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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 days ago

Note

Since you've discussed your favorite parts of ep. 7, I'd like to know your biggest criticisms of it & how you would've addressed them.

[Referencing this post!]

*raises finger* (my lawyer pulls me away)

Here’s how I would change the ending (while still staying within the Disney + mobile gacha game restraints and sticking with the themes + patterns established by other OBs):

Rework all the dreams. Every single last one. I can’t count the number of issues I have with them. Between the inconsistent pacing (4-35 parts per boy), the lack of urgency, extra fat (irrelevant convos), frequent contradictory explanations of the dreams, and the on-the-nose announcements of how each boy has changed, these are horribly inefficient vehicles for storytelling and need to be significantly tightened.

Between each dorm’s dreams, cut back to Malleus and Lilia so they at least STAY relevant for a book that is supposedly about Diasomnia. Let us know what Malleus’s current state of mind is, have Lilia reflect on what it’s like to see Malleus twisted into… this. Something, anything.

Make the explanation for the dreams consistent. Instead of changing the explanation or slapping on new details every other update, just claim right from the get-go that dreams tend to pull from a dreamer’s wishes/desires but it’s unknown how the dream worlds will actually be interpreted or how they’ll interact with Malleus’s magic since each person is so different. You can still have the dreams with deeper hidden meanings, but avoid overcomplicating the logic governing dreams in the first place.

Have Lilia join up with us in the dream world. Maybe a scene where Ortho or Idia connects the dots on his identity and contacts Lilia using his Muscle Red gaming ID tag in the dream world. Lilia receives his invite that way and joins us for the battle maps + help Silver and Sebek train with their new equipment. You can also potentially use this section to have Silver and Lilia reconcile over Lilia keeping secrets from him.

Like how Sebek had moments with the first years in their dreams, give Silver moments in which he can reflect on his relationship with + thoughts on the Dawn Knight. It feels a little strange to me that we went from emotional breakdown learning about his lineage to… thanking the Dawn Knight for not taking Lilia away at the end??? Like it feels like we missed the middle part of that development. We never got to hear his inner thoughts about the ordeal or how he comes to terms with it. For something so heavy, you’d think there would be more screen time dedicated to that??

The sword strikes Malleus, which brings him back to his senses but doesn’t break the horn. (This is just a personal dislike thing; it’s uncomfortable for me because it inevitably reminds me of poor injured animals and that’s not exactly… fun 💦)

Lilia still gets in the way of Malleus and Silver’s final stand-off, but rather than dying, he’s in critical condition and is in very real danger of dying.

Have Malleus willingly sacrifice a significant chunk of his magic (since he has all that excess from the senators blessing him + Malleus even canonically says he’ll give up his wings, his lifespan, etc.) to bring back Lilia from the brink. This would serve multiple purposes: 1) permanently power cap Malleus, 2) show him that his previous actions actually hurt Lilia but he also has the power to do good too (so he’s not filled with complete despair at the end), 3) rids him of the excess power he didn’t ask for, so now he’s more “approachable” to people, 4) doesn’t bring up potential issues with reviving the dead, since this could be categorized as ultra powerful healing magic, and 5) parallels the self-sacrifice Lilia had for him, that Silver had for Lilia, etc.

Honestly, I think Lilia should move away to the Land of Crimson Long to retire instead of regaining his magic and returning to NRC as a student. That way, Malleus isn’t the “special” OB boy that doesn’t have to still deal with the thing he OB’d over. Have it end on a hopeful note though, like have Idia or Lilia showing Malleus how to text (which is now more feasible due to Malleus’s reduced power) so he can always reach out to Lilia at a moment’s notice. This also fits in with the theme of keeping connected.

Alternative scenario to the previous point: have Lilia be taken away to urgent care and/or in a coma for a while. Let Malleus stew with the weight of what he did. Then maybe he + Diasomnia are called in when Lilia’s unstable and this might be good-bye 💦 Idk, at least then Lilia wouldn’t be dead for all of 5 seconds and Malleus would actually have a period where he’s forced to sit and reflect on what he did. Worrying and praying that Lilia will be saved, promising to the stars that he’ll never act out again if they just save Lilia. (You can still have your power of love saves him moment here!)

Following the OB, give a more balanced view of the repercussions of Malleus’s OB. Tell us how other nations are reacting, show us that some people are suspicious of him + need extra help recovering after the fact (in addition to people who love his UM and want to stay in there longer), etc. The current version works overtime to reassure us that there are zero negative (or even dubious) consequences when, logically, there would be at least some. This includes the main cast. Realistically speaking, they’d at least have some reservations or complicated feelings revolving around what happened in their dreams and how they feel seeing Malleus return. Ultimately, they’d welcome him back but some of them would still snark a bit while others are more forgiving (depends on the character; not all of them would react the same way).

We can still have the party + knighting ceremony at the end, but include some kind of magical broadcast or something where Malleus apologizes to all of Twisted Wonderland and lets them know what steps he intends to take to make amends moving forward. In the original, he only apologized to NRC, which I feel doesn’t cover the scope of the lives he could have affected. And if you’re going to have the other OB boys recite their flaws + how pathetic they were wallowing in darkness + how they’ve changed/are better than that now, grant Malleus that same opportunity here. It would also be great if he could go around and acknowledge the important people in his life, including classmates, to show us that he truly recognizes the value in these connections. I do, however, want to caution: the speech shouldn’t sound like Malleus speedran a character arc and is now without flaws. Malleus should also have some lines where he admits he’s imperfect and may falter, and if that’s the case, then he trusts us to admonish him and set him on the right path. This would show us that he’s willing to give up control to others and that he’s being more receptive to criticism.

Add a nod to Raverne at the end??? Like maybe Malleus wonders where his father is and we get some explanation as to why he didn’t show up in the Castle Wildrose memories but his mom did.

I don't think I actually made many changes here; most of the plot points remain, just change the execution and what the focus is on.

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revelboo · 2 days ago

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what's been going on with that 'radioactive' dude, uh, what was his name again? the really religious one who thinks reader is a primus-given gift (literally XD)

just curious! :D

He’s still very confused and subjecting his human to radiation poisoning that the partial bond is struggling to keep at bay

Love Me Dead Pt 4

Sunstorm x Reader

• Venting raggedly as he moves awkwardly through the trees, he can feel your heart beating against him where he has you pinned against the mesh of his neck. A little consort gifted to him to help him stay strong. Enact Primus’s will and punish the wicked. And there’s so much wickedness. The Autobots might take him in, repair him. Or might assume he’s a Decepticon and attack him. Not realizing he’s beyond their petty war and picking sides. None of that matters in the grand scheme of things, not when Unicron is out there somewhere, spreading his ravenous destruction and corruption.

• Struggling against his grip as he keeps moving, your head is pounding, stomach sour. “Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about you. I swear.” Just want to pretend none of this ever happened. That whatever that was when you’d touched his spark was just a nightmare and you shudder. Pushing that knowledge, knowing about sparks, down into a dark corner of your mind. His thoughts infecting you. When you’d been lost in him, he’d overwhelmed you with his memories, his alien thoughts. His convictions. And you want none of it. You’re not his, you’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time and did a stupid thing.

• You’re afraid. Your biofield crackling against his own and he wonders if this is part of his mission. Helping steer you from your uncertainty, until you have no doubts about his holy quest. Your quest now, too. And it’ll be nice to not be alone. To have another voice warning the others about the evil coming. Rasping when he tries to speak, he vents softly. Too hurt to soothe you with words. Shockwave at least is a logical, he must see reason this time. Listen and not just shove him into stasis. Again. Turning toward where he remembers the Nemesis being, he keeps walking. Can’t stop, there are worlds depending on him and they must listen to him.

• Slumping against his servos when your headache slides into a migraine, you close your eyes. Wondering where he’s taking you. Trying to untangle the chaos you’d seen in his mind. Because you’re almost certain he’s absolutely mad. His thoughts had been obsessed. Frantic and consuming. “You understand you can’t keep me,” you try, shooting for logic and he makes that awful rasping growl of noise again. Trying to talk to you. “I’m not a pet,” you try, but you know he doesn’t think you’re one either. Had gotten that much from his mind. That he thinks you were gifted to him as a reward. Maybe you were. Gifted to him as a form of existential middle finger extended to you from the universe.

• Do you doubt him? This must be a test from Primus. A chance to convert you and you’ll stand by his side where You’re meant to be. Help him. Why else would he have been given you? A little mate, a companion. Alien and strange, but maybe you’re meant to help him unite your people with his against Unicron? Yes. That must be it. A holy union to bring Cybertronians and humans together. Tapping a servo against you, he bares his denta. You must be the secret to completing his mission. He just needs to claim you and figure out your secrets. Figure out what is needed of him.

#transformers x reader #sunstorm x reader #sunstorm

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darylslittlebitch · 2 days ago

Text

first kiss (twd x fem! reader)

characters: daryl, rick, negan, carl, glenn and maggie.

writer's note: aight, that’s a wrap! writing all these first kisses was a wild ride, but i gotta say… carl’s part had me lowkey soft as hell. something about that whole abandoned theater vibe just hit different. hope y’all enjoyed it! request are open!

daryl

The night had fallen quickly, wrapping the forest in an unsettling gloom. The embers of the campfire crackled with each gust of wind, casting dancing shadows on the nearby trees. Beside you, Daryl remained silent, his crossbow resting on his lap as his experienced fingers ran a cloth along the string, cleaning it with the same meticulous care as always.

He wasn’t a man of many words, and you knew that well. Still, his mere presence always brought you a strange sense of security. You had learned to read him in other ways: the way his brow furrowed when something worried him, how he drummed his fingers against his knee when he grew impatient, or how he avoided your gaze when he was feeling too much and didn’t know how to handle it.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was something in the air, a subtle tension growing more noticeable with each passing day you spent together.

Daryl lifted his gaze from his crossbow and, for the first time that night, his eyes met yours. The firelight accentuated the stormy blue of his stare, and for a moment, it burned you more than the flames themselves.

“You’ve got blood on your cheek.” Your voice broke the quiet, barely above a whisper.

Daryl blinked, clearly surprised, and brought his fingers to his face with a slight frown. “Yeah? Eh, doesn’t matter.”

It wasn’t his, that much was certain. Probably from some walker he had taken down earlier. But it mattered to you. Without thinking too much, you leaned in and, with the tip of your fingers, wiped the stain from his cheek.

Daryl went completely still. His breath seemed to hitch for a second, and you felt how his muscles tensed under your touch. It was as if your simple gesture had completely disarmed him.

“All done,” you murmured, heart pounding.

Your fingers were still brushing against his skin when he turned his face slightly, catching your wrist with a gentleness that contrasted with his usually rough demeanor. His eyes searched yours, looking for something—confirmation, maybe, or a sign that this wasn’t a mistake.

The silence stretched between you, and the world around you seemed to disappear. There was only him, his intense gaze, and the feeling of his hand wrapped around yours.

And then, in a movement as quick as it was unexpected, Daryl tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

His kiss was clumsy at first, as if he wasn’t used to this, as if he was afraid of breaking you with his roughness. But when he felt that you didn’t pull away—that, in fact, you responded with the same restrained intensity—he let out a quiet sigh against your lips and loosened his grip slightly.

Daryl’s lips were rough, warm, slightly chapped, but there was something in the way he kissed you that made you feel like he had wanted to do this for a long time. It wasn’t desperate or hungry, but something deeper, something more sincere. Like he was treading unknown ground, fearful of what he might find, yet unable to resist.

His other hand slid to your waist, holding you firmly, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. When he finally pulled away, he did so slowly, keeping his forehead resting against yours as his breath mingled with yours.

“I was never good at this kind of thing,” he murmured with a small, almost embarrassed smile.

“You did just fine,” you reassured him, your heart still racing.

Daryl didn’t respond, but the faint tug at the corner of his lips was enough to let you know he was smiling. No more words were needed.

The kiss had said it all.

rick

Rick was standing by the fence, his rifle slung over his shoulder as his gaze drifted into the darkness outside. His jaw was tense, and his knuckles were white from the pressure with which he gripped his belt.

It wasn’t hard to know what he was thinking. You had spent enough time by his side to notice the signs when something was bothering him. His stiff posture, the way he licked his lips before letting out a heavy sigh, the nervous twitch in his eyebrow when worry gnawed at him from within.

You approached cautiously, not wanting to interrupt his moment of reflection, but close enough for him to notice your presence.

“How long have you been standing there?” you asked softly.

Rick barely turned his head, his blue eyes catching yours for a second before returning to nothing.

“Too long.”

The exhaustion was evident in his tone. He had carried the weight of the group for so long that it seemed he had forgotten how to let it go, how to rest, even for a moment.

Without hesitation, you extended your hand and gently placed it on his forearm. His skin was warm under your fingers, his pulse beating strongly, as if he were trapped in an internal battle he couldn’t escape.

“You’re tense.”

Rick let out a humorless laugh, a rough, dry sound. “I’m always tense.”

You didn’t respond. There was no need. Instead, you lightly squeezed his arm, a silent reminder that you were there, that he didn’t have to carry it all alone.

Rick sighed, and without warning, his hand closed around yours, with strength, as if clinging to the only thing keeping him standing.

And then, it happened.

It was quick, intense, like a storm that had been held back for too long. Rick spun on his heels, and with a firmness only he possessed, he brought his other hand to your face, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt.

His lips were firm, certain, but also desperate. There was no shyness in him, only need, a repressed longing that overflowed with every passing second. His fingers tangled in your hair, holding you with the same intensity with which he lived, with which he fought.

Rick Grimes didn’t kiss gently. He couldn’t afford that luxury. His life had been too hard, too chaotic, and the way he loved you reflected that. It was a kiss from someone who didn’t know if they would see the sunrise, someone who had learned to take what they wanted before the world took it from them.

Your back hit the fence, but you barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was how his body pressed against yours, the faint gasp that escaped his lips as his fingers tightened around your waist.

When he finally pulled away, he did so slowly, as if it pained him to let you go. His forehead rested against yours, his warm breath caressing your skin as he tried to regain his composure.

“This…” His voice was barely a whisper, rough and filled with emotion. “This shouldn’t…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence. Because you both knew the truth. It didn’t matter whether it should or not. The only thing that mattered was that it had happened.

Rick wasn’t a man of empty promises or unnecessary words. He didn’t tell you it was wrong. He didn’t tell you it wouldn’t happen again.

Because it would.

Because he wanted you.

negan

The argument had started like any other. An exchange of words, a difference of opinions, a sarcastic remark from him that ignited your temper.

But this time, it was different.

The atmosphere was thick, dense, as if the air itself were trapped in a battle between anger and something much more dangerous.

“You’re a fucking egomaniac!” you spat, feeling the fury boil in your veins.

Negan laughed, that deep, mocking sound that always got under your skin. He took a step closer, forcing you to lift your head to look him in the eye.

“And what else do you have for me, sweetheart? Are you going to keep shouting, or are you finally going to admit you love fighting with me?”

You clenched your fists, refusing to give in to his provocation. “What I love is proving to you that you’re not as fucking untouchable as you think!”

His lips curled into a smug smile, as if your words amused him more than offended him.

“Oh, I love it when you get like this,” he said, his voice husky, leaning just enough for his warm breath to brush against your skin. “With all that rage, all that energy… I bet you could use it for something much more interesting.”

You pushed him. Not hard, but enough to make it clear you weren’t going to fall into his game.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Because Negan wasn’t a man to be dominated so easily.

Before you could process it, he caught your wrist in one of his hands and, in a single movement, spun you around and pinned you against the wall. His body was so close to yours you could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his muscles, the heavy breathing that made your skin tingle.

“You know what?” he murmured with a crooked smile. “I think I like it more when you push me… means you’re really feeling something.”

You bit your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much his proximity affected your body. But Negan didn’t need you to say it out loud. He knew. He could see it in the way your pupils dilated, in how your chest rose and fell faster than usual.

And then, he did it.

He kissed you with the same intensity he fought with, no warnings, no precautions.

It was a clash of lips, wild, demanding. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you even closer, and his mouth moved with a crushing confidence, claiming you, devouring you.

There was no tenderness in that kiss. It didn’t need any.

There was hunger, a power struggle where neither of you wanted to give in.

His lips were warm and firm, his tongue traced the outline of your mouth before slipping inside, exploring with a dominance that left you breathless. His rough beard scraped your skin, a reminder that you were kissing a man who didn’t know softness.

Negan kissed as if he were winning something. As if every second his lips stayed on yours was a personal victory.

Your back hit the wall, but you didn’t even feel it. There was only him. His mouth, his body, the low grunt that escaped his throat when you returned the kiss with the same intensity.

When he finally pulled away, he did it slowly, leaving his face just millimeters from yours.

His smile was that of a satisfied predator.

“That… was fucking incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough and full of desire.

Your breathing was erratic, your body still vibrating with the adrenaline of the moment. But instead of responding, instead of giving him the complete victory, you let out a breathless laugh.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You wet your lips, enjoying the way his eyes dropped to follow the movement. “I was just thinking about how ridiculous all of this is.”

Negan tilted his head, amused. “Ridiculous? Sweetheart, I just gave you the best kiss of your life, and you come out with that.”

You didn’t give him time to say more. You kissed him again, trapping him with the same intensity he had used before.

Negan growled against your mouth, surprised but clearly pleased. His hands slid down your back, dangerously low, and for a moment, everything disappeared except the fire between you two.

When you separated for the second time, Negan ran his tongue over his lips and let out a low laugh.

“If this is how we settle arguments… then, sweetheart, we need to fight more often.”

carl

The sky was tinted in shades of orange when they found the abandoned movie theater. The huge marquee, once lit up with vibrant lights, was now just a skeleton of what it once was. The glass doors were broken, and the interior smelled of dust and frozen time.

They had entered cautiously, expecting the worst, but to their surprise, the place was empty. There were no walkers, only a bunch of dusty seats, a giant screen with cracks, and an old projector at the back of the room.

“This is amazing,” you whispered as you walked between the rows of seats.

Carl smiled, following closely behind with his rifle slung over his shoulder. “You’ve never been to the movies before all this?”

“Of course I have, but it’s been so long I barely remember.” You stopped in front of the projector and looked at it with curiosity. “Do you think it still works?”

Carl raised an eyebrow. “I doubt there’s any power, but if you want to try…”

You didn’t need any more motivation. Over the next few minutes, you tried to figure out how to turn it on, but it was useless. There was no electricity, no movies, no way to bring back what the theater had once represented.

You let out a sigh and sank into one of the chairs, gently tapping the armrest with your fingers. “I wish I could’ve come here with you… when the world was still normal.”

Carl fell silent for a moment before sitting next to you. When he spoke, his voice was soft, filled with a melancholy he didn’t often show so easily.

“If the world were normal, I would’ve invited you on a date here.”

You turned to look at him, meeting his blue eyes as they shone in the dim light filtering through the broken windows.

“Oh, yeah?” you asked with a smile.

Carl nodded. “Yeah. I would’ve bought popcorn… though I probably would’ve been too clumsy and spilled it all.”

You let out a laugh, and he smiled before continuing.

“I would’ve tried to act brave, pretending I wasn’t scared of horror movies… just so you could laugh at me.”

Your chest warmed unexpectedly. His sincerity, the way he spoke about something you could never experience together, made you feel something deep inside.

And before thinking too much about it, you did it.

You leaned toward him and pressed your lips against his.

Carl froze for a second, as if his brain was taking a moment to process what was happening. His lips were soft, inexperienced, but warm. He didn’t respond immediately, probably too surprised to react.

When you pulled away, his expression was priceless. His eyes were wide, his cheeks completely flushed, and his mouth slightly open, as if he was trying to find the right words but couldn’t speak them.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously? That’s how you react after your big speech about taking me to the movies?”

Carl blinked, still with a flushed face. “I... didn’t expect that.”

You laughed again, and without giving him time to recover, you kissed him again. This time, you felt him relax, his breathing deepening, and finally, he responded with more confidence.

His lips moved awkwardly at first, but quickly adjusted to the rhythm of the kiss. His hands, which had been tense in his lap, finally rose to touch you, hesitating for a moment before resting one on your cheek and the other on your arm.

When you parted, Carl had a silly grin on his lips.

“Okay…” he murmured, still a little dazed. “That was way better than a movie.”

You bit your lip, suppressing another laugh. “So does this count as our first date?”

Carl squinted playfully. “If it does, then technically you kissed me on our first date.”

You shrugged with a mischievous smile. “You didn’t complain.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Definitely not.”

And in that forgotten movie theater, where only traces of a past they could never recover remained, Carl Grimes experienced a moment he would never forget.

glenn

There was something in the way Glenn looked at you that made your heart beat faster.

It wasn’t just his radiant smile or those eyes full of excitement every time he talked to you. It was the feeling that, despite the broken world they lived in, Glenn still found a way to make you feel alive.

And in that moment, after a supply run that had nearly gone wrong, you both were taking refuge in an old hardware store, waiting for a horde of walkers to pass outside.

“Well, at least we found a couple of useful things,” Glenn said, checking the backpack on his back. “Canned food, batteries... and this.”

He held up a pack of mint gum with a proud smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Really?”

“Hey, when you live in a world where flavors matter, this was a big find.”

He pulled out a piece of gum and popped it in his mouth before offering you one. You took it, silently appreciating the small luxury of tasting something different on your tongue other than the bitterness of survival.

The situation outside remained tense. Through the dirty window, you could see the shadows of walkers moving slowly, their growls rumbling in the air. But inside the hardware store, with Glenn sitting next to you on the floor, the danger seemed distant.

“You know…” you started, turning to look at him, “if all this hadn’t happened, if the world was still normal, I think I would have loved to meet your pre-apocalypse version.”

Glenn smiled to the side. “Oh, really? Why?”

“Because I’m sure you would’ve been incredibly fun. Probably the guy who always knew where to find the best burgers or the one who cracked jokes at the most inconvenient times.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a modest air. “Well, I won’t say I wasn’t like that. But honestly, I like the version I am now.”

“Why?”

Glenn looked directly into your eyes, and for the first time in the conversation, the laughter disappeared from his expression. His face softened, and his tone became more serious.

“Because this version of me… is the one that met you.”

Your heartbeat skipped a beat.

Glenn always had a way of saying sweet things without even trying, as if compliments were second nature to him. But this time, the sincerity in his words made the air between you heavier.

You felt warmth rise to your face, a mix of surprise and something deeper, something that pushed you to do what you’d been wanting to do for so long.

You leaned toward him and kissed him.

It was a soft kiss at first, as if you were testing the sensation of his lips against yours. Glenn stayed still for a second, surprised, but as soon as he processed what was happening, he reacted in the most genuine way possible: smiling against your mouth.

His laugh was short, almost shaky, as if he couldn’t believe it. But it didn’t take long for him to respond to the kiss, leaning into you and deepening the contact with a tenderness that made you melt completely.

Glenn kissed with warmth, with the kind of softness that made the outside world disappear. His lips moved with yours in a slow but steady rhythm, as if he were savoring every second, every little sensation.

When he pulled away, he still had that goofy smile on his face.

“Wow,” he murmured, blinking as if waking up from a dream.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “Is that all you have to say?”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just… I wasn’t prepared for that.”

You gave him a playful shove on the shoulder, pretending to be offended. “What, you didn’t expect it?”

Glenn raised his hands in surrender, still with that look of wonder in his eyes. “It’s not that… it’s just that, when something really good happens in this world, it’s hard to believe it’s real.”

The sincerity in his voice made the knot in your chest tighten.

So, you kissed him again.

This time, Glenn responded instantly, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. His kiss was a little deeper, more confident, with a sweetness that made you feel protected even amid the devastation.

When he pulled away, he just stared at you, as if memorizing every detail of your face.

“Yeah… definitely, this is real.”

maggie

You and Maggie had been patrolling the outskirts, making sure there were no walkers near the camp. After so many losses, security had become an absolute priority, and although larger groups were usually more effective for these tasks, Maggie insisted that they could handle it alone.

“It’s quiet here,” you said, looking at the open fields that had once been beautiful, now withered and neglected.

Maggie stood next to you, her rifle slung over her shoulder. “Yeah… it reminds me of home.”

You knew what she meant. There was a glint of nostalgia in her gaze, a sadness that never fully disappeared.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you said softly.

She sighed and shrugged. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… sometimes it’s hard not to think about how everything used to be. Places like this make me remember what I lost.”

You were silent for a moment before you said, “But they also remind you of what you still have.”

Maggie looked at you, her dark eyes reflecting the light of the sunset. “And what is it that I still have?”

You smiled slightly. “Us. Your family, the people still fighting alongside you.”

Maggie let out a soft laugh, but there was something in her expression that revealed just how much your words meant to her.

The wind blew, tousling her hair as she looked away. “I always think that if I let myself feel something good… the world will take it away from me.”

You understood that feeling all too well. You’d seen so many loved ones fall, so many people disappear overnight, that the fear of losing what was left became almost paralyzing.

So you did the only thing you could in that moment. You moved closer and took her hand.

Maggie glanced down at her fingers intertwined with yours, as if it were something unexpected. Her thumb brushed your skin instinctively, a subtle but meaningful caress.

“We’re not going to live in fear forever,” you said quietly.

Maggie looked up, and for the first time in the whole conversation, her expression softened completely.

And then, without warning, without hesitation, without fear, she leaned in and kissed you.

The impact of her lips against yours was firm, determined, as if she had been holding that desire in for far too long.

Maggie kissed with intensity, a mix of urgency and tenderness that made you hold on to her without thinking. Her hand moved to your face, holding you with a surprisingly delicate touch, in contrast to the force with which she kissed you.

It was a kiss that spoke of need, of survival, of something bigger than both of you.

When you finally pulled apart, Maggie stared at you with her lips slightly parted, as if processing what she had just done.

You smiled, amused. “That was… unexpected.”

Maggie let out a short laugh and shook her head. “Maybe. But I wanted it.”

“How long have you wanted it?”

She crossed her arms, pretending to think. “For a while.”

You laughed and grabbed her jacket to pull her toward you again.

“Then, let’s not waste any more time.”

This time, Maggie met you with a smile before kissing you again, without hesitation, without fear.

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aspenmissing · 2 days ago

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Hey! I really love your work! Can I request a fic with whichever arcane characters you like (but I’d really like to see Jayvik and Jinx) with a transmasc reader who just got top surgery?

ʙᴀᴛᴛʟᴇ ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5232 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴄᴀʀꜱ, ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ ʀᴇɢʀᴇᴛ (ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴅᴀʀʟɪɴɢ! ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛʀᴀɴꜱᴍᴀꜱᴄ, ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏ ꜰᴏʀɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴡʀᴏɴɢ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪꜰ ɪ ᴅᴏ! ʙᴜᴛ ʀᴇɢᴀʀᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ! <3 <3

JAYCE

The first thing you feel when you wake up isn’t pain—it’s warmth.

A large hand, calloused but gentle, cradles yours, thumb rubbing slow circles against your skin. The scent of something familiar—metal and a hint of oil, mixed with the comforting scent of Jayce—lingers in the air. It makes you feel safe before your mind even fully catches up to consciousness.

You blink, groggy from the lingering anesthesia, and try to move, but the moment you shift even slightly, Jayce’s grip tightens just a fraction. Not forceful—just enough to remind you he’s there.

“Hey—whoa, whoa, easy.” His voice is soft, but firm, filled with that quiet kind of concern he only ever shows when it’s just the two of you. “Don’t push yourself.”

The world feels slow, foggy, but the dull ache in your chest grounds you. There’s pressure, a tightness from the bandages, but the pain is distant, numbed by whatever meds the doctors gave you. And then, like the sun rising over the horizon, it hits you.

It’s done.

It’s really done.

A shaky breath escapes your lips, uneven, overwhelmed, and Jayce must notice because his free hand moves to your face, fingers brushing your cheek as he leans over. His dark eyes, usually filled with the fire of ambition and innovation, are softer now—completely focused on you. Like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

You are.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You try to answer, but your throat is dry, and your body still feels heavy. Instead, you squeeze his hand, grounding yourself in his presence. He lets out a soft laugh—relieved, affectionate—as he squeezes back.

“I’d ask if it hurts,” he says, a teasing lilt in his voice, “but I already know you’d lie and say you’re fine.”

You huff a small laugh, but it makes your chest twitch, and you wince. Jayce reacts instantly, his grip firm but careful as he helps you settle back against the pillows. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure you’re okay—he already knows what you need, how much space to give, how much support to offer.

“So…” His voice dips into something more serious, more intimate. “How do you feel?”

You take a deep breath, slow and steady. It’s strange, the way your body adjusts to the absence of something that had weighed you down for so long. But more than the physical difference, more than the ache of fresh scars, you feel relief.

“Lighter,” you whisper.

Jayce exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you went into surgery. His thumb strokes the back of your hand, his warmth seeping into your skin. There’s something unspoken in his expression, something deep and aching.

“I’m so proud of you,” he says, voice thick with emotion.

Your throat tightens—not from pain, but from the sheer weight of those words. You glance down, instinctively wanting to check, but the layers of bandages make it impossible to see. Jayce is already moving, adjusting the pillows behind you, making sure you’re comfortable before you even ask.

“You’re supposed to let me take care of you for once, remember?” he teases, but there’s no real bite to his words, only warmth.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real fight in it. You’re exhausted, sore, and yet… you feel lighter than you ever have. And Jayce is right here, the steady presence you never have to question.

His warmth. His patience. His unwavering belief in you.

You lean into his touch when he brushes your hair back from your face. His fingers trail down, tracing the side of your jaw before coming to rest against your cheek.

“Just… stay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Jayce doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even let you second-guess it.

“Always.”

And with that, he leans down, pressing the lightest, most reverent kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of his presence, the quiet hum of his breathing, the safety in knowing he’s right here.

Time passes in slow, dreamlike waves. He doesn’t leave your side, not even for a second.

At some point, you stir again, and Jayce is already there, pressing a cup of water to your lips. “Sip,” he instructs, tilting it just enough.

The water is cool, refreshing, and you sigh against the rim of the cup. Jayce sets it down and smiles, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You scared the hell out of me, you know.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “Jayce…”

He shakes his head, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I knew you’d be okay. I did. But—” He exhales sharply, looking at you with something so raw in his expression that it makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the surgery. “I didn’t realize how much I was holding my breath until you opened your eyes.”

Your heart clenches. You reach for his hand again, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m here,” you whisper. “I’m okay.”

Jayce nods, but the emotion in his eyes doesn’t waver. He lifts your hand to his lips again, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “Yeah,” he breathes against your skin. “You are.”

Silence settles between you, but it’s the kind that speaks volumes. You let yourself rest, eyes fluttering closed as Jayce’s fingers trail absentmindedly over the back of your hand. You don’t know how long you lay there, basking in the weightlessness of it all, but when you stir again, Jayce is still there.

He shifts in his seat, adjusting himself so he can sit closer, his large frame fitting perfectly beside you. When you lean into him, he doesn’t hesitate to move, carefully pulling you into his chest, mindful of your stitches. His arms encircle you, strong and steady, and for the first time in a long time, you feel truly at home.

“You know,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your hair, “I was thinking… When you’re feeling up to it, we should celebrate.”

You raise a brow, smirking slightly. “Celebrate how?”

Jayce chuckles. “However you want. A quiet night in? A fancy dinner? Hell, I’ll throw a whole damn parade if that’s what you want.”

You laugh, the sound light and airy, and Jayce grins like he’s just heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

“A parade might be overkill,” you tease, voice still slightly hoarse but full of warmth. “But… I like the idea of celebrating.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand again, voice quieter now. “Because you deserve it.”

The sincerity in his voice wraps around you like a second layer of warmth, and for the first time in forever, you don’t feel the weight of something that doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t feel like you’re waiting for something to change.

You feel whole.

And with Jayce by your side, you think you always will.

VIKTOR

The lab smelled like metal and ozone, a scent Viktor had long associated with home. The hum of machinery filled the space, familiar and steady, yet today, something else clung to the air—warmth, comfort, a quiet sense of triumph.

He hadn't been able to focus much on his work today, not with Y/N sitting just a few feet away, their presence demanding his attention in a way that had nothing to do with distraction and everything to do with devotion.

"You shouldn’t be moving so much," Viktor murmured, arms loosely crossed as he leaned against the table. His golden eyes studied them with a mixture of exasperation and fondness, a look he often wore when Y/N was being particularly stubborn.

Y/N sat on a stool near the workbench, their posture relaxed but tinged with a lingering soreness. Their newly healed chest was bare save for the light bandages that wrapped around their torso, a testament to a battle won—not against an enemy, but against the weight of a body that had never quite felt like home.

They stretched their arms, rolling their shoulders experimentally, testing the limits of their movement. A small wince betrayed them, but they still smirked. "I can handle it."

Viktor scoffed, the sound soft and amused. "You say that, and yet you winced."

Without another word, he limped forward, carefully placing his cane aside before lowering himself to his knees in front of them. The movement was slow, deliberate, but his focus never wavered. His hands, calloused from years of crafting, hovered hesitantly at their sides.

His touch was always cautious with them. There was an undeniable sharpness to Viktor—his mind, his words, the way he pushed the boundaries of science and progress—but with Y/N, he was something softer, something careful.

Y/N chuckled, catching one of his hands and guiding it forward until his palm rested against their newly flattened chest. The breath Viktor exhaled was shaky, reverent. His fingers ghosted over healing skin, tracing along the edges of bandages as if committing them to memory.

"You are incredible," he murmured, thumb brushing over a faded bruise near their ribs. His voice was barely above a whisper, as though speaking any louder might break the moment.

Y/N let out a breath, their heart stuttering at the sincerity in his tone. "I feel incredible," they admitted, their voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion welling in their chest. "Like myself. Like… I can finally breathe."

Viktor’s lips twitched into a rare, genuine smile, something unguarded and deeply tender. "Good," he said, as if it were the most important thing in the world. "Then I shall do my best to keep you in one piece, even if that means forcing you to rest."

Y/N rolled their eyes. "You and your obsession with making me take it easy—"

Before they could finish, Viktor silenced them in the best way he knew how—with a kiss.

His hands cradled their jaw, fingers curling against their skin, holding them like something precious. The kiss was slow, lingering, deliberate. There was no rush, no urgency—just Viktor taking his time, mapping out every inch of them, learning them in ways no machine, no invention, ever could.

Y/N melted into it, their fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly. Viktor hummed against their lips, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down their spine.

When he finally pulled away, his breath fanned against their lips, warm and steady. "I will always fight for your happiness, milý," he murmured, voice softened in the way it only ever was for them. "You have given me more reasons to believe in the future than science ever has." (Dear)

Y/N’s heart clenched, emotion thick in their throat. They leaned in, resting their forehead against his. "You’re such a sap," they teased, though their voice wavered, betraying just how much his words meant.

Viktor huffed a quiet laugh, pressing another kiss to their lips, softer this time. "Only for you."

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in the quiet hum of the lab, in the warmth of each other's presence. The world outside could wait. Piltover’s demands could wait.

Healing wasn’t easy. It was slow and aching and sometimes frustrating beyond belief. But with Viktor beside them, hands steady against their skin, gaze filled with nothing but pride and love, Y/N felt like they could take on anything.

Together.

JAYVIK

The dim glow of the lamplight cast a warm haze over the room, the three of you sitting together in front of the mirror. Your shirt lay discarded beside you, the air cool against your skin, but the warmth of their presence balanced it out. Viktor sat cross-legged beside you, careful in his movements as he adjusted his brace-clad leg, his cane resting against the nearby dresser. His golden eyes were fixated on your reflection, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of your scars with a feather-light touch. Jayce knelt behind you, his hands steady on your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

You swallowed hard, staring at the scars that stretched across your chest. The sight still felt new, unfamiliar in some ways, even though you'd spent hours looking at them before. But this was different. This time, you weren't alone.

"You're staring," you murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

Viktor hummed, his fingers pressing a little more firmly as he traced each scar with careful reverence. "Of course. They are beautiful."

A small, sharp breath left you. He said it with such certainty, as if there were no room for argument. As if it were fact.

Jayce’s arms tightened around you, pulling you against his chest. His chin rested atop your head, his voice soft as he spoke. "Yeah, they are. You are."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly. "I don’t know if ‘beautiful’ is the word I’d use."

Viktor finally met your gaze in the mirror, brow quirking slightly. "Then you are simply wrong," he said, his usual sharp wit softened by the tenderness in his voice. "It is not just the scars themselves. It is what they mean. What they represent. The fact that you fought for them."

Jayce pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. "You fought for this body, for yourself. And we love you. Every part of you."

The lump in your throat thickened, and you let out a shaky breath, your fingers brushing over Viktor’s hand as it rested over your heart. You tilted your head back against Jayce’s shoulder, feeling the slow, steady beat of your own pulse beneath their touch.

For so long, you had fought to be seen as you truly were. And now, here you were, held by two men who saw you, all of you, and loved you without hesitation.

You let yourself relax further, melting into Jayce’s warmth as he ran his hands along your arms, pressing light kisses into your shoulder. Viktor shifted beside you, adjusting his leg with a small wince before settling comfortably. His hand, steady despite the slight tremor in his fingers, rested over your scars once more.

"Does it still hurt?" Viktor asked softly, his gaze flicking from the mirror to your chest and back again.

You exhaled, considering the question. "Not really. Sometimes. Some tightness here and there, but mostly... it just feels like me now."

Jayce hummed in understanding, his broad palms covering your own where they rested in your lap. "Healing takes time. But you've come so far already."

Viktor's thumb brushed along one of the scars, tracing it as though he were reading something deeply important. "You are remarkable, you know that? I have seen people build machines, cities, legacies. And yet, what you have built for yourself—the strength you have shown—it is more inspiring than anything else."

Your breath hitched at his words, the honesty in them hitting you like a slow, warming wave. You had always known Viktor to be a man of sharp intellect, of curiosity and wit, but when he loved, he loved with every careful word and action. And Jayce, ever steady and unwavering, held you as though you were the most precious thing in the world.

You swallowed past the tightness in your throat, squeezing both of their hands. "I... I don’t know what I did to deserve you two."

Jayce chuckled, pressing another kiss to your temple. "Funny. We were thinking the same thing about you."

Viktor smirked, leaning his weight slightly against your side, as if sharing his presence more fully. "We are quite lucky, I think."

You smiled at your reflection, at them, at yourself. "Yeah," you whispered, voice steady. "I fought for this. And I wouldn’t change a thing."

Viktor’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his hand lingering over your heart for just a moment longer before settling against your side. Jayce nuzzled into your hair, his arms never faltering in their hold around you.

Together, the three of you sat in the quiet, basking in the moment, in each other.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

VANDER

The dim lantern light cast a soft glow over the bedroom, flickering shadows dancing on the aged wooden walls. The world outside the Last Drop was quiet for once, the usual clamour of Zaun’s underbelly fading into a distant hum.

It was rare to find peace like this. No shouting from the bar below, no fights breaking out in the alleys. Just the slow, steady rhythm of breath and the warmth of a man who had long since carved a space in your heart.

Vander lay beside you, his heavy frame sinking into the mattress, one arm draped lazily but securely around your waist. His head rested against your bare chest, his beard tickling slightly where it pressed against your skin. He smelled of ale, smoke, and something distinctly him—the scent you had come to associate with home.

His breathing was slow, steady. You weren’t even sure if he was still awake, the rise and fall of his chest almost lulling you to sleep yourself. But then he shifted, burrowing just a little deeper into you, arms tightening as if to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

It made you smile—how someone so strong, so feared in Zaun’s underworld, could be so tender with you. With those he loved.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. Words weren’t necessary. The creak of the bed, the distant drip of a leaky pipe, the gentle rustle of fabric as Vander’s fingers traced absentminded patterns along your waist—it was enough.

Still, something tugged at the back of your mind, a question you hadn’t realized was lingering there until the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

"You gonna miss my pillows?"

The way Vander huffed out a breath—it wasn’t quite a laugh, but something close—told you he was awake after all. He didn’t lift his head immediately, just turned his face slightly, his lips ghosting over your skin.

"Mm… Nah," he murmured, voice rough with sleep. There was no hesitation in it, no doubt. Just fact.

Still, you felt his fingers twitch against your ribs before he shifted, finally tilting his head up to meet your gaze. His tired blue eyes searched yours, shining with something unreadable in the low light. The kind of look that made your breath hitch—like he saw right through you, past the words, straight to what you meant to ask.

"Never needed ‘em," he continued, voice softer now. His calloused fingers brushed along your side, feather-light despite the strength they held. "This? You? That’s all I ever wanted."

The warmth that bloomed in your chest was unlike anything else. Not just comfort or relief, but something deeper. Something raw.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, exhaling softly as you let your fingers weave into his silver-streaked hair. Tugging him just a little closer, you murmured, "Good… 'cause I don’t regret it for a second."

"Nor should you." His lips brushed against your chest then, a slow, deliberate kiss pressed just above your heartbeat. "You look damn good, love. Feel good too."

A short laugh escaped you, but your pulse betrayed how much his words meant. How much he meant.

Vander took his time tracing the new lines of your body, the dips and scars that were now fully your own. He never hesitated, never treated you as anything less than whole—than his. His hands were big, rough, but gentle, running over your ribs, your sides, your hips as if to memorize you all over again.

"Soft here," he mused, voice thick with sleep as he brushed his fingers along your skin. "Strong here." A slow drag of his palm down your side, settling at your waist. "Mine here."

Your breath caught, and he chuckled, deep and warm.

"Vander," you grumbled, rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it.

"What?" He smirked, shifting so that his arms wrapped more firmly around you, pulling you flush against him. "Just sayin’ the truth."

Then, as if proving a point, he burrowed against your chest again, sighing contentedly. "Reckon I got new pillows right here."

You scoffed, but the way his breath fanned over your skin sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel his smile against you, that damn teasing grin he always wore when he knew he had you right where he wanted.

"You sap," you muttered, though your arms curled around him all the same, fingers threading through his hair again, massaging lightly at his scalp.

His grip around your waist tightened just slightly. "Damn right," he murmured against your skin. "And you love it."

…He wasn’t wrong.

Silence settled over you both again, but it wasn’t empty—it was full, heavy with meaning. Vander’s breaths evened out, though his hold on you never loosened. He wouldn’t let go. Not now. Not ever.

SILCO

The mirror was cruel.

Y/N had never thought it would be—not after years of waiting, of dreaming, of aching for the moment they could finally look at themselves and feel whole.

Yet here they stood, candlelight flickering across the reflection of their bare chest, tracing the raised, pink scars left behind by the surgeon’s blade. The ache was fading, the stitches long since removed, but a deeper, nameless uncertainty had settled beneath their skin.

Their fingers hovered over the ridges, the places where something once was but no longer remained. The weight had lifted—so why did it feel so heavy?

They weren’t alone for long.

Silco’s presence filled the dimly lit room like a whisper of smoke, carrying with it the scent of oil, damp stone, and something uniquely his—sharp, commanding, yet careful in a way most never saw. He had always been careful with Y/N.

His hands, rough and calloused from years of war and survival, settled gently on their shoulders. Not possessive, not forceful—just there. A quiet offering. His reflection appeared behind them, his mismatched gaze heavy with something unreadable.

"You’ve been standing here for a while," he murmured, voice low, edged with something softer than concern, but no less intense.

Y/N swallowed, their throat tight. "I… don’t know what’s wrong with me." Their voice was steady, but the words felt fractured. "I wanted this. I needed this. And now that it's done, I—I just feel… I don’t know."

Silco said nothing at first, only watching. He had always known when to speak and when to listen. He had watched them fight for this, had held them through sleepless nights riddled with pain and anticipation. And now, he watched as they doubted something they had once burned for.

"You’ve spent so long wanting," he finally said, his grip firming just slightly. "It’s only natural that the silence afterward feels strange."

Y/N’s fingers curled over their scars. "What if I regret it?" The words felt small, like they didn’t belong to them. They hated the way their chest tightened around the thought.

Silco’s grip moved then, trailing down their arms, steadying them. He leaned in, his breath warm against the nape of their neck.

"Do you?"

They opened their mouth—hesitated. "I don’t know."

Silco’s lips barely ghosted against their skin, just enough to ground them. "Then let’s find out."

His hands slipped lower, fingers curling around their wrists as he turned them away from the mirror. Enough. Enough of the reflection that felt like a battlefield. Enough of the spiral eating them alive.

Y/N let him lead them away, past the flickering candlelight and onto the bed they shared. The mattress dipped beneath them as Silco settled beside them, his hand resting over theirs, grounding them in the way only he could.

"Lie back," he murmured. It wasn’t a command, but an invitation.

Y/N hesitated before obeying, sinking into the sheets, their chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The air between them was thick with something unspoken.

Silco’s fingers brushed over their skin first—so light, so reverent it almost didn’t feel real. He traced the curve of their shoulder, then the faint ridges of the scars that marked their chest. The hesitation in Y/N’s breathing didn’t go unnoticed.

"You are not less for doubting," Silco murmured, pressing the first kiss just below the hollow of their throat. "You are not broken for grieving what you’ve lost, even if you chose to lose it."

Y/N exhaled shakily, their body tensing, then slowly unwinding beneath his touch. His lips trailed lower, ghosting over the scars as though sealing them with something sacred.

"These are a part of you now," he continued, his voice rasping between each press of his lips. "But they do not define you. Not more than your strength. Not more than the way you fight. Not more than the way you love."

Y/N shuddered at the warmth of his mouth against them. At the gentleness of a man who had never been known for it. He had never treated them like they were fragile, even now, when they felt like they were.

"You are still mine," Silco murmured, pulling back just enough to meet their gaze, his mismatched eyes sharp and unyielding. "Scars and all."

Y/N blinked up at him, their chest tight in a different way now—not from fear, not from regret, but from the overwhelming depth of his devotion.

Tears burned at the edges of their vision, but they didn’t fight them. Not with him.

Silco caught their jaw between his fingers, tilting their face toward him. "Say it," he murmured.

Y/N swallowed. "I’m still yours."

Something flickered in Silco’s expression, something too deep to name. His lips pressed against their forehead, lingering there as if binding them to the promise.

Y/N closed their eyes and let themselves believe it.

And for now—that was enough.

JINX

Jinx had a habit—an obsession, really—with finding the perfect clothes for Y/N. Not just any clothes, but ones that made a statement. Something bold, something loud, something that screamed confidence louder than a Zaunite explosion.

And right now, she was shoving yet another sleeveless crop top into his hands.

“C’mon, c’mon, try it on!” Jinx’s grin was wild as she bounced on the balls of her feet, practically vibrating with excitement.

Y/N raised a brow at the article of clothing, noting the jagged lightning design across the chest. It was, admittedly, kind of sick. He rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it. “You really like showing off my scars, huh?”

Jinx threw her hands in the air like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Uh, yeah? They’re badass! Like battle scars, except instead of ‘ow ow pain’ it’s ‘fuck yeah, I look awesome!’”

Y/N snorted. “You have a weird way of putting things.”

Jinx just grinned wider. “I’m a weird gal.”

With a shake of his head, Y/N pulled off his hoodie and tugged the crop top over his head. It fit perfectly, hugging his frame just right, stopping just above his waistline. Jinx let out a delighted whoop, clapping her hands together.

“See?! Told ya! You look so cool, like—like some rebel hero from one of those old comic books Vi used to hoard.” She circled him, taking in the whole look, nodding to herself in approval. “People are gonna take one look at you and go ‘Damn, I wish I had that kinda confidence.’”

Y/N huffed a laugh, feeling warmth spread in his chest—not just from her words but from the fact that she really, truly meant them. Jinx was loud and chaotic, but when she cared, she cared.

He glanced at the pile of other sleeveless and cropped clothes Jinx had clearly been collecting for him, and despite himself, he smiled.

“…You really went all out, huh?”

“Duh!” Jinx flicked his forehead, grinning. “Gotta make sure my best guy looks rad as hell! Now c’mon, we’re showing this off! You, me, top of the tallest building in Zaun. Let’s make ‘em all look up.”

Y/N shook his head but didn’t hesitate to follow when Jinx grabbed his wrist and pulled him along, laughing all the way.

The night air was cool as they ascended one of the towering rooftops in Zaun. Jinx had always been quick on her feet, and Y/N had gotten used to keeping up with her over time, though she still had a habit of moving just a little too fast. She leaped from ledge to ledge effortlessly, her laugh echoing in the metal maze of the undercity, and Y/N had no choice but to follow.

By the time they reached the top, Jinx spread her arms out dramatically, spinning on her heel. “Ta-da! Best view in the whole damn city.”

Y/N caught his breath, glancing over the sprawling industrial beauty of Zaun. The neon lights flickered in the distance, reflecting off the polluted rivers below, the city alive and restless. He exhaled slowly. “You weren’t kidding.”

Jinx plopped down onto the rooftop edge, letting her legs dangle freely. She patted the space next to her, and Y/N joined her, stretching his arms behind him.

“So,” she started, kicking her feet idly, “you like the clothes or what? ‘Cause I got, like, a lot more where that came from.”

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah, I like ‘em. You didn’t have to do all that, though.”

Jinx scoffed, waving him off. “Pfft, course I did. You earned those scars. They tell a story, y’know? And stories should be shown off, not hidden away.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment, running a hand absentmindedly over the faded lines on his chest. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about them—what they meant to him, how people saw them, how he saw them. And now here was Jinx, treating them like some kind of badge of honor.

“…Thanks, Jinx,” he said softly.

Jinx glanced at him, her usual wild grin shifting into something softer, more sincere. “Anytime, dumbass.”

For a while, they just sat there, looking over the city, the distant hum of machinery filling the silence. Then, as if unable to sit still for too long, Jinx shot up suddenly. “Okay, okay, enough sentimental crap. You ready to really show off?”

Y/N gave her a wary look. “What do you mean?”

Jinx smirked, pulling out a small, round device from her belt—one that was already blinking ominously.

“…Jinx,” Y/N said cautiously.

“Relax, relax! It’s just a little show for the city! A little boom here, a little bang there—”

“Jinx.”

“—and BAM! Spotlight’s on you, my dude!”

Before Y/N could protest, she tossed the device high into the air. A second later, a burst of neon blue light exploded in the sky like fireworks, sparks raining down harmlessly but brilliantly, illuminating the rooftop. Jinx whooped, spinning around, her wild laughter echoing through the night.

Y/N sighed, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Jinx threw an arm over his shoulders, still laughing. “Eh, what else is new? Now c’mon, let’s strike some badass poses before the enforcers show up!”

And as ridiculous as it was, standing there in the glow of Jinx’s impromptu light show, Y/N had never felt prouder to be seen.

#Arcane #arcane fandom #arcane fluff #reader insert #jinx x platonic!reader #jayce x reader #jayce x you #jayce talis x reader #jayce x y/n #viktor x y/n #viktor x reader #jayce x reader x viktor #viktor x you #vander x reader #silco x reader #jayvik x reader

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heliosunny · 6 hours ago

Note

I'm literally praying for more Yandere Mash 🙏🙏 ALSO UR WRITING IS SO AMAZING

NO TAKEBACKS

Yandere!Mash x Reader

Magic lights sparkled in the air, laughter and cheers echoed through the grand halls of Easton Magic Academy. Everyone was celebrating the victory—the defeat of Innocent Zero, the peace that had finally settled over their world. Among them, you were just another student, a face in the crowd enjoying the atmosphere.

You weren’t part of Mash Burnedead’s close-knit friend group, but you’d seen him around. He was the so-called "hero," the one who defied everything and saved everyone. But right now, you weren’t thinking about that. You just wanted some air.

Unfortunately, your attempt to sneak onto the balcony for some peace didn’t go as planned. A misstep, and suddenly, you were plummeting from the second floor.

Your heart leaped to your throat. You barely had time to brace yourself when strong arms caught you effortlessly, as if you weighed nothing at all.

“Careful.”

You looked up to see Mash Burnedead staring at you.

“I—oh my god—thank you.” you stammered, your hands gripping his arms instinctively.

Mash didn’t let go right away. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he gently set you on your feet. “You’re welcome.”

You dusted yourself off, trying to ignore the way your heart was still racing. Mash, meanwhile, was already turning away, sneaking toward the exit.

“You’re leaving?” you asked, surprised.

“Yeah.”

For some reason, you found yourself following him. “Mind if I join you for a bit?”

Mash glanced at you, then nodded. And so, you walked together, the sounds of the party fading behind you.

For someone everyone called a hero, Mash was… surprisingly normal. He wasn’t arrogant or overly serious. He just liked cream puffs, quiet places, and working out. You found yourself laughing at his dry humor, at how he casually talked about things like muscles being the answer to everything.

“Mash! There you are!”

You turned to see his friends approaching—Lance, Dot, Finn, and Lemon. Their eyes flickered between the two of you, curious.

You took that as your cue. “Well, I should get back to my friends. Thanks again.”

“See you.”

That night had been a strange one, but after the party, you didn’t see much of Mash Burnedead. Not in any meaningful way, at least.

Of course, you’d catch glimpses—him standing at a distance when you passed by, his eyes tracking your movements with that same unreadable stare. A few times, he made small attempts to approach you, casual and unassuming. A greeting in the hallway, a question about class, a quiet offer of a cream puff when he happened to have extra.

But more often than not, your friends would pull you away before you could respond.

“You shouldn’t talk to him” they’d say. “Just because he saved us all doesn’t mean he belongs here.”

It was an ugly truth, but magic ruled this world. And Mash, for all his strength and miracles, had none. Some people tolerated him now, respected him even. But others—like your friends—still clung to old beliefs.

“He’s a fraud.” one of them muttered one day when they caught him watching from across the courtyard.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t know what to think.

----

The usual chatter of students filled the academy halls, but something felt off. A tension in the air, an unspoken weight pressing down. You didn’t think much of it—until you turned a corner and saw them.

Your friends. And Mash.

They had pulled him aside in a secluded part of the courtyard, away from wandering eyes. Mash stood there, expression blank, as your so-called friends spoke in hushed but sharp tones.

“You don’t belong here, Burnedead” one of them sneered. “You’ve already gotten what you wanted, right? Your fake title, your praise. So why are you still hanging around?”

Another one scoffed. “Do you really think people see you as an equal? You’re a joke.”

Mash didn’t react. Not a twitch, not a flinch. He just stood there, completely unbothered.

But you heard everything. And something inside you snapped.

“What the hell are you doing?” you said, stepping between them.

Your friends stiffened in surprise. “We’re just talking” one of them said, forcing a smile. “You should—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” You turned to Mash, your voice softening. “Are you okay?”

Mash blinked at you. Then, slowly, he nodded.

“See?” One of your friends laughed nervously. “No harm done. It’s just—”

“I don’t care.”

They fell silent. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, before looking at them dead in the eyes.

“If being your friend means treating someone like this, then I’m fine with not playing with you.”

They looked at you, then at Mash, then back at you. And then, without another word, they turned and walked away.

You didn’t watch them leave. Instead, you turned back to Mash, expecting him to brush it off like he always did. Instead, he just… stared at you.

“Uh… I hope that wasn’t weird or anything.”

“No,” he said, “It wasn’t weird.”

Your so-called friends never spoke to you again after that day.

At first, it was just cold silence—no greetings, no eye contact, no acknowledgment of your existence. You were fine with that. You had already made your choice.

But then, the petty revenge started.

A tripping spell aimed at your feet in the hallway. A bucket of water “accidentally” tipping over just as you passed by. An entire swarm of frogs conjured into your locker.

You should have been miserable. You should have been soaked, humiliated, struggling to shake off the cruel tricks.

But none of them ever reached you.

Somehow, every single attempt failed.

You never noticed it at first. You’d walk through a hallway where a trip spell had been cast, only to feel the floor perfectly stable beneath your feet. You’d open your locker, expecting books, not frogs. And yet, there was nothing but your usual neatly stacked belongings.

It wasn’t until one day, when you heard a frustrated shout from down the hall, that you saw it.

Mash. Standing calmly with a bucket of water in one hand, completely untouched by the spell that was meant for you. He tilted his head, looking at the group of students who had set the trap, then—without a word—dumped the water over their heads instead.

Your ex-friends went pale. You had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

It wasn’t long before the pettiness turned into something uglier.

A real fight.

You weren’t there to see it, but you heard the aftermath. How they had cornered Mash, trying to force him to stop interfering. How they had thrown everything they had at him—spells, illusions, underhanded tricks.

How he had barely even tried and still crushed them.

It wasn’t a long battle.

Mash simply stood there, taking every attack like they were nothing, before stepping forward and ending it with a single punch.

They never bothered you again after that.

And when you finally caught up with Mash later that day, he just handed you a cream puff, completely unfazed, like nothing had ever happened.

“Here,” he said. “You didn’t get to eat lunch.”

“Mash… did you...”

He tilted his head. “Did I what?”

You sighed, taking the cream puff. “Never mind. Thanks, Mash.”

“Anytime.”

---

It was surreal.

Rayne Ames—the Rayne Ames—stood before you, his sharp golden eyes watching you with that cool, unreadable expression. He had approached you out of nowhere, asking about Mash. Simple questions, nothing out of the ordinary. How was he in class? Did he ever talk about his training? Did he seem different lately?

You answered as best as you could, unsure why he was asking, and once he got what he needed, he left just as quickly as he came.

And that was that.

But after that day, your life started changing.

With your old friends out of the picture, you knew you had to move on. Mash’s group was welcoming, always ready to include you in their chaotic fun. But still, they had each other. They were a solid unit, bound by deep friendship and battles you hadn’t been a part of. You were an outsider, someone they liked but didn’t necessarily need.

So, you drifted. Talked to other students. Tried to find your own place.

And somehow… Rayne Ames kept showing up.

It was never anything dramatic. He didn’t actively seek you out, but he always seemed to be there—watching, listening, stepping in when things got too chaotic. You assumed he was just keeping tabs on Mash.

And Mash did not like that.

You didn’t notice it at first, but his little habits started changing. The way he always hovered a little closer when Rayne was around. The way he interrupted conversations with his usual deadpan nonsense—offering you cream puffs, randomly commenting on Rayne’s hair, or straight-up picking you up and carrying you somewhere else without a word.

Rayne, of course, remained unfazed by all of it. If anything, he found it amusing.

----

You had been experimenting with baking lately, and since Mash always seemed to appreciate sweet things, you figured, why not? A simple, homemade cake as a small thank-you for everything.

On your way to find him, you ran into Lemon, who, upon seeing the cake in your hands, lit up with excitement.

“Oh! If you’re looking for Mash, I can take you to his place!” she offered cheerfully.

You hesitated for a moment—going to Mash’s house wasn’t exactly part of the plan—but Lemon was already leading the way, and before you knew it, you were standing at his doorstep.

The door was unlocked, so Lemon let herself in, calling out, “Mash! You have a visitor!”

You barely had time to process what was happening before you heard the sound of weights clanking. As you stepped inside, your eyes landed on him.

Mash Burnedead, mid-workout, lifting what had to be insanely heavy dumbbells as if they were nothing.

You had always known Mash was strong. You’d seen him punch through walls like they were made of paper, carry people as if they weighed nothing.

But seeing him like this, up close—it was different.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that you were staring.

Mash set the weights down before turning to you. “Oh. You came.”

You quickly held up the cake. “I, uh—yeah! I baked this and thought you might like some.”

“Thanks.”

You didn’t stay long after that. You made an excuse to leave early, not missing how Mash watched you the entire time you walked out the door.

The next day, you didn’t show up to school.

At first, no one thought much of it. But by midday, whispers started. Even Rayne seemed mildly concerned, casually asking if anyone knew where you were.

But Mash knew something was wrong.

Because when he woke up that morning, the first thing he did was check his front porch—where he had left the empty cake box after finishing the last slice.

It was gone.

Someone had taken it.

And now, you were missing.

Where were you?

The world was spinning. Your body ached, your skin burned, and every breath you took sent sharp pains through your ribs.

It hadn’t been a fair fight—far from it.

Your old "friends" hadn’t come after you themselves, no. They were too cowardly for that. Instead, they had hired someone else—someone stronger, someone ruthless—to make sure you stayed down.

And they had done their job well.

You barely remembered how it ended. All you knew was that your body couldn't take any more, and at some point, you had collapsed against a wall, waiting for the pain to swallow you whole.

You barely registered the faint sound of bones breaking or the low, terrifyingly calm voice that followed.

"You shouldn't have touched them."

The first thing you feel is warmth. Next is the soft pressure of bandages wrapped around your arms, your ribs. Someone had taken care of you.

Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the lighting of the unfamiliar room. Your head feels heavy, and for a brief moment, your mind is blank. Someone was sitting next to you.

You try to speak, but your throat is dry. He notices. Before you can even think, he’s already reaching for a glass of water, pressing it into your hands.

“…Mash?” your voice is hoarse. “…What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, wincing at the dull pain. Your memories are foggy—blurry figures, flashes of magic, a crushing sense of helplessness. But beyond that? Nothing.

Mash watches you carefully, his fingers tapping idly against his arm.

"You got hurt. I handled it."

You’re too tired to question it. Instead, you focus on something else.

“…Where am I?”

Mash tilts his head slightly. “My house.”

You glance down at yourself—the fresh bandages, the blanket draped over you.

"You took care of me?"

He nodded.

A thought crosses your mind, something nagging at the edges of your blank memories. Something important.

You look at him, hesitating. "…Mash. What are we?"

“We’re together.”

“…What?”

“I’m your boyfriend” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And somehow, even though your memories are gone—

You believe him.

Lemon sobbed the moment she found out.

You didn’t get it.

Why was she crying so much? Weren’t you and Mash always like this? Weren’t things normal?

She clung to your hands, wailing about how “true love prevails” and “you’re finally safe” while Finn awkwardly patted her back, clearly unsure how to handle the situation.

No one in the group pushed further.

You weren’t sure if it was because of your injuries or something else, but he barely let you out of his sight. If you walked, he was right beside you. If you sat down, he positioned himself strategically—either next to you or across from you, always watching, always ready.

You were just about to take a bite when Mash suddenly—without a word—took the food right out of your hands.

He inspected it. Took a bite. Chewed.

“…Too sweet.”

Then, he grabbed another piece from your tray. Ate that too.

“…Too spicy.”

Then another.

“…Too bitter.”

By the time he was done testing everything, you were left staring at your now-half-empty plate, completely baffled.

“Mash,” you deadpanned. “You ate most of my lunch.”

He blinked at you. “I was making sure it was okay.”

“…You didn’t have to eat all of it.”

“…I’ll get you more.”

And then, without hesitation, he stood up and walked off—probably to find something “safer” for you to eat.

You sighed, rubbing your temples as Lemon giggled beside you. “He’s so attentive!” she swooned. “Taking care of his beloved like a true gentleman!”

You weren’t sure about that, but you didn’t argue.

You thought Mash being overly cautious was limited to food.

You were wrong.

While walking through campus, Mash suddenly spawned over, his muscles tensing as he stared at something in the distance.

Then—without warning—he picked up a rock and chucked it.

The entire group turned, just in time to see a now flattened stone that had been in your path.

Mash nodded to himself, satisfied, before continuing to walk like nothing happened.

“…Mash,” you finally said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“…It was just a rock.”

“It was in your way.”

Lemon whispered, “He’s so in love.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that.

----

You weren’t content with just not knowing.

There were gaps in your mind, blank spaces where memories should be. And it wasn’t just frustrating—it was unnerving. Every time you tried to grasp at the edges of something important, it slipped through your fingers like sand.

So, you did what any rational person would do.

You started digging.

Asking around. Looking through old notes, trying to see if anything sparked recognition.

But for some reason—every single time you got close—Mash was there.

Sometimes, he’d distract you—offering you more sweets, pulling you into his usual nonsense, finding ways to keep you occupied. Other times, it was more direct.

Like the time he just… picked you up and walked away when you asked Lemon too many questions.

Or the time you almost found your old diary, only for it to mysteriously vanish.

And then, there was the worst one—

You had been talking to Rayne.

It was a casual conversation at first, but then, you asked.

“Do you know what happened to me before I lost my memory?”

Rayne had gone silent. His gaze flickered over your shoulder, and when you turned—

Mash was already there.

“…Come on” he said, voice as steady as ever. “You need to eat.”

Rayne didn’t say anything, only watching as Mash practically dragged you away.

---

Finn wasn’t expecting to walk into this.

It was a normal day—nothing out of the ordinary. But when he turned the corner, he saw Mash standing there, gripping the edge of a table so tightly it looked like he might break it.

“Uh. Mash?”

Mash didn’t respond.

Finn frowned, stepping closer. “Mash, what’s wrong?”

No response, just that stupid blank stare, but there was something off about it. Something shaking beneath the surface.

Finn had known Mash for a while now.

Whatever it was—

It had to do with you.

So, he sighed, scratching the back of his head before offering a small, reassuring smile.

“Whatever’s going on” he said, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Mash finally moved—his grip loosening just slightly. He looked at Finn.

“You’re Mash Burnedead. You don’t lose, right?”

A long pause.

Then, finally—Mash nodded.

-----

Dot was hiding.

It was rare to see him so quiet, so serious. But today, he was focused.

A thick branch in his hands, his grip tight. He crouched near the hallway, waiting—watching.

Then, the moment you walked by—he swung the thing to your head.

Or at least, that was the plan.

Because before the branch could even come close to hitting you, a strong hand caught it mid-air.

You turned just in time to see the silent battle of wills taking place.

“…Mash?” You tilted your head. “Dot?”

Neither answered.

Mash’s grip on the branch tightened, cracking the wood slightly. Dot gulped. Sensing that things were about to get messy, you quickly grabbed Mash’s sleeve and pulled him away.

The moment you turned the corner toward the classroom—

You tripped.

Your foot slipped against the wet floor, your balance completely thrown off. You hit the ground hard. The world blurred for a moment, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Voices echoed distantly, panicked, but you couldn’t make out the words.

Everything faded.

You woke up later on, trying to piece together what had happened. But the moment you tried to think back—

Nothing.

Just an empty, hollow void where your memories should be.

You frowned, struggling to sit up. Around you, the group stood in silence—Lance, Dot, Finn, Lemon, and even Rayne to your surprise.

Before you could even question it, the door suddenly slammed open.

He grabbed Dot, then Lance, then Finn, shoving them forward.

“Outside”

Lemon and Rayne exchanged glances but didn’t intervene.

“…What just happened?”

Lemon sighed, shaking her head.

Everything was normal.

Or at least, it was supposed to be.

You went about your day, chatting with Rayne, ignoring the lingering stares from the group. They didn’t say anything about yesterday, didn’t mention the fight Mash had with them outside.

You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

But then—

Mash said something.

It wasn’t even anything big. Just an offhand comment, a simple remark about something only your past self would remember.

Your memories came flooding back out of nowhere.

It hit like a whiplash. Images, emotions, voices all crashing into you at once. The truth you had lost—the reason you had forgotten.

You didn’t even know why you were mad.

But you were.

It wasn’t like he hurt you. It wasn’t like he lied outright.

But he had kept it from you. Had stopped you every step of the way. Had taken advantage of your missing memories just to keep you his.

And right now?

You didn’t want to see him.

Didn’t want to talk to him.

Didn’t want to even look at him.

----

Mash wasn’t good with words.

But he was good at trying.

His first attempt? A written apology.

While you were in class, he stood outside the window, holding up a piece of paper with the words: "I’m sorry."

It would’ve been somewhat effective if he hadn’t written it on a tiny piece of paper that was hard to read from a distance.

Rayne, sitting beside you- just because you asked him to and surely you'll pay him with something else, glanced at it, then at you.

“…Are you really going to let him stand there looking like that?”

You didn’t answer.

The second attempt? Rock arrangements.

You walked outside to find a series of carefully placed stones, spelling out: "I messed up."

Then, underneath it, in slightly smaller rocks: "I’ll fix it."

You huffed, crossing your arms.

Rayne just sighed beside you. “At least he’s consistent.”

And finally—his third attempt?

It was just him.

From afar.

Because you wouldn’t let him near you. Wouldn’t let him explain, wouldn’t let him talk his way back in.

So, instead, he stayed back. Watching.

You weren’t expecting anything strange to happen that night.

You were at home, settling in, finally getting some peace after everything. The last thing you expected was to turn around and—

Mash was inside your house.

You barely held in a scream. Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.

“What the hell—?!” You gasped, stumbling back. “How did you—?”

“I walked in.”

“What do you mean you walked in?!”

“The door was locked, so I broke it.”

You rubbed your temples, inhaling sharply. “Mash, you can’t just—sneak into someone’s house like this.”

“I came to apologize.”

“You—” You sighed, exasperated. “That’s not how apologies work.”

“…Fine” he said. “If you won’t forgive me, then I’ll handle your old friends for causing the accident.”

“And then,” Mash continued, “I’ll leave school.”

He said it so simply. Like it was a decision he had already made.

You didn’t want that.

Not because you weren’t still mad. Not because he didn’t deserve to apologize properly.

But because you knew him.

You knew exactly what he was capable of when he was serious.

“…Mash” you said “you don’t have to do that.”

“But they hurt you.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, “but you don’t have to fix everything on your own.”

“All you had to do was ask” you muttered, sighing. “Not—decide what our relationship is without asking me first.”

“…I’m sorry.”

You let out a slow breath. “Alright. Guess I shouldn't be mad at you anymore.”

And just like that, the tension eased.

But what you didn’t know—

Was that Mash had already handled your old friends.

Before coming here.

By the time you had started to forgive him, by the time you had calmed down—

There was no one left to hurt you again.

#yandere x reader #yandere #mash burnedead #mash x reader #mashle

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universal-casey · 14 hours ago

Text

Act 1: Soviet

Read it on AO3!

1876

“Your Royal Highness, there’s—er—something in your garden we believe you may want to see.”

The Imperial Russian Empire, more often referred to by his equals as Russian Empire, and oft shortened to “RE” when being written about, sat up in his chair. His book was set down to the side table, gently and delicately.

Though, the look on his face was anything but delicate.

“If the potato bugs are eating at the potatoes again, you have permission to spray them. I’ve already given those orders, and I do not need to constantly be reminded of how pesticides work!” Russian Empire snapped.

For the past few weeks, the earth had been rumbling and making those within the palace walls of RE nervous. Rumors floated around of quicksand. Whispers of diamonds sprouting from the earth around the palace were commonplace. One man even claimed to have discovered a small, femur-shaped gem, only to have dropped it and lost it among RE’s peonies.

That hadn’t bothered Russian Empire. The earth was always active, doing strange things. What did bother him, however, was the rumor that something was going to be born.

Just to confirm his own fears, the guard nervously wrung his hands together, “It’s not– It’s not potato bugs, your Highness. It’s a baby. Earthborn, like yourself.”

---

“Earthborn” was certainly the term. A baby was nestled amongst the remains of Russian Empire’s peony garden, skin red as fresh blood and eyes the color of gold. Dirt stained the baby’s lithe body, making it look rather unappealing in RE’s eyes. His face scrunched, staring down as the baby babbled incoherently. “Well? Why hasn’t anyone picked him up and given him a bath?” his gaze turned to the small gaggle of palace staff that surrounded him.

“Oh, forgive us, your Majesty, but you know it’s not customary for humans to be the first to handle Earthborn,” a maid sheepishly replied. She avoided RE’s gaze, electing to stare at his feet.

“… Right.” RE looked back to the baby. It babbled again and reached its two little hands up toward him. How cruel the earth could be, burdening the Empire with a child with no warning. “I suppose I could be a bit more present than my own father. Someone prepare a bath. And I need a proper outfit for a baby with spindly arms. Find me a nurse maid; or – baby formula. Anything else a baby needs, too.”

He knelt, but kept his knees off the ground, and picked up the baby by its underarms. The baby’s head stayed upright and his big, gold eyes fixated on the deep, royal purple of Russian Empire’s own. RE squinted, examining the little creature all over.

The blood red body… completely solid. No break of any other color except the child’s golden eyes. It vaguely reminded him of an Empire long before his own time, Rome: or more formally known as the Roman Empire. A great Empire, Rome. His cultural impact so significant that most Europeans could trace their cultural roots to Rome directly. If this… child was meant to be RE’s son, the colors themselves told of great things to come.

Though the world had begun to settle, Countries no longer dropping like flies and rising like plumes of short-lived flame, change was clearly imminent. Perhaps RE would gain new land, and this child would oversee it. “Council… you’ll need council. So… let’s name you… Soviet, yes? No one could refuse to give council to someone named it, no?”

The baby, now known as Soviet, simply babbled in response.

“That doesn’t sound like a ‘no’ to me.”

#countryhumans #soviet america au #act one: soviet #babbling baby soviet is here and he's going to cause problems #i hope everyone likes this :)

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grim-reapers-wife · 2 days ago

Text

Interview (Loki x Reader)

Does anyone remember the Andrew Garfield interview where he said the most swoon worthy things about Emma Stone?

Here’s the link 🔗

Well that’s what inspired this!

Summary: Tony is hosting a ball of sorts for the team and he’s really going out. Fancy champagne, floor length dresses, custom suits, a red carpet entrance with paparazzi and interviewers. Loki gets asked about his relationship with you and gives a heartfelt speech.

P.S. In my first fanfic I used a fem reader but in this one I made sure I wasn’t using a specific gender. I’ll mostly do fem x characters because I’m fem, but I noticed that this one was super easy to make inclusive. All genders are welcome here! I’ll start putting a disclaimer for what gender I’m writing for. I want to be as inclusive as I can and no race is mentioned in either, I believe. Inclusivity matters so I hope I’m not targeting one audience. ❤️

____________________________________________

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

Your POV.

“Over here, over here!” The paparazzi cameras flash bright lights in my eyes. I smile and pose along the red carpet Tony had set up in preparation for his Gala.

Flash, Flash, Flash

I’m wearing the most flattering outfit and beautiful jewelry, as payed for by Tony. I pose again before getting to a calmer part of the carpet, taking a deep breath and walking.

“Over here!” An interviewer ushers me over. “How are you enjoying the carpet?” He holds the microphone out for me. “Good, good. I felt like a total celebrity out there.” I laugh a little. “And how is working with the Avengers? Do you enjoy it?” It doesn’t take much time for my answer to come. “It’s wonderful, it’s like working with all of your best friends, but instead of paper work; we’re making the world a better place.” I answer a couple more questions and head to the main event.

I walk into the building Tony has reserved for the night. The shining chandelier sparkles across the room, making everything feel even more magical. Everyone looks amazing, I see Steve chatting up Bucky at a table and Vision and Wanda chat by the dance floor. I saunter over to the bar and grab a drink before heading to my friends.

Loki’s POV.

I frown at the paparazzi flashes. Midgardians are so strange about capturing moments, why not paint a portrait? I suppose this is just the way they are.

I pose for a couple of photos, per Tony’s request, then walk into a separate section of the carpet for interviews. None of the questions are of any substance until one of the interviewers peak my interest.

“How would you describe your partner? Y’all have been together for almost a year now, yes?” The interviewer hands me a device I am told will capture my voice.

“It’s wonderful, I’ve never met a person who I connect so deeply with, I especially never thought it would be a Midgardian. I’ve never met someone so amiable before. It’s like laying out in the sun on a warm day, just soaking up the sun. Like reading your favorite book, or eating your favorite food. I’m fully enamored, and truly in love.”

The interviewer brings his own sound device, which I am told is a microphone, to his lips. “Wow, I think everyone watching just fell in love!” I roll my eyes at the interviewer. “They don’t stand a chance against my love.”

I look into the building where the main event is being held and I find the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen staring back at me, and I immediately know whose they are. I smile and when I get a smile back, I know that I’ve never been more in love with another.

____________________________________________

💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚🖤💚

Congrats on making it the end!! 🎉 🍾 If you made it this far I hope you enjoyed it and if you didn’t, feel free to leave KIND constructive feedback. I’ll always be open to tips and recommendations. Per usual don’t mind any grammatical errors! I’m definitely just doing this for fun. Thanks for reading!

#loki fanfction #loki fanfic #loki fic #mcu loki #marvel loki #loki mcu #loki marvel #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fandom #loki #loki laufeyson #interview #in love #mcu #gala

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ddoralaexplorer · 2 days ago

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Eclipsed by You ~ A Paul Lahote story

A/N: Its definitely shorter than other parts. I've been super busy and under the weather lately but I hope you guys enjoy this short Chapter! Better buckle up too, its getting even better later on.

Chapter Thirteen ~ Tipping the Scale

Pauls POV

I let it happen again. I lost her.

My anger got the best of me, and now she’s gone. It’s been twenty-four hours—twenty-four agonizing hours—and no one has seen her. She was there. I was there. And then, just like that, she vanished. As if she had never been real, as if she were nothing more than a ghost.

Where the hell is Vesper?

If that redheaded leech so much as lays a finger on her—God.

How could I have been so reckless? How could I have walked away?

“Edward, we need to find my sister!” Bella’s frantic voice rang through the Cullens’ house, thick with panic. She was on the verge of breaking, and I wasn’t far behind her.

I never thought I’d find myself here, in the home of bloodsuckers, but for Vesper? I’d be anywhere. I’d do anything.

“Fuck!” I shot up from my seat, pacing, fists clenched so tightly my nails nearly broke skin. My body trembled with rage, with helplessness. I wanted to hurt something—myself, anything—to drown out the gnawing, gut-wrenching guilt eating me alive. I let this happen. I walked away. And now she was gone.

“Paul! Paul!” Sam’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding. He was trying to pull me back, to keep me from slipping into the very thing I couldn’t control. His hands gripped my shoulders, a silent warning.

But it was useless.

The Cullens hadn’t seen the worst of me yet. Not even close. And if we didn’t find her soon, they were about to.

No one has ever meant this much to me. No one has ever made me feel the way she does.

I love her.

I didn’t realize how badly until now — until she was gone. The thought of never seeing her again claws at my chest, twisting tighter with every second that passes. My heart aches, fractured so deeply it feels like it’s barely holding together. Each breath comes short and sharp, like my lungs can’t expand enough to keep me standing.

I need to find her. I can’t think, I can’t focus — all I know is that I have to get her back. Because if I don’t…

I won’t survive it.

Even as I teeter on the edge of breaking, I force it down — for Vesper’s sake. Falling apart won’t bring her back. Moping won’t find her.

“Alice,” I snap, turning to the short-haired girl beside the leech who looks like he’s in pain —Jasper, I think. “You have that weird future-seeing thing, right?” I remember Vesper mentioning it once, like it was just another strange quirk in this twisted world.

“She won’t see anything past you mutts,” Rosalie cuts in, her tone cold and sharp.

I spin toward her, my body tightening, heat searing beneath my skin. Sam’s hand presses firmly against my chest, a silent warning. Before I can snap, Carlisle gives Rosalie a pointed look, silencing her.

“I’m sorry,” Alice says softly, her voice tinged with genuine regret. “I’ve tried… but I can’t see anything.”

My jaw tightens as I clench my fists so hard they tremble. Anger coils in my gut — anger at her, at myself, at the world — but mostly at the fact that I’m powerless.

And Vesper doesn’t have time for me to be powerless.

“I’m going back,” I say, my voice rough and strained. “Back to where I last smelled her scent. Maybe... maybe that’ll help.” It’s a thin thread of hope — barely there — but it’s all I’ve got.

“Paul, you’re on to something,” Edward chimes in, his voice steadier than mine. He’s leaning against the wall, hands tucked in his pockets like he’s calm — but I can see it. The tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes flicker with something that mirrors my own desperation. “Maybe if we can pick up a trail…”

I nod, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat.

It’s a long shot — but right now, it’s the only shot we’ve got. And no matter what it takes, I won’t stop until I find her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes wandered over the creek that divided our territories, the cold air biting against my skin. The memory of the last time I saw her face flickered in my mind, her voice — all of it clashing with the crushing reality that she was gone. A chill crawled down my spine, stronger than the wind.

I walked along the water’s edge, my boots crunching against damp leaves and scattered twigs. Then something caught my eye — a faint glimmer on the ground.

I knelt down, fingers curling around the delicate chain. My breath hitched as I realized what it was — the necklace I’d given her on her birthday. I could still remember the way her face lit up when she opened the box, how she’d run her fingers over the pendant like it was something precious.

That memory... it was engraved in my head — warm, perfect, and now painfully distant.

I swallowed hard and slid the necklace into my pocket, clenching it in my fist like holding on to it might somehow keep her closer.

“I found a scent!” Emmett’s voice rang out in the distance, sharp and urgent.

My heart kicked against my ribs as I shot to my feet.

Please, I begged silently, let this lead to her.

Emmett had found a bloody handprint smeared across the bark of a tree, stark and crimson against the pale wood. My blood turned ice-cold at the sight.

“You don’t think it’s Ve—” Bella’s voice faltered, her breath catching like she couldn’t say it out loud. Like saying it would make it real.

“It’s not,” I cut her off, my voice rough and sharp. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. It Cant be.

But the metallic scent clung to the air, making my stomach twist. My fingers curled into fists as I stared at the dried blood trailing deeper into the woods. My pulse thundered in my ears.

“I’m going to kill that redheaded leech,” I snarled, barely able to contain the fire burning beneath my skin. My muscles trembled, the heat crawling dangerously close to the surface.

I pushed forward, following the blood-stained path like a predator locked on its prey. Bella surprised me by keeping up, her breath ragged but her pace relentless.

Desperation fueled her — the same desperation clawing at my chest. She wanted to find her sister just as badly as I did.

And if that blood belonged to Vesper...

I didn’t let myself finish the thought. I couldn’t. All I knew was that I wouldn’t stop until I found her — no matter what it took.

The day was beginning to wind down, the sun bleeding into the horizon with streaks of orange and gold. Shadows stretched across the ground, swallowing the forest in creeping darkness. The air turned colder, the chill biting at my skin — but I didn’t care. Nothing was going to stop me.

I was dedicated — no, driven — to getting my girl back in one piece.

The woods felt different at night. The silence wasn’t calm; it was heavy, unsettling. Every rustling leaf and distant snap of a branch put me on edge. The air clung thick with tension, as if the trees themselves knew something terrible had happened.

But I wasn’t afraid of the dark, or whatever might be lurking out here. The only thing that scared me was what I was holding back — the way my wolf was clawing at my insides, threatening to break free.

I couldn’t let that happen — not now. Not with Bella and the others counting on me to keep it together. They couldn’t see how badly this was tearing me apart. How losing her — even for a moment — made my chest feel like it was caving in.

I kept moving, pushing down the burn beneath my skin. Because right now, none of that mattered.

“Shit!” I roared, my voice breaking as the trail we’d been following came to a sudden, bitter end. The blood, the scent — it all stopped here. A dead end.

That leech had played us — played me.

I staggered back, the weight of it all hitting me like a punch to the gut. My legs gave out, and I dropped to the ground, barely feeling the dirt beneath me. The pain I’d been choking down — the helplessness — finally broke free, tearing me apart from the inside out.

I swore to protect her. I promised her. And I’d failed.

My arms locked around my knees, my head falling between them as I tried to hold myself together. But I couldn’t. The ache hollowed me out, and before I knew it, the sobs were breaking free — raw and guttural. I couldn’t stop them.

For the first time, I didn’t care who saw me like this. Didn’t care that I was crumbling right in front of them.

Bella moved beside me, her hand resting on my shoulder — firm, steady, and warm. She didn’t say anything at first, but her silence spoke volumes. She knew. She knew how bad this was — how much Vesper meant to me.

When I lifted my head just enough to look at her, I saw the tears clinging to her lashes. She was breaking too — breaking for her sister. For me.

“We’re gonna find her,” she whispered, her voice shaky but determined. “We have to.”

I swallowed hard, forcing down the next sob. I couldn’t speak — couldn’t even nod — but Bella’s hand stayed on my shoulder, grounding me just enough to remember that giving up wasn’t an option.

“What does she want with Vesper?” Bella’s voice broke the silence, shaky but demanding. She turned sharply toward the Cullens, her face pale and tight with fear.

“It’s me she’s after,” Bella choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze dropped to the floor, like saying it out loud made the truth even heavier.

I clenched my jaw, trying to tune out the panic threatening to take over. But she was right — none of this made sense. Victoria had been hunting Bella — we all knew that. So why change the plan now? Why go after Vesper instead?

My mind raced, every memory of that night playing back like a broken reel. What happened between Victoria and Vesper in that brief encounter?

Had Vesper done something — said something — that changed Victoria’s mind? Or was this all just a twisted game, one designed to hurt Bella in the worst way possible?

None of it added up, and the unknown gnawed at me.

“She shouldn’t have been dragged into this,” I muttered bitterly, barely realizing I’d spoken out loud. My hands curled into fists, nails digging into my palms.

“She’s strong,” Bella whispered, her voice thin but firm. “Vesper’s stronger than people think.”

I swallowed hard, wanting to believe that. Needing to believe that.

But the image of that bloody handprint flashed in my mind again, and my chest tightened like a vice.

Wherever Vesper was, I just hoped she was still fighting to hold on. Because I sure as hell wasn’t giving up on her.

#paul lahote x reader #twilight #fanfic #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #jacob black #edward cullen #bella swan #jasper hale #rosalie hale

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fifiistar · 2 days ago

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Narcissa Malfoy (Queen of Subtly)

“I don’t plan to get in his way,” Harry said like a formality, something he wasn’t even sure she believed. Was that what she wanted to hear? That he’d tread lightly, that he’d keep his distance? He wasn’t here to uproot Malfoy’s life—just to make sure Malfoy still fucking had one two weeks from now.

“No?” Narcissa asked, her head tilting. There was a strange glint in her eyes.

“I don’t want to make him feel like I’m intruding on his space.”

Which was a lie.

Because fuck if Harry actually cared about that.

If it came down to it, he’d shove his way into Malfoy’s damaged little world, splintering doors off their hinges, tearing through whatever pathetic barricades he’d built, clawing him back from the ledge with his bare hands if he had to—nails digging into flesh, blood slicking his grip, bone grinding against bone as he wrestled him out of Death’s grip and forced him to stay put. If Malfoy wanted to disappear, then he’d have to do it with Harry’s teeth in his throat and his name torn from his lips like a curse.

Narcissa gave a polite, knowing nod, but the way she tapped a single finger against the rim of her cup told him she had already decided otherwise. "Of course. I don’t expect anything else."

There was something in her tone just a shade too neutral, too agreeable, and Harry narrowed his eyes. He had played this game before—with Malfoy, mostly, in classrooms and hallways. He exhaled through his nose, half-amused, half-wary. "You say that, but I feel like you mean something else entirely."

"Do I?"

“Don’t you?”

Narcissa let out a quiet, elegant hum that might have almost passed for agreement. "I am merely allowing you to do as you see fit, Mister Potter. If that means working quietly in the Manor, keeping to yourself, I certainly will not interfere."

“And if it doesn’t?"

Narcissa met his gaze with something like amusement, just shy of expectation. "Then I won’t interfere with that either."

Harry huffed a quiet, disbelieving laugh. "You—” he shook his head, smiling. “I see where Malfoy gets it now. I always assumed it was Lucius.”

Narcissa only smiled against the rim of her teacup as she took another sip.

“Lucius,” she murmured fondly, “could not outmaneuver a strong breeze, let alone a conversation.” She set her cup down with the kind of grace that felt like a Renaissance painting come to life. “My husband was many things, Mister Potter. But subtle? No. That was never his gift.”

“That explains a lot, actually.”

“Yes, I imagine it does.”

The corners of Harry’s mouth lifted before he could stop himself. He liked this. Liked the subtle push-and-pull of it, the way Narcissa spoke in carefully layered meanings, each word an invitation rather than an answer, letting him piece things together on his own.

She could have accepted his offer with nothing more than a polite nod, kept their conversations clipped and perfunctory, a matter of repayment and nothing more. Instead, there was something considered in the way she engaged him, just shy of warmth as if she was offering him a seat at a table he hadnt realized he wanted to sit at.

Was it entirely absurd that Harry wanted that seat?

#ao3 #ao3 fanfic #archive of our own #fanfic #draco malfoy #drarry #harry potter #fanfiction #drarry fic #narcissa black #narcissa malfoy #draco fanfiction #Narcissa and Harry #found family #slow burn #enemies to lovers #time travel

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frostbitepandaaaaa · 2 days ago

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Hi! CANNONVERSE SCRAPS sounds.... intriguing :D

ahhh hi annis!! thank you so much for the ask! 💕

so i made an error in including that doc because now most of what is contained there has been published, either via my one-shot series Pulsar or my various fics i did for rebelcaptain appreciation week! so have something completely different instead! this is from chapter 2 of Aphelion. i am still working on that one, i swear.

“I need to get off planet.”

She scoffs. “I don’t blame you, but why?”

He swallows, the strange, suffusive heat under his breast swelling, making it hard to breathe. “My partner… the co-lead on the mission on Scarif. We— she’s supposed to be dead, too.”

Vel steps closer to him, looks intently at him under a furrowed brow. “But you don’t think she is.”

He shrugs, indicates the situation at large with a helpless little sweep of his arm. “I’m here.”

“Fair enough,” she agrees begrudgingly. She crosses her arms. “But why is she not here with you? Wouldn’t she also be on Ferrix?”

“She’s not here.”

Vel closes her eyes for a beat, as if gathering the last vestiges of her patience. “You want to find her.”

“Yes.” His voice cracks and he looks down at his hands.

“There you are again: sentimental.”

He chuffs, grins at her, a touch sadly. “You know it was my only flaw. Worked in your favor a time or four.”

Vel purses her lips, fighting a smile. Cassian feels victorious in getting even that much out of her. “How are you so sure she survived?”

“I just know.”

“That Andor instinct.”

He inclines his head, frowns. “You could say that.”

“Do you even know where she is?”

He shakes his head. Vel barks out a laugh. “This is fucking insane. Even for you.”

“I think… I might have an idea of where she might be,” he elaborates, a bit hasty. He really, truly did _not_, but all he needed was some _time_. Some time to think. To research. “I’ll need a datapad too… access to the holonet.”

Vel barks a dry laugh, throws her hands out in indignation. “Anything else?”

“Can you help me or not?”

Vel shakes her head and _finally_ settles down on the stool next to his bed. “We have our own shit going on, you know.”

Cassian doesn’t know what to say to that. Of course they would. That’s why her and Cinta are here. To keep an eye on things. To keep an eye on the town that had helped birth an entire rebellion. Things were always stirring on Ferrix, and the Alliance would want to know about it— even down to mundane union meetings and the like.

But he can’t help but feel a bit selfish. A bit like this is more important. That finding Jyn is more important.

And that’s a thought he doesn’t know how to reconcile right now.

Vel takes his silence as defeat, and perhaps takes pity on him, too, because she sighs, softens. “Getting off world in a surreptitious way is even trickier than getting you bacta… but it can be done. As for the datapad… that shouldn’t be a problem.” She shakes her head, squints at him in clear confusion. “Why? Why do this? It seems like a lot of risk… even for you.”

“Wouldn’t you do it for Cinta?” he counters without thinking.

Vel gives him an incredulous look and Cassian can hear his heart pound in his ears. “So it’s like that, huh?”

“No,” Cassian answers slowly, voice hoarse and low. He swallows. “But it could be.”

I’m selfishly tagging @chipthekeeper here because i need her Vel-approval

#ask game #wips #my writing #aphelion #rebelcaptain #frost has mail #annisthree

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the-stove-is-divorced · 2 days ago

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Absolutely correct. Still issues that I will chew on aggressively, but sobbing in the streets to have fun with this show again.

But seriously! The world shouldn’t be flat! I understand it’s budget thing, but like, people existing now and before is still baffling? Especially for something as destructive as Invici-War! Agony!

And honestly you’re speaking the truth, focusing on a character when it should be character focused ANYWAY, but then hiding only to see the ruined world would be so good! Instant shock at the utter destruction! I’d even argue we can get back some of s1’s mystery/horror mood with this, if we don’t get see our Mark ever until the very end! Except instead of guarding an already protected location because they pissed me off SO BAD MARK SHOULD NOT DO THAT, he’s out there fighting. And we don’t see what that looks like.

Like, imagine they hear a thud outside the GDA’s walls. The fight was supposed to be over, but what if one lingers? An agent reports a wall’s been destroyed on an upper level. Broken, glitchy cameras reveal a bloody, battered Invincible floating ominously through the halls looking for SOMETHING. It finds the door. Them. It wretches it open with ease. They brace themselves to fight for their fucking lives. And I it emerges, bloody, lens and mask torn, but it’s their Mark. Who dealt with the others outside. If we established an anti-kill Mark from the get go, then comes questions: he HAD to have killed them, no? He must have, right. Is this is Our Mark, even? One would hope so, but it creates some lingering unease and tension against him.

Bonus if there’s fleeting clips of destruction/fight from far away, dots destroying buildings, causing earthquakes, could be Mark, could not be. I am again dying in the hill he SHOULD kill them, but I will gladly enjoy him denying it counts at killing. Or avoiding the subject altogether. Vague about what he did and had to do. Doesn’t wanna talk about it. The destruction says one picture, and similarly Debbie, if she wanted to, could demand to see footage.

OR, OOOO, if the Cecil vs Mark confrontation happened AFTER the War, which is so juicy because it definitely validates Cecil’s point of view, not only because literally versions of Mark have shon how destruction they can be, but if we follow Debbie, William, etc, we don’t KNOW how vicious our Mark had to be to right them. But Cecil, and his “what is privacy” agency, could know exactly how terrifying violent Mark can be, again, not only because that’s literally him, but you almost forget that he’s the “good” one. Intensified if Mark is trying to be anti-kill, getting on Cecil’s case even, and when they argue, Cecil pulls up this footage. And Mark has to confront his anti-kill thing isn’t holding, when he’s trying to cling to the idea it is? The people who didn’t see may still question Mark, or react like Debbie, doubling down her son didn’t do anything, while other heroes are kinda hesitant.

Conquest is like that and I love it so dearly, he’s everything to me rn. Unhinged freak. Delighted they added the speech, elevated himmmmmmm. Though the kitten thing was strange? Raised my eyebrows at that? Why do you know what that is? Here? And truly, a very present narrative like I feel like the only time there’s an acknowledgment other places exist is just to see it being destroyed? If that? Can we acknowledge other places, other people? Like, it’d be one thing if Viltrumite + Human anatomy was similar enough he made an accurate heart and crushed it, but the symbolic heart was odd??? Why do you know what that is?

Just saw the post now, but heavy heavy heavy agree. It spits in the face out what it’s trying to even set up! What the fuck! If Mark’s kills only count when he’s being used as a bat, they don’t count. LITERALLY, destroys what they just worked to build. What is the point. I feel like seeing a child building a tower only to smack it down again. But I’m supposed to be blind to the fact they smacked it down, as if they didn’t commit to doing exactly that, consistently. Why doesn’t he do anything that matters? How is he our protagonist and nothing he does really impacts the world? What the hell????

Also, it RLLY IS STUPID. I’d think they’d like separate Conquest’s brain from his body and upload his intelligence to strip information from him, as some handwavy scientific bullshit of extreme interrogation, but KEEPING HIM ALIVE??? Yall are gonna die. You KNOW Nolan ate up a laser. Your “strongest” hero almost died. Also Conquest literally SAYS he doesn’t care about giving a speech! He is here to FIGHT and nothing BUT FIGHT. It’s so stupid???? Him being the Amanda Walker/Batman of potential ruthlessness and paranoia respectively kinda falls flat for me when he does shit like this, and I’m supposed to take it 100% seriously like he didn’t just put atomic bomb in the basement. Like even calling Mark strong is dumb, when he’s SHOWN to LOSE.

Again, it’s TELLING me one thing but doing another????

And exactly? That kind of despair makes sense for s1 NOT S3????????? Especially since this Nolan’s fault????? Why can’t she be angry at him? Why isn’t ANYONE livid with him? I understand why Mark is, BUT WHY IS EVERYBODY ELSE? Feels like Forgive Nolan propaganda LOL.

I know you’d enjoy Oliver getting punched LMAO, but exactly, his lack of ANY reaction is fucking insane. He’s what? 4 going on 12 years old? He should be SLAMMED by the concept of his own mortality. AS DID MARK IN S1. HELLO? Even if he denies it, or can’t comprehend it, he should be dealing with how terrifying this kind of work is, JUST LIKE MARK. It feels more and more s1 was luck, like??? HUH? Oliver literally has a higher kill count, and now he’s about kill bank robbers, like the fuck? He should NOT have said that. Just have him say he’s gonna take this sort of thing more seriously, and Oliver ASSUMES he can do the same.

Rae crying herself, back to weirdly isolating characters? AND YEAH, WHERE’S REX LAST WORDS? This episode made me hate Rudy, no dude, you do not get to STEAL SOMEONE’S FACE AND SKIN, to be a LITTLE BOY, when you could have figured out how to make her GROWN, and building your OWN kind of body. Fuck their annoying ass romance. Bro literally stole Rex’s IDENTITY. HOW IS NO ONE MAD? PISSED? THAT’S SPITTING ON WHO REX WAS, NO? Are you not replacing him, so cruelly? Fuck Rex apparently! Did you low-key hate him? Never care about him? ‘Cause these actions are INSANE. Were you WAITING to still his name this whole time? IS THIS NOT DIABOLICAL? HOW IS RAE NOT FURIOUS ABOUT THAT, TOO, ACTUALLY? EVE? E

AND OKAY THANK YOU, I’M NOT CRAZY. Not even being with Paul is something ABOUT HER. DAMN. SHE CAN’T HAVE ANYTHING. WHYY IS HE HEREEEEEE? WHY IS SHE CODDLING HIM? Where is my wine bottle throwing Debbie? Seriously, like this is soooooo annnoyingggggg, why can’t she be a personnnnn, why is her worth and interest always towards a mannnnnnnn, why does she stop being a person in a relationshippppppp. I lose my shit thinking about how Eve does have shit going on, but when she’s with Mark, she feels like Listening Girlfriend suddenly. I’m glad she’s a good hero but there should be more with her ??? Like she didn’t tell Mark about god-mode? GOOD. Let her lie, keep secrets, have flawssssss. Let her lash out because of her parents. Let her struggle to be open while Mark clings to comfort, idk????

I cannot remember if I said so but ace-aro as hell and in general violently disinterested In romance because I cannot Get It. I stray away from the genre, but when it’s in Action or Horror or Thriller, I’m squinting because, really, why CAN’T you articulate why you like them? Why do you like them? What specifically is happening here and why do you care this much. I enjoyed Aggretusko, but the end game ship made me bash my head into the wall, when the ML cannot EXPRESS why he even liked her, when it seemed he barely knew her! She also changed as a person! WHO DO YOU LIKE? YOUR FANTASY? OF WHAT?????? You just START with him crushing on her while she’s out there DOING SHIT. Girl was getting involved in elections at on point, and he’s…. Mulling over… a crush… I guess. Mind you, one love interest was out here flying her out just to eat, and end-game ML was… here ig.

Seriously, save the budget and work around these kind of obstacles then! Let people be interesting! You can stop and BREATHE guys, the story NEEDS IT.

Oliver being the dark hearted one would be hilarious, like he does have a kill count LOL.

Mark agreeing to go hang out on a beach w Debbie instead of refusing and the beach is Beach City (am now officially thinking too much about this crossover lol)

The way I got caught up on our back and forth I almost forgot this, lol! AND OH MY GOODNESS, IMAGINE? I forget exactly what which point Debbie makes the beach offer, but I’d love when exactly in SU/SUF-timeline they’d go? There’s something so fucking funny to me about them going during the SUF-timeline and always narrowly missing the strange, Steven-shaped mental breakdowns in the back. I know those don’t occur in a single day, but it’s tickling me. How could they miss anything? I don’t know I just think it’s funny.

Though, post-SUF is interesting if Gems can see the similar “world on your shoulders”, Mark has going on! Steven can shunt the narrative in the Gems’ minds, which I think is neat, if I’m not misusing the phrase since the guy’s on the road far away. Or maybe it’s just before Steven goes and they stumble into each other. I’d kinda love Pearl and Debbie interacting, honestly, if they could talk about loving someone who hurt you, hide things from you, even when you thought you knew them so deeply, and they left you to raise a child. Pearl being in a well adjusted space, and Debbie still grieving.

Honestly, the gems could help train Mark, they’re got experience and similar-ish powers in strength, sturdiness, and they can jump/run fast enough for flying to be vaguely similar enough to lecture about, I think. Or Lapis Lazulis, haha! Peridot with her trash can lid! Garnet, I’d love to see if she told Mark anything about his future in vague, well meaning advice. Or even giving relationship advice considering Amber. Or, importantly, how to convince an entire reign to end their colonizing ways, lol. Is Mark perhaps willing to start a war, take advantage of being related to any leaders, or fake his own death to varying results?

In general, there’s something so fucking funny to me about Nolan, in the sake of comparison, being Pink Diamond coded. Like OH, did an important or well respected of the colonizing empire come to earth and learn the beauty of its people and nature, including faking/lying/omitting things about his identity and background to being in, only to feel conflicted when his responsibility still remained, and he tried to free himself from them? Yikes! We’ve been through that before! Like gimme Pink Diamond and Nolan outfit swap rn. This is tickling me so much oh my goodness.

#invincible chatter #eagerly awaiting more! but hope headache goes away #i was yapping lol #thinking about the scene in my head of people hiding in the gda and our!mark trying to make sure they're okay #but scaring the shit outta everybody #and the lingering hesitance of IS this mark??????#and him outright avoiding what he had to do.#while cecil is side-eying the shit outta him #give me horrible guilt ridden denialllllll...... i am once again asking for this mf to SPIRALLLLLLLLLL

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worstloki · 10 months ago

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negative connotations to Arabic phrase ‘God is Great’ incorrect. average praying Muslim does takbir (says Allahu Akbar) a minimum 95 times a day and should have been counted.

#minimum #like MIMIMUM.#each day #like that’s just for the 5 prayers #only the obligatory ones it doesn’t include the additional voluntary ones most people also tend to do at some point #it doesn’t include regular use of the phrase in conversation #the phrase is literally used as an exclamation #like if you say ‘Allahu akbar my shift is over! I can go home alhumdulilah!’#like I don’t know what to tell you #western news-media connotations are so weird #you literally yell takbir to celebrate as well #saw a thing where everyone did takbir every time someone donated a huge amount to charity like brooooooooo #people be laughing so hard and getting Allahuakbar Allahuakbar out while wheezing #you score a goal? Allahu akbar alhumdulilah #this is very normal culturally transmitted info #Christian Arabs use the phrase as well like it's Arabic come on western media you’re not even trying #it’s such a joke #95 doesn't even include the 2 calls to prayer #it doesn't count people who do the extra allahu akbar (x33) after each prayer #doesn't include anything recited before bed #like. these are not uncommon things people choose to do. like...... BRO???#if you've ever seen Muslims praying in a group the person leading the prayer does the takbir out loud. that's literally how it's done #there are like 7 or 5 'Allahu akbar's in each round of prayer #you can't NOT say that part out loud it's literally THE part that has to be said out loud in each prayer #this information is very available online #you can say it before doing anything idk why it became a big deal in the west especially #it's some strange xenophobic Islamophobic normalise killings in those regions of the world mix #I’ve been getting recommended so many Arabic anime edits idk what to tell you #call everyone habibi it’s good for you #one of the most popular world languages fr

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hxney-lemcn · 4 months ago

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Kiss me Silly — Mr. Crawling, Gap, Silvair, Chopped, Hugeface, and Scarletella x gn! reader

summery: kisses with some of the Homicipher boys.

tw: slight unrequited feelings (I mean it's in the game).

wc: 1.2k (~200 per character)

Master List

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Crawling

❥Your first kiss is confusing to say the least. Mr. Crawling doesn’t know what your talking about and you try your best to explain what a kiss is and why you do it. “We touch lip” “Only someone you many like”. He doesn’t fully understand it, but you seem to like pressing your lips together, and he honestly finds himself liking it too. Any excuse to touch you is worth it in his eyes, and he finds himself wanting to do it again and again.

❥Thankfully, Mr. Crawling is a fast learner, and kisses go from sloppy to coherent quickly. Tugging at your clothes and chirping cutely in such a way you can’t say no. Kiss his lips, his forehead, cheeks, nose, he doesn’t care, he just wants your affection and you’ve open him to a whole new world.

❥Will give you kisses in return. In fact, it’s become a fifty fifty whether you get a kiss or head pats in comfort. When I say kiss I mean forehead kisses, he just finds it so comforting. If you’re really lucky he’ll pat your head and give you a kiss.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Gap

❥No. Sorry, but Mr. Gap isn’t a fan of any kind of affection. He barely understands the concept of liking someone! Though…you are strange. He likes messing with you, grinning devilishly every time he asks for your heart. He hasn’t had this kind of entertainment for a long time. Mr. Gap can’t deny he’s curious about those magazines you read. Why do humans do such strange things with each other?

❥After enough time, his curiosity beats his apprehension, agreeing to allow you to show ONE sign of affection. Just one though, and not for long. Tries his hardest to not back away when your face inches closer, watching you wearily as you press your lips to his. It’s weird, and uncomfortable, and his cold skin feels oddly warm. Disappears the second you pull away.

❥Safe to say that kisses are far and few in between. Mr. Gap has a weird relationship with the sign of affection (or any). He feels awkward and doesn’t like how strange (vulnerable) it makes him feel, but on the other hand he has you try again, and he’s not sure why. Doesn’t want to dissect why (it’s cus you only do it with him and makes him feel special).

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Silvair

❥Hahaha. He’s confused. He doesn’t understand your strange human emotions nor your fondness. You’re his test subject, and he takes some time to ponder over your offer. His scientist mindset takes over, thinks of the whole situation like a test. Sorry :/

❥Doesn’t move when you kiss him. To be fair he doesn’t know what a kiss entails, lets you take the lead. He’s confused when you pull away with a frown, your nerves clear.,,interesting. Notes the way you act in a file in his mind to go through later, your mannerisms are just the most intriguing. You have to teach him how to kiss first, he’s willing to go along with your whims as long as you don’t expect too much from the interaction.

❥Strangly, over time he finds himself expecting your affections. Cheek kisses, lip kisses, its an odd slice of domecity. He comes back from his research and you’ll greet him with a small kiss. If you forget he gets a strange hollow feeling…very strange. Will watch you until you realize he’s waiting for a greeting kiss, that nasty feeling leaving the second your warm lips land on his own. How very strange…

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Chopped

❥Looks at you weirdly. Why would you want to touch your lips to his? He doesn’t get it. Says no at first, but over time his curiosity gets the best of him. Demands that you pick him up and touch your lips together. Wants to know why you even asked. Gets a strange fluttery feeling (even though he doesn’t have a body) and finds the action oddly enticing. Demands you do it again the second you pull away, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

❥You can only kiss him on his terms, but more often than not he’s demanding you for one. Always gets a giant dopy grin afterwards, basking in your warmth. He’s on top of the world when you shower him with affection. Leave kisses all over his face. Do it. Mr. Chopped will become a giggly mess.

❥Get’s a bit insecure that he can’t kiss you without help. He wishes he could just kiss you when he wanted instead of asking you to pick him up. But those thoughts are quickly squashed when you brighten up at seeing him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. If he’s sleeping on the otherhand…don’t do it, no matter how cute he looks, he hate surprises, even if it’s just you.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Hugeface

❥Uhm…I’m sorry to say but I’m not sure this is possible. Well, it could be if you tried hard enough. Mr. Hugeface has no idea what you’re yapping on about, you have to walk him through the steps (like bringing you close enough to his face). He’s giggling to himself as he strains to see you leaning your little head closer to his bigger one.

❥Placing your lips to his is a difficult task when he finds himself grinning so widely at how cute you are. Can’t get enough of your kisses. Tries to kiss you back…at least he doesn’t accidentally eat you? Unfortunately, this sign of affection is a one way street, but hey! Mr. Hugeface can’t say no when you want to kiss him, it feels like little tickles.

❥Instead, Mr. Hugeface will pat your head with a finger (🙏 he tries his hardest to not squish you). Always coos at you, calling you cute over and over. Can you blame him? He’s so happy that a small little human is showing him affection! Sometimes he just wants to squish you! But he won’t…I swear, cus then he won’t be able to get any more kisses :(

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Mr. Scarletella

❥Oh boy. This guy… Won’t hesitate to do what you ask. Sure, he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about exactly or why you’d want to do such a thing, but who was he to question you? Leans down and watches you expectantly as your face inches closer, static thrumming inside his ears from excitement. Mr. Scarletella can’t deny how exciting it is to be so close to you.

❥Completely hooked the second your lips meet, his creepy grin spreading so wide it nearly breaks your kiss. I hope you’re happy, you now have a demon already at your beck and call ready to end the world if you promise him a kiss…well I guess he’d do that anyways if it made you happy. Notices that if he does things you like you kiss him more. Becomes a Pavlov’s dog situation.

❥As boundary breaking and homicidal as Mr. Scarletella was, he won’t kiss you first. It would be wrong, you call the shots, not him, so don’t expect him to start anything. Watches you like a demonic puppy dog when he wants a kiss (all the time). Just…be a bit careful with this newfound power, Mr. Scarletella won’t take too kindly if you deny him what he wants (just a bit of a red flag…just a bit…).

#❥ • my works #homicipher x reader #mr crawling x reader #mr gap x reader #mr chopped x reader #mr silvair x reader #mr hugeface x reader #mr scarletella x reader #mr scarletta x reader #homicipher #mr crawling #mr gap #mr silvair #mr chopped #mr hugeface #mr scarletella #mr scarletta #x reader

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urlocalmagicalcat · 2 years ago

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really long rant (happy rant) in the tags, mostly towards @synthetic-lavender /vpos

romance repulsed aros and romance favourable aros are both cool and valid but because i never see anything about us: shoutout to romance indifferent aros. romance neutral aros. aros who just couldn't care less. aros who have a conflicted relationship with romance. aros who are fine with romance in some contexts but not in others. aros who don't mind romance when it's not amatonormativity being shoved down their throats. aros who haven't yet figured out their feelings about romance. aros to whom romance is Just Something That Exists. y'all are rad as hell and it's okay not to 'pick a side'!!

#I’m an aro who is heavily indifferent about romance except for when it comes to our beloved Freya because we love her as both a friend #and as a lover.#there’s a saying we like to go by that we picked up on from one of our favorite songs #“Kiss whoever makes you feel sound but it takes time man to figure it all out”#AND WE STRONGLY STAND BY THAT.#We’ve been through so many relationships that romance isn’t really a thing anymore to us because of trauma and abuse. We only felt romance #towards two people (Freya being one of them) that it’s lowkey so numbing to us but yet we also like the idea of romance because like #you get to share your life and your life experiences with somebody you love and it’s the most amazing thing ever because it builds the bond #between you guys closer and stronger and it’s beautiful.#but yet it’s so confusing and new to us still because like. whenever we think about freya it gets so gushy and messy because we actually #love her and it’s so strange and new because she’s actually a really good person.#I tell you. Freya is literally one of the best person in the world. Freya would literally sit there and wait for you to return and would #wait for you forever and looks past the abuse and misguidance you went through with the person that abused you previously because deep down #inside she knows that’s there’s a gentle and sweet and caring being within you that wants to be let out and free.#she looks past the facades and masks you’d go through to please people and brings out the best in you. she knows that you wouldn’t act that #way and she knows that you’re equally as much as a being as she is.#she knows deep down inside that you have a huge distaste towards cursing all the time she knows that you want to help everyone and she know #that no matter what anyone tells you that your interests will always be apart of who you truly are #a childish fun-loving sweet person who just wants everyone to be okay.#she sees past all of the dirt that’s been put in my mouth and understands that what you had to do was to survive.#and god darn it. you survived. you’re still surviving.#and you can’t help but melt because all you’ve known are false loves and friendships and relationships yet this is real.#she’s real. she’s so. kind and pure. she doesn’t want any trouble or rottenness to be spread around. she just wants everyone to be happy.#like you.#not all of us are designed to be with everyone. some of us need more care and kindness than others.#and. I think Freya. is the right one for me. for us. for us as a system. but. especially for. me.#Freya reminds me of the first person that first truly loved us and I love that because Freya is better than the first person we actually ha #feelings for. They even have a similar-ish name. Felicity. Freya. both begins with F has an e within their names and has a y close to the #end of both their names.#having someone that reminds you of someone you truly loved and cared for and having someone who’s an actual good pure person is. the best.

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yanderenightmare · 5 months ago

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♡ TW: yandere, captive reader, Stockholm syndrome

♡ FEM reader

“I’m back,” he calls out softly once opening the door.

You’re already there—must have heard him drive up then padded over—standing there, wordlessly awaiting his kiss. You don’t notice it yourself, though he does, how you get up on your tippy-toes and meet him halfway. You’ve been doing it for a while now. It’s really cute. And so he doesn’t say anything on it—doesn’t want to spook the habit.

“Welcome home,” you say, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you soft and snugly against his chest—smiling at how you nuzzle into it—yet another cute thing you’ve started doing lately.

“Mh-thank you, sweetheart—feels good,” he coos into your hair, petting it smoothly while you stand there, neither of you pulling away. “What did you do today?”

You sigh and sink further into his embrace, mumbling, “Same as any other day…” almost sulkily. “Just waiting for you.”

He chuckles, “Oh, that’s not true. I saw you watching something—anything fun?”

You hum, hiding your face in his chest, mumbling into it, “Not really… just binging another franchise they decided to ruin...” You shift and look up at him, keeping your chin on his chest while grumbling, “I don’t understand why they’d reboot something just to completely disregard everything it originally stood for—and all the effects just make it look cheap.”

He can’t help but chuckle again, ruffling your hair with a fond smile. “You’re such a nerd.” He could eat you up the way you are right now, plated on a silver platter for him all so willingly. “A cute nerd, though.”

You pout, “Honestly, what’s going on out there? I barely understand anything I’m watching anymore—it’s all alien to me.”

His hug on you tightens, but you don’t flinch like you used to—even as the look in his eyes darkens along with his words. “Yeah, the world’s gone mad. You’re better off in here.”

You smile then—agreeing for once. It’s also a new and adorable habit. And then you unzip his jacket for him, helping it off his shoulders and hanging it up for him—all so naturally. Looking back at him while asking, “And how was your day?”

He smiles while beholding you—to think such a question would ever leave your lips all so domestically—it’s enough to make his chest swell. Then with an exaggerated sigh, he whines, “Absolutely horrible without you,” wrapping you up in another hug, this time from behind, nuzzling his chin into the ticklish skin of your neck—making you giggle. Arms around your front, swaying you back against him. “Every second, I was counting down ‘til when I could come home to you.”

“Is that right?” You grin at his gesture—twisting around so that you could look at him straight. Slouched as he stood, all but draping you with his taller form—eyes leveled with yours, half-mast and adoringly admiring you like his most precious thing—his sweet loving girlfriend.

You cup his face in both hands, thinking the same of him—your sweet loving boyfriend. You’re about to kiss him, but then, struck by the thought, there’s a sudden freight in your chest that follows, and you jolt back as if he’d burned you.

He stills, warm expression twisting to one of concern. “Hey—” Stepping after you with his hands laid on your forearms, giving you a small squeeze. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” You don’t know, you think. Something’s off. Something’s not right—about his touch, about your heart, about all of it. “I’m just…”

You think about it, eyes skittering over his face—did you always look at his face? Since when did he become so familiar? Since when did you walk around wanting to see it?

“I just…” the words feel all strange in your mouth, but there’s no denying there’s truth in them. “I missed you.”

His features blank at that, blinking at you. “Oh…” Then he softens—smiles with a chuckle, “Well, I’m home now, so…” His head slants, looking at you in askance as he gently brings a hand up to thumb your chin. “What’s with this pouty face?”

You bite your lip. There’s so much noise in your chest—so many conflicting feelings. You’ve begun missing him when he’s gone—when he leaves you. You’ve started wishing for his return, spending your day in wait. Since when did you start doing that?

It’s not right.

“I’m slipping,” your voice is shaken and weak, eyes welling up with thick water enough to have him look blurry—you shake your head and squeeze them shut—making the tears fall quickly. “I’m not supposed to miss you—” you cry. “That’s not right. I’m not—you’re not—”

Not your boyfriend.

“Hey, hey, sweetie. It’s okay,” he cuts your sob off with two warm hands placing themselves on your wettened cheeks, holding you tenderly. You layer yours on top of his, feeling it’s the only thing keeping you from spiraling into oblivion.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” he coos, smearing out your teardrops, making them dry. “It was gonna happen sooner or later, right?”

Your eyes peel and look at him—through the veil. His face is a comfort—though you feel strange seeing it as such, when you know, even though most of you has decided to forget, that he’s a psychotic stalker who’s kidnapped you and held you captive for what must be closing in on a year already.

“Don’t feel bad—it’s only natural,” he assures, pulling you into his chest again—both arms around you snugly with his chin on top of your head, gently rocking you from side to side. “Everything’s fine. So you’re losing your mind a little—we’ll just find something else for you to think about. Right? Is there anything you want? Anything I can get you? More clothes? Sweets? Something fun? Maybe you can take up another hobby?”

He loosens his hold to look down at you—his face warm with devout for you, with a wordless vow saying he’ll do everything, give you anything in return for your happiness.

You love him, you realize then with a shudder.

You’re in love with your crazy captor—your batshit lovesick oversweet captor who shares your bed and treats you like a spoiled pet. And it’s so fucked up—so, so very fucked up, so very fucking fucked up. But it’s true—you’re in love with him. And you have been for a while.

“What do you say?” he asks in hope.

Yet, you can’t say it out loud. No, not yet—it still feels all so wrong. But, at the same time, you don’t think there’s a need for you to put it into words for him. He’s always known you better than you have yourself, after all. And that wholesome smile on his face says it all—he already knows.

“No… I just,” you start, staring into his eyes—those full-loving eyes that look at you as if you’re the only thing of value in the whole entire world. “I just want…” It’s a scary confession—both admitting it to yourself and him. “You.”

You look down, curling your fingers into his shirt.

“I don’t need anything else.”

It’s the truth and nothing but the truth—albeit a somewhat sad truth. It’s your one wish—your only wish. You just want him—to stay, to hold you, to kiss you. You can’t even think of wanting anything else anymore.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, isn’t it?” he says, stroking your cheeks, fishing for your shy gaze—smiling once hooking it—pretty teary puppy eyes, lost and looking for directions.

Don’t worry—he’s here to help.

“Where do you want me then, sweetheart?” His lips near your forehead. “Here?” He gives it a chaste kiss, earning your sniffle, then ducks down to your neck. “Or here, maybe?” Giving that a kiss as well, this time with more behind it, sucking the skin with a soft bite.

“Or maybe…” His voice is low, and it makes your skin buzz with a desire just as dark—shivering with it as his lips ghost yours. “Here?”

You hang in his hold, leaning after it.

But he just smiles, “Tell me, sweetheart—where do you want me?”

Your lip wobbles, brows cinched as your balled fists needily pull him close—yearning for it.

“Everywhere.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Geto, Gojo, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Kuro, Oikawa, Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Reo, Nagi ♡ HxH – Chrollo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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