something?” 

“kateeee.” you whined and she pouted along with you, “what’s wrong baby?” 

“kate please. do something, need you.” you whine, making her click her tongue, “hmm do you deserve it?” she asks, pulling one arm away to trace along your panties with just a finger. 

you squirmed, or attempted to but she just kept you still with her one arm, “answer me, princess.” 

you bit your quivering lip, eyes locked onto hers while she undid her purple wraps from her right hand, “c’mon baby, tell me.. do you deserve it?” she cooed softly and your poor pussy clenched against nothing while she inched closer but ultimately stopped. 

but a thought popped into your head, something you haven't done yet. something you know she'd enjoy. so you shook your head. her eyebrows furrowed and she gave you a look, you only grinned and sat up since she was so cut off guard she couldn't stop you. "well you won tonight so what if i took care of you too?" you offer and she chuckles.

"how do you wanna do that pretty girl?" she asks and your hands immediately go down to the waistband of her shorts. 

"i could sit on your face…" you whisper, making her take a deep breath. 

your hands tugged on her waistband, fluttering your lashes at her while you take a step closer to her, "and i could also eat you out.."

after seeing that look on your face she couldn't deny your request, how could she? it was a win win for all parties and she has thought of doing this position with you, it was just a matter of time before she came up with it herself. 

so there you were hovering over her face because you didn't want to hurt her but she didn't give a fuck, "baby sit the fuck down, you're gonna have to if you wanna eat me out anyway." 

you accidentally let a little moan and sat down, her tongue instantly licking you up while you move your upper half down between her legs. you make yourself as comfortable as you can be in this position and use two fingers to spread her open and move the hairs of her bush upwards before licking her clit softly with the tip of your tongue. she moans against you and it sends shivers down your spine, you need more. 

you move your head so it's matched up to her pussy so you could have all of her in your mouth if you really wanted. you moved up, licking and sucking on her folds eagerly while she did the same to you. her arms were on both sides of your ass, squeezing your skin while she sucked on your clit. you moaned against her and she brought her hands to your ass, groping it while you both started eating each other properly.

your left hand was spreading her lips a bit apart while your right was on her thigh to keep yourself steady. you closed your eyes, working your magic how she liked it, desperate and eager. you couldn't get enough of her and would happily stay here forever if she said the word. 

you pulled away and kissed her inner thigh, "looked so fucking good beating that guy's ass katie."  

she groaned, making you sigh while she teased your entrance with her tongue, "think we gotta do this every time you win a match… you've earned it baby.." 

she pulls away, taking a deep breath then lets out a chuckle, "you play too much baby.."

"well what are you going to do about it?" you respond and she instantly smacks your ass, "wanna find out?"

you moaned and nodded, she went back to your pussy slowly sliding her tongue inside your entrance while your left hand went down to finger her. you didn't have the patience to tease her so you slipped two fingers in and instantly started to fuck her as you came back up to suck on her clit. your moans mixed together were all that was heard in the dressing room, and of course the sweet sounds from between both pairs of legs. 

her tongue was working overtime, she was determined to make you cum like this, it wasn't everyday you were on her face like this and she wasn't going to take it for granted. her tongue moved downwards, licking up every drop of your arousal while she went back down to your clit, sucking on the swollen nub while she copied you in wanting to finger you. 

she brought her right hand down and slipped two in easily, she went in for the third earning herself a gasp from you. you pumped your fingers faster and she started to match your same pace without warning. you whined against her, trying to get used to it while she just kept up with you. your walls were clenching against them and she wanted to give you praise so badly but was too focused on how sweet you tasted. definitely the better prize of the night.

you fought against just pulling away and moaning for her because you knew it was one of the things she fucking loved but also wanted to stay strong. it was starting to look like a competition and you, for one were a sore loser so you had to remain strong and not pull away from her no matter what. you could feel her already creaming on your fingers which was a good sign that you were doing really well. 

you on the other hand were drenched beyond her imagination. something about this was doing it for you and she had no fucking clue which part it was because it really could've been anything. maybe doing this after the fight, or maybe the fact you were doing this in the dressing room which was always filled with people before every fight. 

for her it was definitely being able to pleasure each other at the same time since you don't do it too often in the first place. plus you on her face like that always had her head spinning. she sucked on your clit, flicking it with the tip of her tongue while she started to curl her fingers downwards with every thrust. 

you began moaning against her again so you started fucking her harder because it wasn't fair for you to be the only one struggling to hold it together. sadly it wasn't enough, kate was a tough cookie to crack and was trying her absolute hardest to just be focused on what she's doing and not what she's feeling. because as good as you're making her feel, making you be the first one to break would feel even better especially since she knows she'll be able to do it. 

copying her this time, you started curling your fingers up and pumping them as fast as you could while you only moaned against her pussy, sending amazing vibrations to her core. she felt her orgasm building up in her lower stomach and she had to pull all the stops so you can come together. her mouth wasn't stopping or slowing down and you followed her lead, also feeling your orgasm quickly coming over. 

you felt your legs start to shake and your breathing became more rapid when suddenly with one final and deep thrust your orgasm hit you harder than ever, as did hers. her entire body was shaking and you both pulled your mouths away at the same time, slowing your fingers down to ride your highs while you moaned for each other. incoherent words and subtle praises left your mouths as your body started to calm down. 

your heart beat as fast as possible, you swore kate would be able to feel it when she slowly slipped them out of you and you did the same. she carefully helped you off of her and you laid down side to side next to her, with your head on her shoulder while you both calmed your breathing. you stayed like that in silence, hearing each other breathe while you grabbed her hand to intertwine your fingers together. you closed your eyes and sighed, sleep calling your name. 

"every time i win a match, huh baby? don't think we'd be able to handle that so often.." she whispers making you smile. 

you turn to her, laying your head against her chest while you just nod, "maybe every other day…" you mumble as she wraps her arms around you. 

"im alright with whatever, as long as i'm with you, pretty girl." she coos and you feel your face grow warm then sleep finally taking over, making you drift off.

[papercranepoets]

“Hermione…” Ron squeezed her shoulder. She looked up and noticed both Harry and Ron staring, waiting for a response.

“Oh, well Harry I’m really not sure about this potions book or you sidling up to Slughorn,” she sighed. Harry would continue to use this old annotated potions books even though she had a gut feeling it was bad for him. Harry was getting worse as the year went on. She even suspected he was sneaking drinks to cope with the stress of everything.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

“I’ll support you always Harry… perhaps you can use this potions book as a tool to get yourself invited to a Slug party or something. Then you can press him about the memory,” Hermione’s eyes darted to the time charm she cast above the fire. 10:35pm. Shit. She was anxious to get going, but had already alerted Malfoy she would be late with her newly discovered messaging spell.

“I have to do it, Hermione. I need to find out everything I can to help us defeat Voldemort,” Harry was fierce in his delivery, “I need to protect everyone I love. Him and his cronies will take and take and take until he is stopped.”

Ron interjected, “Mate. You’re not alone in this.”

Harry put his hand in his face and Hermione moved to embrace him. He had lost so, so much. All because an evil psychopath was after him. When she really thought about it she was angry with all of the adults around her who allowed for Harry to take on so much responsibility for this. Why was Dumbledore even tasking him with this. However harmless Slughorn was, he thought Tom was his star student. That was a serious lack of awareness and misjudgement of character. He should have seen through the manipulation.

Harry huffed drawing Hermione away from her thoughts, “Malfoy is up to something this year. Dumbledore trusts Snape. Snape protects Malfoy.”

“Harry!” Hermione chastised.

“Mione I don’t understand why you’re always defending him,” Ron raised his voice. He would become agitated soon, “he’s a piece of shite who thinks you’re nothing but dirt on his dragon hide shoes.”

Hermione suppressed the urge to berate Ron, but he just loved to bring up how purebloods thought nothing of her… it felt as if he was trying to say he was one of the good ones. Instead she rolled her eyes, “he’s nothing but a pissy daddy’s boy. He doesn’t scare me and he shouldn’t scare either of you. It’s honestly embarrassing how much time you both spend thinking about him.”

Harry and Ron gave each other another look, and she almost saw red.

“Stop that! You’re paranoid about an asshole who cares only for how neat his $4,000 galleon suit is just to walk around a literal school yard!” They shouldn’t underestimate him… she knew he was dangerous, but she also didn’t need them looking at him too much. She could worry about that.

“Fine. Whatever Mione,” typically Ron didn’t avoid a fight, but they had just seemingly recovered from their last.

Harry remained quiet, studying Hermione. Gods, he better not be suspicious of me, too.

“Alright, Hermione… Ron. I’m going to focus on Slughorn for now,” Harry seemed to be battling an unspoken war in his head, “night.”

Harry made to stand up and Hermione glanced at the time charm. 10:50. Ron scooted closer, slipping his hand to her neck.

“Ron… I’m not in the mood. Not after all of that nonsense about Malfoy,” Hermione snapped, backing away from him and hitting her back on the arm of the couch.

Ron narrowed his eyes, “Why do you care??”

“BECAUSE! You are constantly reminding me of my place in this fucking world!” It was a half truth, but now she was fucking mad.

“You’re twisting my words. Gods, Hermione. What is wrong with you lately?” Ron snapped, making to stand up.

“You will NOT tower over me, Ronald!” she shouted, not caring to cast a muffliato, “why can’t we go one day without fighting?!”

Hermione grabbed her bag and started half running to the common room door, desperate to escape. Desperate to see Malfoy. Anxious and excited.

“Where are you always running of to, Hermione?” Ron asked, pain hidden in his anger.

This stopped Hermione in her tracks. Does he know something?

“I just like to wander and clear my mind,” she didn’t even turn around.

“That’s horseshit and we both know it,” his tone was even. That terrified her. She should turn around to smooth things over.

Instead, “what’s horseshit is that we both pretend this relationship makes us happy, Ron.”

“Can’t even look at me when you say something like that?”

She shook her head and threw open the entrance, eager to get far, far from Ron.

Hermione paced the library after hours needing time to clear her head after a row with Ron.

“Well, well, well… what do we have here?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped towards the uppity, sharp sounding voice.

“Shut up, Malfoy. Let’s not pretend you don’t know why I’m here.”

Malfoy smirked, looking her up and down slowly. Then he was crowding her space, grabbing her arms and pushing her against the table.

“Weasel couldn’t get you there??” He sneered grabbing her chin.

“I’m not here to talk.” Hermione stared into his icy eyes trying not to think about his other hand digging into her hip.

“Not here to talk. Is that right, Granger?” He hoisted her onto the table and stepped between her. Leaning into her neck, Granger fluttered her eyes closed. Now it was time for some relief.

Malfoy chuckled breathing onto her neck and swiping her mane away. No kiss came. “What if I wanted to talk?” He breathed into her.

Grabbing his shirt and pulling him closer, Hermione tried to shut him up. For gods sake, why was he not just kissing her already!?

He nuzzled his nose into her neck and chuckled again before pushing away.

“What the hell!?” Hermione was enraged. From Ron to Malfoy and his snooty, rich, asshole, strikingly handsome self, men were really pissing her off tonight.

She met his eyes, red painting her cheeks in embarrassment. Malfoy was already staring at her, eyes dark and predatory.

“First you want to talk and now you’re barely even breathing. Gods, you’re so fucking moody and weird sometimes?”

His nostrils flared as he looked at Hermione sprawled on the table. He looked like he could avara her on the spot. Her eyes widened as she straightened up.

“Stop using me every time you have a little fight with your boyfriend.” His jaw ticked. Was he actually pissed off? “Better, yet. Stop talking to me altogether until you’ve fixed that situation.”

Hermione’s brows stitched together, “fixed the situation? What…”

“Oh, please, don’t play fucking dumb. You’re much brighter than this.” Malfoy scoffed, “maybe we can resume this and move our little library rendezvous to something more comfortable. Dump your little weasel and we’ll talk.”

“I…” Hermione was completely bewildered.

“No.” He breathed sharply, “Send me a note when you decide what to do.”

And with that he was half way down the aisle.

Hermione didn’t realize she was holding her breath… so much for clearing her mind.

[kathlare]

across the world, for us

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Lando travels to Tokyo to reconcile with Amelie after a fight, demonstrating his commitment to their relationship. Amid moments of vulnerability, honesty, and lighthearted banter, they reaffirm their feelings for one another and take steps toward navigating their challenges together.

Wordcount: 1.2 k

Warnings: just fluff

request over here!

February 11th, 2024 - Tokyo, Japan

Lando Norris adjusted his cap as he stepped out of the taxi, the bright lights of Tokyo illuminating the city in a mesmerizing glow. The crisp February air bit at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the nervous energy buzzing in his chest. He had flown halfway across the world to fix this—whatever "this" was. He and Amelie hadn’t spoken since their fight days ago, and it gnawed at him.

She didn’t know he was here. He hadn’t told her. But when he found out she’d just finished the last of her shows in Japan before heading back to the States, he knew he had to make things right.

Now, standing in front of her hotel room door, he took a deep breath and knocked. A few seconds later, the door cracked open, and there she was.

—Lando?— Amelie’s voice was a mix of surprise and confusion. Her makeup was wiped clean, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and she was wearing an oversized hoodie—his hoodie.

He smiled softly, the sight of her easing some of the tension in his chest. —Hey.—

She stepped back to let him in, her movements hesitant. Once inside, the door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled over them.

—What are you doing here?— she asked, her arms crossed.

—Fixing us,— he said simply. —Or at least trying to.—

Her eyes softened, but she still looked wary. —Lando…—

—Ames, listen,— he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. —I get it. Your family is important to you, and this isn’t easy for you. But I need to know that you’re serious about this. About us.—

She blinked, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. —I am serious, Lando. You know I am.—

—Then why does it feel like you’re ashamed of me?— he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Her lips parted, but no words came out. She looked away, her hands fidgeting nervously.

—It’s not you,— she whispered after a moment. —It’s me. I’ve always been the one who… who messes things up. My relationships, my career, everything. I don’t want to bring you into that. I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.—

He stepped closer, tilting her chin up so she was forced to look at him. —You don’t get to decide that for me. I want to be here. With you. But I need to know you want that too.—

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away, her walls crumbling. —I’m scared, Lando. Of losing you. Of my family not understanding. Of everything going wrong like it always does.—

—You won’t lose me,— he promised, his thumb brushing against her cheek. —Not unless you push me away.—

She let out a shaky breath, her resolve breaking. —I don’t want to push you away. I don’t.—

—Then tell them, Ames,— he urged. —Not for me. For us. For you. If you don’t believe this can work, how am I supposed to?—

She nodded slowly, her tears falling freely now. —You’re right. I know you’re right.—

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she clung to him. —It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out together.—

They stood there for what felt like hours, her quiet sobs eventually subsiding. When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red and puffy, but there was a new determination in them.

—I’ll tell them,— she said, her voice steady despite the tears. —I’ll tell them everything.—

Lando smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. —That’s my girl.—

She laughed softly, the sound lightening the tension in the room. —You’re impossible, you know that?—

—Yeah, but you like me for it,— he teased, his tone playful.

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips, the warmth of it chasing away the lingering shadows of their fight.

—Thank you for coming all this way,— she murmured against his lips.

—I’d cross the world for you, Ames,— he replied, his voice sincere.

As they sat on the bed, talking and laughing like they always did, Lando felt the weight of their fight lift. They weren’t perfect, and there were still challenges ahead, but for the first time in days, he felt like they were on the same page.

And that was more than enough.

Amelie pulled away from the kiss with a small laugh, her fingers brushing against Lando's jaw. —You’re ridiculous, you know that?— she teased, though her eyes shone with affection.

—Ridiculous enough to fly halfway across the globe for you,— Lando quipped, leaning back on his hands. He grinned as she rolled her eyes, but his tone softened. —But I meant what I said, Ames. I’ll always show up for you.—

Her smile faltered for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. She tucked her legs beneath her, curling up beside him on the bed. —I don’t deserve you sometimes, Lan,— she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with guilt.

—Hey, stop that,— he said firmly, shifting to face her fully. —We’ve both made mistakes. Hell, we’ve both been idiots at times.— He paused, a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips. —You especially.—

She swatted his arm with a laugh, her cheeks flushed. —You’re the worst.—

—And yet, here you are, stuck with me,— he teased, pulling her closer until her head rested on his chest. His fingers trailed absentmindedly through her hair, the silence between them comfortable now.

Amelie let out a content sigh, her cheek pressed against his hoodie. —It’s scary, you know? Being with someone like you.—

—Someone as handsome and charming as me?— Lando quipped, earning another playful shove from her.

—I’m serious,— she said, her tone soft but sincere. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. —You’re… everything. And I don’t want to screw this up.—

He stared at her for a moment, his heart twisting at the vulnerability in her eyes. —Ames, you’re not going to screw this up. We’re not going to screw this up. Okay?—

She nodded, though the doubt lingered in her expression. —Okay.—

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the city lights of Tokyo casting a faint glow through the curtains. Eventually, Amelie shifted, glancing at the clock on the bedside table.

—Shit,— she muttered, sitting up abruptly. —I still need to pack.—

Lando raised an eyebrow. —For the States?—

She nodded, already moving around the room to gather her things. —Super Bowl tomorrow. Then I’m straight to Australia. My schedule’s insane.—

—Yeah, no kidding,— he said, watching her with an amused grin. —Need some help?—

—You offering to fold my clothes, Norris?— she teased, tossing him a T-shirt from her suitcase.

—Anything for you, love,— he shot back with a wink, catching the shirt and setting it aside. He stood and joined her by the suitcase, his hands deftly folding the items she handed him.

They worked in tandem, the easy rhythm of their friendship blending seamlessly with the intimacy of their relationship. Amid the quiet chatter and shared smiles, Amelie glanced at him, her heart swelling.

—Lando,— she said softly, her voice pulling his attention. —Thank you. For being here. For... being you.—

He smiled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her forehead. —Always, Ames.—

As they finished packing, Amelie couldn’t help but feel a weight lift from her shoulders. They still had so much to figure out, but for the first time in days, she felt like they were heading in the right direction—together.

And that made all the difference.

[thot-writes]

good meowning beautiful babies. would it surprise u to learn i’m a huge solavellan nut??? anyway i didn’t like DA:TV (it was fine but not great) & i especially didn’t like how they resolve the solas/mythal plot, so i quickly wrote this. mayhaps my other solavellan girlies will appreciate it???

quick and nasty solavellan ending edit (SPOILERS FOR VEILGUARD BELOW):

“It is done.”

The battered figure of Solas limps down the steps of the dais, as Rook and their party lay scattered and bloodied on the tile flooring. The teal glow of Solas’ ancient magic emanates from his palm and draws a translucent cord toward the lyrium dagger. With a janky, almost clumsy start, the dagger begins to gravitate towards him.

“This world owes you a debt,” Solas continues, looking mournfully between the downed bodies of Rook, Emmrich, Bellara… and her. “Both for defeating Elgar’nan… and for bringing down the Veil.”

He manages to draw his gaze away from the Inquisitor to focus on the dagger. His magic pulls it forward.

“I am sorry for this final betrayal. But I will do what I can to minimise the damage, when you see the old world restored…”

Before it can approach arm’s reach, however, Lavellan wills herself forward despite her myriad injuries and snatches the dagger. She stumbles onto unsteady feet, blood spilling from the gash that disappears into her hairline and coating half her face in a scarlet red. Her eyes are intense, motivated, as if she stands ready to wage war by herself.

The Inquisitor, who saved southern Thedas and faced would-be gods unflinching, faces yet another.

In spite — or perhaps because of — the love they shared, Lavellan makes one last attempt to make him see reason before she resolves to cut him down.

She locks eyes with Solas, who quickly falters under her wrathful gaze. He attempts to school his expression into cool neutrality, but fails.

“Please, vhenan,” he all but begs, his voice quiet and broken. “Do not make me fight you. I can’t.”

Lavellan’s grip on the dagger hardens. “Then stop this bullshit. I won’t let you ruin the world I saved.”

“This world is broken, vhenan,” Solas insists, his words stronger now. “Because of my mistakes.”

Lavellan resists the urge to scoff — barely.

“It is not fucking broken!” she snaps at him, a decade of frustrations surfacing. “Different doesn’t mean broken, Solas! Do thousands of years of history mean nothing to you because the Veil was present? Do thousands of lives mean nothing because they’re not elvhen? Not magic?”

Solas takes pause. He is, as ever, a hopelessly emotional man who cares more for his loved ones than a calculated leader should. The thought of having to fight — perhaps even having to kill — Lavellan is a line he doesn’t want to cross, even though it seems he might have to.

He thinks back to Mythal, to the fragment he killed while it lurked in Flemeth. How he wept over her desiccated corpse. How he wept over Felassan’s. How he wept over Varric’s.

Can he truly do it a fourth time? Kill someone so dear to him — intentionally or not — in order to bring back the glory of the old world? His chest aches at the thought, his stomach twists into knots, no matter how hard the Dread Wolf attempts to drown it out.

“You cannot understand—“

“You don’t understand!” Lavellan sharply cuts in. “This world is real, Solas. The people are real, their lives are real— I’m real. It’s as kind as it is cruel, it’s as beautiful as it is terrible, as broken as it is hopeful. And it’s fucking real!”

Solas stands a little straighter now, his expression a little tighter. Lavellan is trying to convince him not to go through with it, and he’s going to convince her why he must.

“You have seen the elves of today, what they are reduced to. You have lived it yourself!” he argues. “Magic is feared and shunned, the only elves that remain free are but superstitious children who wear slave markings and call it pride! Can you not see that I want a better life for them? For you?”

Lavellan is not convinced, as he suspected she wouldn’t be. “You want us to return to being spirits like the ancients? Stubborn and unable to adapt to the changing world around them?”

Solas pauses again, and Lavellan takes the opportunity to continue.

“Yeah, magic isn’t as prevalent. Elves only live about eighty years, and there’s constant conflicts fuelled by bigotry and power struggles.” None of these are persuasive arguments, just a grim acknowledgment on the world today. “Spirits embody a purpose, but that makes them single-minded. Mortals are flexible— they grow, they learn, they adapt— a person can become unrecognisable from their past self in months, weeks, even hours. How many spirits can say that? How great are the ancients, really, if their rigidity is both their defining characteristic and the cause of their downfall?”

Rook, having helped Emmrich and Bellara to their feet, approaches the Inquisitor from behind to lend their voice in the argument.

“She’s right, Solas,” they echo, confidence radiating from them even as they are exhausted and bruised. A standing testament to the persistence of mortal kind, against all odds. “This world isn’t perfect — shit, sometimes it’s not even good — but it’s the one we got, and we’ll defend it to our last. You want to make amends? Then stop thinking about what you want. Save the world that you endangered, bind yourself to the Veil and stop it from falling.”

Solas wants to argue, to push back against the flawed ideas they’re proposing. How could they want a mangled, maggot-ridden corpse of a world when he could so easily revive it to what it once was?

But his conflicting desires keep him from opening his mouth. Could it be that he’s turned from the path of wisdom to one of pride? Could it be that his devotion to the People and the ones he’s wronged has blinded him from seeing such a simple truth — that the world lived on without Elvhenan, and will continue to do so?

He looks to the tear in the Veil, a slew of greens and blues painted against a starry sky, and he thinks of his goals once more. He’s come so close, he could bring it all down right now, he could avenge Mythal and bring back the world of the elves.

But instead, he weeps.

Overcome by the emotions heaped upon him, the sense of duty that has pulled him from his lover’s side for ten long, agonising years, the atrocities he’s committed in the name of restoring the elven empire.

He hears Cole’s voice, telling him that he can choose better. He hears Mythal’s, angry and righteous and commanding him to tear the Veil asunder. He hears Varric, pleading for him to see reason, to be the hero he knows he can be.

He hears Felassan, his final words expressing how the elves of today are stronger than he thinks.

And Solas breaks.

He drops — not quite to his knees but near enough — and braces himself to keep from collapsing entirely. He quietly sobs and the facade of the Dread Wolf comes crumbling down around him.

Lavellan’s expression softens and approaches him, her prosthetic hand coming to rest on Solas’ shaking shoulder.

“The things that I have done…” Solas trails off, his regret choking him like a hangman’s noose.

“Are not your fault alone,” Lavellan finishes. “Accept your failures, but accept when others have failed you, too.”

“I do not know if I can.”

“You can. I’ll be with you,” she insists, not a trace of hesitation in her voice. With confidence like that, Solas can almost believe her. “Banal nadas. Ar lath ma, vhenan.”

Tears drop from Solas’ eyes, mingling with the blood from his wounds as they drop to the tile beneath.

He’s not sure. He’s not sure of anything right now— whether this is the right call to make or just another regret waiting to haunt him— but he is sure of one thing.

He’s tired. Above all else, he is just so tired.

Tired of being alone, tired of fighting, tired of watching the world from the sidelines and punishing himself in isolation. His mistakes cannot be unmade, but with eternity facing him down, he has a luxury most others don’t: the time to atone fully.

Lavellan finally hands him the dagger as he rises, watching him carefully to see what he does— if her words made it through to him. She prays they did.

Solas looks to Lavellan, then to Rook, then the rift. Perhaps there is a beauty to this shattered world. Perhaps there is a strength in the elves of today, who persevered through atrocities innumerable without the help of gods or the Fade.

Perhaps there is a potential in this fledgling Thedas that grows from the bones of what came before, that stands in defiance of beings like the Evanuris. And in time, perhaps he’ll see what they do— perhaps he’s already far closer than he thinks.

Before the doubts can cloud his mind, he locks eyes with his beloved, with the woman who changed everything, and slits his palm open with the lyrium dagger.

“My life force now sustains the Veil.”

[forestfullofberries]

what if we hear the crew again in 600 strike. what if eurylochus postmortem cameo. what then

[hardly-an-escape]

It starts with the photos on his fridge.

Buck yanks them off in a fit of pique while the first of two apple pies is finishing up in the oven, because he just cannot stand to see Tommy's face smiling at him every time he goes to grab eggs or butter or a bottle of water.

He chucks them into a cigar box left over from Chimney's bachelor-party-that-wasn't, and tries not to think about them.

Over the next two weeks he finds more of the little pieces of relationship ephemera that tend to collect like miniature snowdrifts of memories after someone is in your life for a few months. A matchbook from Miceli's. Ticket stubs from the movies and a jazz concert at the Mount Wilson Observatory (not really their scene, but the tickets had been a gift). A brochure from a bed and breakfast they'd never actually made a reservation at. A handful of post it notes Tommy had left behind, on the bathroom mirror or the nightstand or the coffee maker.

The cigar box fills up. Buck tries not to think about it as the Tommy box. Tries not to think about it at all.

By the time he moves on to the bigger items – a charger for Tommy's bluetooth headphones, the hoodie that had ended up in Buck's laundry basket, the random pairs of socks, the book Tommy had gotten halfway through one weekend and then forgotten under the couch – the Tommy box has already graduated from the cigar box to an Amazon box, and from there to a bankers box he has to dig out from the back of his closet.

The box fills up. One night, knowing he's off the next day, he drinks a bottle of pinot gris by himself and goes through it, item by item, forcing himself to read each note and remember every moment until his eyes well with tears and he's chewed the inside of his cheek raw.

He's not sure why. It doesn't feel like catharsis, exactly. More like a punishment.

In the morning his eyes feel gritty and his head is pounding. He chokes down a cup of coffee and picks up his phone.

I have a box of your stuff. Do you want to come get it or should I bring it over?

It's been almost a month, but Tommy replies within minutes.

I can actually come by now, if that's okay. I'm out doing errands.

That's fine, I'm home, Buck sends back.

Thanks. ETA about 30 min.

God, he texts like such a dorky old man. Buck fights a smile. He doesn't want to feel fond. He drags himself into the shower.

35 minutes later, he's wearing a clean shirt and a pair of jeans he knows make his ass look good and he's making another pot of coffee and determinedly not thinking about how maybe he did choose those jeans on purpose when there's a knock.

"Hey," Tommy says when he opens the door. It's so familiar that Buck feels something around his heart clench. He has to stop himself from leaning in to kiss him hello.

"Hi," he says instead, stepping back to let Tommy in. "Do you, uh, want a cup of coffee or anything?"

"That's okay," Tommy says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'll just get my stuff and get out of your hair."

The Tommy box is upstairs. He'd managed to get everything packed neatly away before he fell asleep last night. But he doesn't go get it just yet; he takes just a second to drink in the sight of Tommy, in his space again, maybe for the last time.

He looks good. Tired, maybe; a little more worn than Buck would like to see. He thinks about the box and about his last couple of breakups. When Taylor moved out, when Natalia left – he couldn't wait to get rid of the evidence, wanted to scrape his life clean of them like getting barnacles off the bottom of a boat.

He realizes, suddenly, looking at him, how badly he wants to cling to Tommy. It's been a month and he wants to wrap him up in a blanket and feed him snickerdoodles. He wants to put their photos back up on the fridge. Tommy's standing in front of him and Buck never wants him to leave again.

"Listen," Buck says. "Since you're here. Can we talk?"

What would Buck put in his Tommy box though

[casualavocados]

Learn from who? Learn from you?

Chen Bowen as CHEN YI & Chiang Tien as AI DI KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[mc-critical]

2.02 (26) / 2.16 (40)

[blee-bleep]

so like i binged-read 55 chapters of vinland saga and

holy shit, i was put off with how incredibly sexist it was, but the story was a little TOO GOOD to be dropped. and i only stopped because my retinas could only take so much.

Askeladd, you dropped this my king 👑

[1x20]

@magdaclaire so since you were in fact not a coward and did say it to my face i am gonna do myself a favor here and tell the world why i said this and why i’m right

to state my 1x22 thesis upfront: the episode’s narrative core is about how dean can’t live without john. saying “dean should’ve killed john” does not make sense within the constraints of the episode and betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of the show. 

as the season finale, 1x22 bears the burden of resolving what the season has been about: some sort of resolution to jess/mary’s death, and a confrontation between john and his children. this is of course the climactic scene wherein azazel possesses john, threatens sam and dean, ending with sam shooting john in the leg

now the show has an interesting dilemma here: all throughout the season, they’ve built up resentment between sam and john (yes they have a tearful reunion in 1x16, but in 1x20 we already see them butting heads again) and shown us that both sam and john are focused specifically on their revenge mission (sam in 1x21 begs dean to let him do something suicidal for the sake of killing azazel)

HOWEVER!!!!!! this means that although sam would probably find it an emotionally difficult choice, he would not hesitate to kill john for the sake of the revenge mission. especially not if john is begging him to do so. and this is something the writers imo were not willing to do. so how do you resolve this issue? how do you give sam motivation to not kill his dad?

enter stage left: dean. now dean is not s1’s principal character - sure he has some episodes focused on him, but sam is generally bearing a lot of the emotional and plot beats. however, one thread built up throughout s1 for dean is his loyalty to his father. now i’m not saying that this is unquestioned or uncomplicated (see: 1x11 “sometimes i wish i [had the courage to stand up to him]”, the last scene of 1x20, or 1x21 “i’m not too crazy about this new tone of yours”), however this is clearly a more recent development. 

SO: the solution? center 1x22 on dean’s relationship with his father - specifically highlighting how much dean needs john to be alive, as motivation for sam not to kill him. 

the episode starts with meg telling dean that she’s got john, after which dean has the episode’s first emotional outburst:

SAM Dean, if [Dad is alive], why didn’t Meg mention a trade? (getting upset) Dad, he might be.... DEAN Don’t! SAM Look, I don’t want to believe it any more than you. But if he is, all the more reason to kill this damn thing. We still have the Colt. We can still finish the job. DEAN Screw the job, Sam! SAM Dean, I’m just trying to do what he would want. He would want us to keep going. DEAN (angry) Quit talking about him like he’s dead already. Listen to me, everything stops until we get him back, you understand me? Everything.

this clearly sets up the emotional beats of the episode: dean cannot handle the thought of his dad being dead. he says, quite plainly, “screw the job”: aka, i don’t care about the revenge mission. ALL dean cares about in this moment is getting his dad back alive.

dean is frantic, and this carries over into the next sequence of events: torturing meg at bobby’s house. by the time they’ve arrived there, dean’s calmed down, but meg revs him back up - how?

MEG [John] died screaming. I killed him myself.

here’s the following set of events i want to discuss specifically (this is my gifset)

… you see what just happened there? dean completely loses his composure as meg keeps insisting john is dead. he’s so distraught at the idea that sam pauses the exorcism to shoot him a concerned glance. dean himself even sort of pants and has a quiet moment before he tells him to keep going. dean quite literally cannot handle the thought of his father dying

this conflict plays out again as he and sam have a fight over whether or not to bring the colt:

DEAN What are you talking about? We’re bringing the Colt with us. SAM We can’t, Dean. We’ve only got three bullets left. We can’t just use them on any demon, we’ve got to use them on the demon. DEAN No, we have to save Dad, Sam, okay? We’re gonna need all the help we can get. SAM Dean, you know how pissed Dad would be if we used all the bullets? Dean, he wouldn’t want us to bring the gun. DEAN I don’t care, Sam. I don’t care what Dad wants, okay? And since when do you care what Dad wants?

dean, for the first time IN THE WHOLE SEASON, says “i don’t care what dad wants.” and it’s specifically because he cares more about getting his dad back alive than anything else. it trumps all his instincts.

then, at the cabin where our climax is going to happen. before the confrontation with john, dean has a quiet moment of reflection

full gifset, once again mine

we see dean state, essentially explicitly, that his entire personhood at this point revolves around keeping john and sam alive. he’s willing to do things he recognizes are morally questionable - like torturing meg, like shooting that demon to do so. 

now this is EXACTLY THE REASON WHY DEAN CAN’T SHOOT JOHN. and azazel is banking on it. he makes john cry. he makes john beg. dean recognizes that’s not his dad (“i know him better than anyone else”) and sam acquiesces to dean’s realization because sam, at this point, has recognized that dean needs dad alive and he would never otherwise point a gun at him. he just wouldn’t do that.

and then there is, of course, the scene where sam shoots john. as seen in the video i linked before, it’s literally like an angel and devil on sam’s shoulder situation. it’s john begging for sam to shoot him, while dean pleads for him - while bleeding out on the floor, mind you - to save dad. at all costs

and sam? sam, who’s seen his brother struggle with the thought of losing dad for the past day and a half to the point of becoming unrecognizable, chooses dean. he chooses dean, and he doesn’t kill john. this is what his “no sir, not before everything” is really about. 

so. tl;dr. no, dean would not and should not kill john in 1x22 because it goes against the core of his character and the episode. an emotionally satisfying choice is not necessarily the right choice for the character making that choice, and a dean who could kill john would not be dean winchester as we know him

dean should've killed john this, dean should've killed john that. to me you are all cowards...

[firebirdsdaughter]

I'm divided…

… I like Rukia getting something to do, I like the Kuchiki sibs plus their idiot, I like that she was allowed to hold her own despite this being a 2000s shonen manga, you know what I mean. Like for what it was many of the women in BLEACH made it through fairly well and I like that. I like Rukia being cool, I like her Bankai, I like it.

But at the same time… Like I get why it was her, and I like it, and I don't so much mind as… Well, I just kinda wish that Renji had gotten to kill As Nodt, since he was the one who actually had to watch Byakuya get maimed like that? Like obvi Rukia deserves a shot too, like I said, I understand it being her and I don't mind, I just kinda would… Also like to see a reality where Renji got to do him in.

Not necessarily in canon, bc yes, give Rukia more to do? Like I just want an au where Renji got him. Them. Finish what he tried to start before getting punted.

It's like I like the way it was and I wouldn't actually change it bc we always need more women being able to fight on their own, and I liked what was done. I loved Byakuya just showing up to get his bankai back and then leaving the rest to his sister, I love love love her getting Bankai.

I just. Want to see the version where Renji gets a go at him after having to watch that.

Like I don't want to write it myself, but I want it.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

I was thinking the other night, that for some reason I could see Kingdom Hearts ending this way:

The entire story wrapped up (somehow) and everyone finally getting their happy ending. And we actually get to see Sora and the gang finally fully living out their lives and dying happily (think the beginning of Up). And that's the last thing we see before a black screen.

Nomura said once that he was trying to think of a way to end the series so no one could ever continue it, which I get. It's his baby that he's been working on for a large number of years now. I could understand why he wouldn't want someone coming in someday to continue it and potentially ruin it in his eyes.

But then we get some after credits scene where it becomes clear that Sora's been reincarnated into a new life, now that reincarnation is a thing in this series. (But, like, this wouldn't be a way to continue the story. Because things have so very much been wrapped up--like there are no Keyblades, Heartless, Nobodies, Unversed, Dream Eaters or what have you anymore; and this is a new Sora in a new life, and who knows how much like old!Sora he is. He's exactly like old!Sora, but shh. If you were to continue the story--and really, you shouldn't--you'd have to come up with a completely new premise, pretty much.) And you just know that he's going to find his friends, who have been reincarnated into new lives, too.

That way the series ends with a sense of hope and a new beginning, almost.

Not that the ending itself wouldn't have had that sense of hope, in a sense. It would have been a happy ending, at least (however, I can see people being sad that we see the crew die, even though we got to see them living the happy, full lives they'd more than earned).

But Sakaguchi when he created Final Fantasy said that one of the most important things to him with the series, was that whatever happened in the hours before, he always wanted Final Fantasy games to end with a sense of hope for the future: where it seemed like things could always get better. And that's something that Nomura carried over to the Kingdom Hearts series when he created it.

And I feel like such an ending might have that kind of feeling, and might be something he would do. And this does seem to tick off all his boxes of what he's going for with the ending (that we know so far) to me. -shrugs-