#things about their ship that they don’t want to

[no-144444]

confronting- o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: a confrontation in a hotel room doesn't go so well thanks to Franco's loud mouth...

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

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Entertaining the idea of dating Oscar when you knew you’d be gone at the end of the season wasn’t fair. He deserved someone who’d be there for every race, be there for him. You weren’t that person. You weren’t the person anyone should want, you just weren’t like that. 

Qatar rolled around and Oscar won the Sprint, and he was P3 in the race. You were meant to do the interviews. He knew that. That’s why he frowned when he was met with Jenson’s face at the end of the race. 

“Where’s Y/n?” he asked, not holding the microphone up to his mouth. 

Jenson smirked. “Missing her?”

Oscar nodded. 

“She’s with Franco, he was pretty upset after the crash.”

“Oh,” he nodded, and the interview began. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

It’s not like you were trying to avoid him, it was just… easier that way. And Franco really was quite shaken after the crash, so that part wasn’t a lie either. You just didn’t want to deal with all of the shit the media and people online would give the two of you. You just wanted a nice, clean break from the world of F1, and the people online who shipped you and Oscar would never let that happen. It was upsetting, because he really was a good friend to you, and you thought you were a good friend to him. Maybe it could’ve been something else, if things were different. You sat with Franco, calming him down since he was pretty upset that his second last race of the season was fucked by a silly turn-one incident. 

“What’s going on with you and that model?” you asked. He chuckled. 

“Oh my, you saw it too? It’s so embarrassing,” he sighed. “Even my mother has been asking me about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” you laughed at his reaction. “We can talk about anything you want.”

“What’s going on with you and Oscar?” he smirked and your face fell slightly. 

“Nothing,” you shook your head. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” he pried. “You two seem like more than ‘friends’ to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not. We’re just friends,” you assured him. 

Franco sat up, leaning closer to you. He was so close his breath was on your cheek, his eyes staring longingly into yours. You knew what he was doing.  “So he wouldn’t mind it if someone kissed you, no?”

You laughed, pushing him back down to his previous position of lying down. “Stop being weird. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. He shouldn’t care anyway.”

“Let’s test that,” Franco challenged. “Kiss me in front of him, and then we’ll know. I’ll ask Lando to tell me about it, they’re close, right?”

You sighed, something about it felt a little bit… manipulative. And it’s not like you were looking for Oscar to like you back, he didn’t. That’s what he’d said the last time, it was only a joke, a prank, a mistake. Which was fine with you, of course. It made sense. You couldn’t be there for him while you were supposed to be there for someone else. Someone else on his team. 

Ok, so maybe the move to Indycar isn’t just about Sky starting to cover it. Maybe, they need more European fans, and you have to go over there and sell it to them with a relationship with Pato O’Ward. Maybe McLaren is paying you a lot of money to do that. 

Just maybe though. 

“I can’t do that Franco,” you explained. “It’s not fair. And anyways, I’m kind of… seeing someone.”

“Is it Oscar?!” he questioned. You shook your head. “Lando? Lance? Zhou? Yuki? Who?” “He’s not in F1!” you giggled, watching as Franco freaked out. 

“Who is he?! You have to tell me right now!” he begged, taking your hands. 

“He’s in Indycar, that’s all I’ll tell you,” you smirked and his jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you’re leaving?!” he almost shouted. 

“No! Sky really is just branching out, but yes, it is nice that I’ll actually be able to watch his races,” you chuckled. 

“I’ll miss you,” he frowned. 

“I’ll miss you too,” you chuckled, pulling him in for a hug. “Now, I have to go do my post-race duties, so I’ll see you in Abu Dhabi, alright?”

He frowned even deeper. “Alright,” he mumbled. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me!”

You left the Williams garage with a smile on your face, very much amused by your conversation with Franco. 

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ

You pulled up to the media pen, really to meet with Jenson and Nico, your co-hosts this weekend, but they were nowhere to be seen. Regardless, you prepared yourself with the running order. 

Lance, Lando, Max, Checo, Zhou, and Fernando. That’s all you had to get through before you got on a flight to Abu Dhabi the next morning. After another few minutes of waiting, Nico and Jenson showed up, acting slightly strange. They weren't really speaking to you, only with each other. It’s not like they were excluding you, just… not asking for your input. They seemed guilty too. 

Lance, Lando, Max, and Checo were all fine, polite and out of there quickly. Oscar didn’t show up. Unsurprising, as you had been avoiding him. Zhou and Fernando went by in a flash, and you were back to your hotel by 2am. 

When you walked into your hotel, you were not expecting to see Oscar Piastri standing outside your door. 

Holy shit. You were so astronomically fucked. 

“What are you doing here?” you questioned. He turned to you. 

He cleared his throat. He’d been thinking of a response to that question since the second he’d started waiting outside for you. What was he doing? This was insane. His plan was to make you stay, but he was much too upset to talk rationally when he got the text from Franco about you seeing an Indycar driver. Honestly, it crushed him. He genuinely thought you’d liked him. “I wanted to… talk? Or something, just to gauge what the fuck is going on here,” he was getting heated, and you understood he was probably angry with you, and it’s not like he didn’t have a reason. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, opening your hotel room door and letting him inside. 

“You’re going to Indycar?” he questioned. “What the fuck?”  

You gulped, hard. “Yeah?” 

“Why?” he demanded. “What does Indycar have that F1 doesn’t? F1 is faster cars, faster drivers, more money, more races, more countries, more-”

“Oscar! Did it ever occur to you that this wasn’t my fucking choice?!” you shouted over him. Silence. “Indycar doesn’t have Sky coverage, but Europeans are interested in the sport and they need a known interviewer to go there and make it easier to sell it to people, and I got picked. That’s it.” 

“So it has nothing to do with whatever Indycar driver you’re fucking?” he scoffed. Your face fell. Your eyes fell to the hardwood floor beneath your feet. “Yeah, I know.”

Your face soured and you looked up again, offended. Who did he think he was? He had no say in your life at all. You’d hated him for 2 years, and you had no real reason to, now you had one. “I owe you nothing Oscar. I’m an adult in a consenting relationship, and yes he’s in Indycar, is that a crime?” 

“Is that why you’re going over there?” he asked, stepping closer to you. You could cut the atmosphere in the room with a knife. “Or are you running away from something here?” 

“Fuck you,” you pushed him back. This wasn't the Oscar you knew. He was different, angry, mean, and rude. You owed him nothing. “Get out.” 

He nodded, and left without another word. 

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mclaren masterlist

navigation for my blog :)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

taglist:

@anotherapollokid @chelseyyouraverageluigi @suns3treading @patis643 @trees-are-books @stressed-cherry @revrse @awenthealchemist @imdyinghelpplease @successfulgarlic81

[roronoacherries]

zoro with a bookworm s/o ♡

you can always count on zoro to listen to you ramble about a book you’ve just finished. the second you’ve closed a book and (half) collected yourself, you search the ship for him.

he never needs to hear what you’re coming to tell him; he already knows, from the pleasant urgency of your step; the smile, not on your lips, but in your eyes; the bite of your lip as you try to contain the emotions threatening to spill out of you before you’ve managed to say a word.

you don’t slow down until you’ve stopped in front of him, your hands on either side of his face as you breathe out the words, “i finished.”

“did ya?” he says softly, in feigned surprised, a brow raised as a smirk settles on his lips in admiration of his bookish lover. “tell me about it.”

he doesn’t understand it at all, your love for books and fiction. he starts to yawn a sentence into any book he opens. he’ll admit to you (and only you) that he struggles to make sense of the characters on a paper, but even if reading came easier to him the world of stories was never one he felt a want to get lost in. not unless he could hear them from you.

he’d ask you questions. he’d hate the characters you hated, and when you talked about the ones you loved, nothing could keep his eyes from you. he’d hold in a playful laugh when you cried about a character’s death, without ever making you feel silly for it.

zoro would let you talk for as long as you wanted, not once getting bored (or at least, never showing it). he’d let you sit with him, resting on his arm, when you didn’t want to read in solace; listen to you read out loud to him when there was a part you loved so much you needed him to hear it too; stretching his arm around you when you held your breath, holding in a sob as you silently struggled through a tragic chapter.

if there’s a book in particular you love more dearly than any other, he’d make a genuine effort to read it himself (and does—because if zoro sets out to do something, especially for someone he loves, you can trust he’ll get it done). it’d be without your knowing, at first, struggling through the first chapters until he couldn’t quite put it down anymore, and only telling you he’d been reading it by asking you about the foolish thing he couldn’t believe a character had been stupid enough to do.

“you’re reading this?” you’d ask, unable to help the flutter you felt in your heart.

“answer the question, y/n.”

and if your ambition is to write a novel of your own, he’d be with you every step of the way. there to listen to your ideas. there to be blunt and honest when you needed it. there to ask the questions you didn’t think of. there to keep you quiet company while you wrote, and there to force you into bed when a creative madness had you fighting to keep your head upright and your eyes open.

he’d carry you to bed, tucking you in while you mumbled about needing to get this scene right, and even if he doesn’t quite get your love of stories, he’d be ever so grateful that you are an invaluable part of his.

[inseobts]

TRAITOR pt.2

law x traitor!reader

PART 1 ⤳ PART 3

words count: 2.6k

tags: series, enemies to lover(?), traitor reader

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

It’s easy to forget you’re lying when they make it feel real.

The Heart Pirates aren’t just a crew, they’re a family. They bicker like siblings, tease each other relentlessly, and somehow, without meaning to, you’ve been pulled into it.

You should’ve kept your distance.

But how could you, when—

“Y/N! HELP!”

You barely have time to register the shout before something massive collides with you, nearly knocking you over.

“Bepo—” you gasp, struggling under the weight of the massive mink currently clinging to you “You cannot use me as a shield... what the hell is going on?”

Shachi and Penguin sprint around the corner, looking absolutely murderous. Ikkaku follows close behind, arms crossed, her glare laser-focused on Bepo.

“There you are, you traitor!” Penguin points an accusing finger at the trembling mink still latched onto you.

You blink “Okay, wow. Let’s pause. Why is Bepo a traitor?”

Shachi glares “Because someone ratted us out to the Captain.”

You sigh, already piecing it together “Did you guys try to smuggle alcohol into the infirmary again?”

“… No.”

“You so did.”

Bepo’s ears flatten, guilt all over his face “I had to tell him! He was going to find out anyway!”

“You snitch!” Shachi wails.

“You idiots,” you correct, prying Bepo off you before he suffocates you with his fluff “Why do you always try to hide stuff from Law? You know he’s just gonna find out and punish you worse.”

“It’s about the principle of it,” Penguin grumbles.

You sigh, rubbing your temples “What was the punishment?”

Shachi pouts “No dessert for a week.”

You stare “That’s it?”

“That’s everything, Y/N.”

Bepo nods solemnly “They’re suffering.”

You shake your head, barely suppressing a laugh “You guys are so dramatic.”

Ikkaku crosses her arms “You’re laughing now, but if Law ever finds out about that thing you did, you’re not getting out of it so easily.”

Your breath catches.

Just for a second.

And then you force an easy grin “Which thing? I do a lot of things.”

Ikkaku narrows her eyes playfully “The one with the—”

“Shh!” You slap a hand over her mouth “Don’t tell them, it’s supposed to be a secret!”

The others immediately light up with interest.

“Oh, now you have to tell us,” Shachi says eagerly.

“I am so telling the Captain,” Penguin teases.

Bepo nods sagely “This is karma.”

You groan, regretting everything.

Despite moments like these, you don’t forget why you’re here.

Deep beneath the Polar Tang, hidden in one of the ship’s most secure rooms, is one of the reasons you really joined this crew.

The copies of the Poneglyphs.

You don’t know how Law got his hands on them, but you do know that your real crew, the one you actually belong to, wants them.

And you’re the one who has to steal them.

The thought makes your stomach twist.

Because despite everything, despite the mission, despite knowing you’re a liar.

You don’t hate being here.

You don’t hate them.

You should’ve. It would’ve made this easier.

But you don’t.

Some weeks later you meet the Straw Hats, and you immediately know you’re in trouble.

Not because they’re enemies, or because they’re a threat.

But because of Zoro. You've met him years ago, and even if your real crew was always subtle that no one actually know them, he knows you're a well known pirate between the bounty hunters, even without a specific crew name on it.

You see it in his face the second his eye land on you. That flicker of recognition... subtle, but unmistakable.

You know that look.

It’s the look of someone who remembers you.

He just doesn’t know from where.

And that’s a problem.

“You look familiar,” he says bluntly, eyes narrowing slightly “Do I know you?”

Your mind races. A dozen different excuses flash through your head, but none of them are good enough.

So you go for the simplest, most believable one.

“You probably saw my bounty poster,” you say smoothly, forcing a grin “I’ve got a pretty face, after all.”

Shachi and Penguin snicker behind you.

Zoro eyes you for a second longer, clearly unconvinced, but Luffy claps a hand on his shoulder before he can question you further.

“Zoro, stop being weird,” Luffy says, grinning at you “She’s cool, right, Law?”

Law, who has been watching the exchange carefully, nods once. “She’s one of us.”

The words shouldn’t make your chest tighten the way they do.

But they do.

And that’s dangerous.

The Kid Pirates are even worse.

Because Kid is loud, brash, and aggressive—but he’s also smart.

And he watches you.

Not like Zoro, who’s trying to place your face. Not like Law, who looks at you like you matter.

Kid watches you like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

Like he knows something’s off about you, but he just hasn’t figured out what yet.

“You don’t fit,” he says one night, after too many drinks.

You tilt your head, keeping your expression neutral “Excuse me?”

Kid leans forward, propping his elbows on the table “You’re a little too smooth, a little too good at blending in.” He smirks. “Like you practiced.”

Your fingers tighten around your glass.

“I’ve always been good at adapting,” you say, keeping your voice casual “That’s what a good pirate does, right?”

Kid hums, unconvinced.

And you realize, with a slow sinking feeling—

He’s not going to stop watching you.

The deeper you fall into this act, the more tangled it gets.

Zoro recognizes you but doesn’t know from where.

Kid doesn’t trust you but doesn’t have proof.

Law believes in you, and that’s the worst part of it all.

Because when the truth finally comes out...

This new alliance between the three is a sign for you, a sign that it's time to make a move and get away before someone finds out who you are.

You knew the time was coming. You knew.

But now that it’s here, a sick feeling settles in your chest.

Because you don’t want to do it.

It’s not supposed to be this hard.

You’ve done this before. You’ve infiltrated crews, stolen information, betrayed captains who thought you were theirs. It’s always been simple.

Get in. Get what you need. Get out.

But this time—

This time, it’s different.

Because you’re attached.

Because when Law smirks at you in that rare, teasing way, it makes your chest tighten.

Because when the crew laughs and drags you into their stupid antics, you enjoy it.

Because when Bepo whines about missing Zou, when Shachi and Penguin bicker like children, when Ikkaku rolls her eyes at all of them...

It feels like home.

And now you have to rip it apart.

You tell yourself you’ll make it quick.

One night. One chance.

Slip into Law’s office. Get informations and the Poneglyph copies. Get out.

The submarine has weak points, small openings where the sea meets steel, barely noticeable unless you know where to look. And you do.

A quiet escape. No blood. No confrontation.

That’s the plan. Fast and easy, right?

So why does it feel like a mistake before you even start?

You wait until late, when most of the crew is asleep, their laughter from dinner still lingering in the halls.

Law is in his office, like always.

You hesitate outside the door. Just for a second. Just long enough to remind yourself—

This isn’t real. They were never yours.

You push the door open.

Law doesn’t look up immediately, focused on some report in front of him “You should be asleep.”

You smile, stepping closer “So should you.”

He exhales through his nose, amused but tired “What do you want?”

You want him to make this easy.

You want him to be cruel, to be distant, to remind you why you don’t belong here.

But he doesn’t.

He just leans back in his chair, looking at you like you matter. Like you’re his.

Your chest tightens “Just… wanted to check on you.”

A lie. A stupid, obvious lie. But Law doesn’t question it. Instead, he rubs his temple, sighing “You’re always worrying about me.”

“Someone has to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

You swallow “Why not?”

“Because…” He hesitates, fingers tapping against the desk “Because if you care too much, it’ll be harder to leave.”

Your heart stops.

For a second, you think—does he know?

But then he looks away, staring at some distant point, jaw tight.

And you realize—

He’s not talking about you, he's talking about himself.

Not you...

Himself.

Law is the one who doesn’t want you to leave.

And that’s when it hits you... He trusts you. Completely.

Even now, when you’re standing in his office, pretending to care while planning to betray him—

He still trusts you.

Something in your chest aches.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t...

But when he finally looks back at you, exhaustion clear in his golden eyes, and says “Stay a little longer”

And you do.

You sit with him. You don’t steal anything. You don’t run. You just stay.

And for the first time, you think... Maybe you don’t want to leave at all.

You keep telling yourself this is the last night.

You don’t want it to be, but you’ve known it for days now.

Law trusts you. The crew… they think you belong.

And that’s exactly why you have to leave.

Because once you’ve broken through their walls, once you’ve made them care about you, there’s no going back.

No matter how much they make you laugh. No matter how much you start to care about them.

You’re not one of them. You’re just a pirate with an agenda. A thief. A liar. And if you’re not careful, you’ll lose everything.

The night now feels different.

You slip through the ship’s corridors, the quiet hum of the Polar Tang weirdly comforting as you move.

You can hear Shachi and Penguin arguing somewhere above deck, their voices muffled through the metal walls, and it almost makes you smile. Almost.

Law is in his office again. Alone. The perfect time.

You reach for the door, your hand already knowing the cold steel of the handle. But just as you touch it, your pulse quickens—an unease settling in your gut.

Something feels… off.

You hesitate, fingers still resting against the handle. It’s nothing. You’re just overthinking.

But before you can turn the handle, you hear it—the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Quiet but sure.

Law.

You freeze for a moment and then you start casually walking towards him.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You look up at him, trying to mask the panic in your eyes “Just passing by.”

Law eyes you, a soft, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips “You know, if you keep trying to lie to me, it won’t work. I can tell when you’re lying.”

You swallow, forced to keep your face neutral, even though the tension in your chest is nearly suffocating “You don’t know me that well...”

He steps closer, not threateningly, but with a quiet sort of presence that makes your heartbeat rise “I think I know you better than you think.”

The distance between you two is closing quickly, and you feel a small, dangerous thought flutter in your mind—What if I never leave?

But you shake it off. This has to happen.

You step back, hand sliding into your coat pocket “I think I’ll take a walk. Clear my head.”

Law studies you for a moment, his golden eyes narrowing “You’re not very good at hiding things, you know that?”

You don’t know how to answer that. You don’t know how to lie when it’s getting harder and harder to look at him “I’m going to get some fresh air now”.

You’re standing at the edge of the Polar Tang, staring into the horizon. The sun is setting, painting the sky in oranges and purples.

Tonight, the mission becomes more urgent. The Straw Hats, Kid, and Law’s crew are all moving forward, and you’re running out of time. You know you have to finish what you started.

But how can you betray them?

How can you betray him?

You can’t keep pretending anymore. The lines are blurring. You’re starting to get too close, and you’re terrified of what will happen if you don’t leave soon.

The weight of it is heavy on your shoulders.

But there’s another reason you’re hesitating.

You’ve been hiding your power from them.

Law’s crew doesn’t know what you can do. And you’ve been careful to keep it that way. Because if they knew—if they saw what you could really do—things would change.

And they would fear you... they would all fear you. It happened before. When you’ve used your abilities to their full extent, it’s left a trail of broken minds and empty memories. You can make someone forget an entire conversation, erase their last few hours, manipulate their desires, twist their thoughts—it’s all within your grasp.

And once you start, you can’t stop.

You don’t want to be the monster they think you are. You don’t want them to see you as a tool for their own ends.

So you keep it hidden. You’ve been careful. But now…

Now, you’re feeling the pressure, and it’s getting harder to hide.

You’re walking back to your room, lost in thought, when you hear footsteps behind you.

It’s Law again.

He’s been following you for a while now, and you can feel his eyes on you. You don’t turn around immediately. Instead, you continue walking, your heart pounding.

“You’ve been distant lately.” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s trying to read you.

You stop, then turn to face him, trying to keep your expression neutral “I’m just tired. There’s a lot going on.”

Law’s gaze narrows. He doesn’t buy it “You’ve been acting weird ever since we got back to the island. What’s going on, y/n?”

For a moment, the weight of the situation crashes down on you. He’s too perceptive. He’s too close to figuring it out.

You take a step back, trying to distance yourself from him, both physically and emotionally “It’s nothing. I just—”

“I’m not asking you to explain everything,” Law interrupts “But if something’s wrong, you can talk to me. We’re... crewmates. I trust you.” He hesitated at that word, as if he wanted to say something else—something much deeper—that scared not only you but himself as well.

You two always had some sort of relationship that started as casual and continued that way, without really talking about your real feelings, as if it were a given.

Anyway his words hit you like a punch. You can’t breathe for a moment.

He trusts you, he likes you.

And you’ve been lying to him this whole time. You’ve been using him. Using his trust to get what you need.

But what if he’s right? What if you do need to tell him?

No. You can’t.

You can’t risk it.

You force a smile “I’m fine, really. Just… need some time to think. I’ll be okay.”

Law doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, though the worry in his eyes lingers “If you say so”

You watch him leave, feeling the weight of his words on your shoulders.

And then—just when you think you might break—you hear the voice in your mind.

It’s your old crew.

The ones who know you better than anyone else, or at least that's what you think.

It’s time. You don’t have much choice now, you have to do it NOW.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

pirate captain!sae, who kidnaps you, princess of barcha, to threaten the kingdom for gold. but what he doesn’t expect is that you actively wanted to be kidnapped because you didn’t want to marry your arranged husband, oliver aiku, who was known for being a cheater and will only see you as a baby machine.

pirate captain!sae, who lets you stay, but only for you to practically become the servant of the ship. making them food, serving them beer, cleaning, going on the islands they land at to buy them items, and even teaching some of them how to read. but you don’t mind; you have a place to sleep, things to eat, and they all treat you with respect.

pirate captain!sae, who can’t help but notice how well you get along with his crewmates. at mealtimes, he can catch you sitting at the tables and chatting away with them. smiling with isagi, laughing with bachira, and even happily talking with sae’s younger brother rin. your arguments with kaiser are always a source of entertainment for the whole crew, and sometimes, even sae can’t help but snicker quietly at your banters with kaiser.

pirate captain!sae, who catches you standing at the ship’s ledge at night. he tries to ignore the hitch in his breath and a skip of his heartbeat when you begin to converse with him. you tell him about the different islands that you want to visit, the foreign foods you want to eat, and fireworks. oh, how you always wanted to see fireworks; you were always restricted to the castle when you were still royalty after all. sae listens quietly, his eyes lingering on your soft smile and dreamy eyes as he silently promises to take you seeing fireworks someday.

pirate captain!sae, who slowly finds himself basking more and more into your presence. actively following you around whenever you’re doing your usual chores, listening to you talk during mealtimes, playing along with your stupid shenanigans, walking with you whenever the crew lands on an island, and sometimes even helping you in the kitchen. his crew members love pointing it out, but he always just replies with the same old “i can’t trust you lukewarm morons alone with the lone woman on the ship.”

pirate captain!sae, who, after exactly 532 days of knowing you, finally realizes that he’s fallen for you…hard. these days, whenever your fingers brush against his, his ears and neck turn beet red. whenever you serve him food or beer, the only thought that runs through his head is that you made this. when you’re walking together on an island, he always remembers every single little thing that you find cute or pretty or anything that you would potentially want to buy.

——————

the steady rocking of the ship soothed you as you kneeled down, folding the laundry. suddenly, the door opened, and sae walked in, holding something the color of pure white snow in his hand. “hey.” he held out a pearly dress—the one that he was holding in his hand—to you.

“oh, hi sae.” you took the dress from him, inspecting it. simple, but beautiful. the fabric was soft, and it seemed comfortable to wear. “this is gorgeous. what’s it f—“ suddenly, your eyes widened, and scarlet crept up from your neck to your face to your ears. a white dress…but white dresses were for marriage! “s-sae! wha—you can’t just marry me out of nowhere! plus, what if your crewmates don’t approve?! we’re not even dating!”

“i could marry a boar and my crewmates wouldn’t dare bat an eye. and who said i was going to marry you?” sae replied bluntly. right now, he added in his mind. he’s going to marry you someday, just not right now, when you both haven’t even kissed and sae wasn’t even sure if you liked him back yet. you stiffened up, embarrassed, before you grinned shakily.

“yeah. right.”

“wear it and meet me here tonight. nine pm.” sae tossed you a map of the island the crew had docked at, and there was a large red circle around a certain location on the map. you nodded, and sae left. you picked up the dress once more, admiring just how pretty it was.

“awww, i think he’s gonna confess to you tonight.” a familiar voice sang, isagi and bachira entering the room. you rolled your eyes, grinning widely.

“bachira, don’t say that. you’re going to get my hopes up.” you replied, handing isagi his folded clothes. he thanked you before smirking.

“well, sae’s been acting like a lovesick little kid ever since month three of having met you.”

“no he hasn’t!”

“yes he has!”

“no he—“

“it’s eight pm right now. you might want to hurry up.” rin interrupted, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed. “isagi, bachira, you guys are moronic idiots. leave her the fuck alone. let’s go.” they both pouted before following him out, waving you goodbye.

at around eight fifty, you left the ship and began walking towards the circled area of the map that sae had given you. finally, when you reached the area, it was already nine’ o two. you couldn’t careless as you walked over to a familiar patch of magenta hair. he turned his head towards you, walking over to you. “you’re late.” he muttered, eyes making way to your dress-adorned figure.

“only by like, two minutes.” you replied. for a few moments, you were both silent as you looked up at the bright, moonlit sky. “the moon is beautiful tonight.” you mumbled. sae turned to you once more, debating on whether to release the desired comment from his lips. finally, he decided to take his chance.

“you’re even more beautiful.”

you jolted, heat creeping from your shoulders all the way up to your ears. “oh—i, uh, thank you, sae.”

sae hummed before he continued. “when i first met you, i thought you were the most pompous, annoying, and unbearable person i had ever met. i only kept you around out of necessity since no one else would even voluntarily stay with me and my crew.”

he breathed and continued. “but then i got to know you better. i talked to you. i learned with you. i felt with you. i loved with you. and now, i learned that i can’t live without you. i learned that with you, i can overcome any grief, i can face any challenge, and i can feel anything.” he turned towards you, his eyes deep into yours.

he placed a hand on your cheek, caressing your cheek softly. “and i learned that i love you.”

suddenly, explosions were heard, and fireworks began to rise. magenta and teal, just like sae.

slowly, you both leaned in. and underneath the fireworks, your lips met.

a/n: this was supposed to be a long fic but then i said screw it and got too lazy lmao (im literally nagi irl)

[stradakiev]

Ok I’ll talk about it

I love this idea and agree with it soooooooo much and it’s my favorite Martha take ever

From Martha’s first story Smith and Jones she is figuring things out as if the doctor would without first seeing the doctor do it. She talks about how the windows aren’t exactly air tight and that there must be something keeping the air in. She figures out the genetic transfer, gets the Jadoon to catch the plasmavore, and brings the doctor back so he can fix the scanner. If you want to dig deeper with this episode the doctor is not introduced as his character he is John smith and Martha is studying to be a doctor. Foreshadowing she will play his role at the end of the season.

We don’t see much of this in the second episode because it her out of here element for real this time and she’s taking it in but still a very active character in the story.

Gridlock we get to see Martha separated from the doctor and kidnapped onto the highway. Martha is the one descending to the lower lanes and learning the stories of the sounds at the bottoms and putting the pieces together. It’s her quick thinking to turn the engines off to save them until the city was open by the doctor and they could drive up.

Daleks take manhattan and evolution of the daleks is when we see Martha start to boss the doctor around. Unlike other companions we’ve seem Martha spends a lot of her initial time traveling with the doctor actually away from him. When the doctor wants to just go off and see why the daleks changed their minds she asks if he’s just going to leave Hooverville to die. She is the one thinking of how to keep people alive like a doctor like the doctor. I like to think that the doctor hiding from the daleks behind Martha is symbolic of the doctor hiding from his grief and in many ways responsibilities and becoming more reckless while Martha holds things together.

The Lazarus experiment- the only part of this episode I want to focus on is the ending. The doctor suggests “one more trip” and she tells him she’s not going to keep doing it like that and that it’s either a full time passenger or good bye and the doctor agrees to it. Her being the one to have the power to chose to travel with him and be a full time companion makes her fulfill the role of the doctor as she decides who will be traveling in the tardis and he agrees like a companion typically does to an invitation.

42 her and the doctor are again apart for most of the episode and once the doctor has saved Martha he is possessed for the rest of the time while Martha cools his temperature and ejects the fuel from the sun saving both the day and the doctors life. So again companion doctor reversal once the doctor has saved her from imminent death.

Human nature and the family of blood- do I need to go into it? The doctor literally turns into a human and leaves everything up to Martha so she is the doctor for the episode and is the only one using the tardis (we’ve never seen her touch the console this much).

Blink- my man isn’t processing his grief with rose and now is separated from his ship. I can only imagine how much he was struggling. Martha was keeping them afloat with her job in the shop.

Utopia and the sound of drums!!! You can see Martha this whole episode just process more and more how poorly she’s been treated by the doctor by the way he interacts with jack and the stories of rose. She moves the story around narratively with the watch which. From here to where he family is kidnapped in the next episode (and we get the iconic scene of her yelling at the doctor) she is transforming herself through her actions until when she finally uses the vortex manipulator (the first type of time travel she has used by herself) she becomes the doctor.

Last of the time lords Martha is fully acting in the doctor role walking the whole worlds by herself without a weapon spreading a message of home. Her message is the doctor but in that moment she is the doctor. She embodies everything he is while he is removed from having control in the story.

I think the sound of drums/last of the time lords is Martha’s version of dark water/death in heaven. Martha is a lot more emotionally healthy than Clara and also has a live she has dreams for on earth so she chooses to leave. Martha has to cope with the consequences of becoming the doctor so she becomes a unit soldier I think to cope with how she has changed fundamentally but it also nicely brings those two lives together for our successful Queen. Whereas Clara becomes the doctor and no longer has anything or any dreams connecting her to earth to she toxically spirals out until she dies and then becomes not human so we love our toxic queen too

So basically I like to call season 3 the season the doctor was numbing his grief with reckless decisions, straight up not existing, and he’s classic running from it with adventures bc they have a savior complex. He got away with falling apart this much for a whole season bc Martha is a queen and held shit together.

Clara becomes the Doctor but can we talk about how Martha is also the Doctor. Besides being an actual doctor, she also becomes a soldier and tries to justify it to herself. She went through hell and saved the earth and bore that weight alone, and was never thanked for it. In the Doctors Daughter she is forced to watch as her Hath "companion" sacrifices themself for her and dies horribly, and she has to leave them behind. Is this thing on

[234moon]

I’ll admit a thing. Prior to Haikavetham I thought that Hoyoverse wasn’t interested in developing MLM ships too much. I was okay with that too because yuri gets less attention anyway and HYV was obsessively focused on it. But there was always that fear in me that their obsession with WLW ships was likely somewhat inspired by fetishisation.

But then Haikavetham came along and shattered that assumption for me. I thought no other MLM HYV ship could possibly come close to it but Phaidei is actually insane. You can see that this company, with their limitations even because of censorship, is trying pretty hard to make a good MLM ship that fans can decipher easily.

3.1 spoilers up ahead. And this post is absolutely an excuse to collate “evidence” for how gay Phaidei is

1. Phainon and Mydei being parallels to Kephale and Nikador (respectively), and also possibly being inheritors to their coreflame (Phainon left but it’s almost confirmed). Where Nikador allegedly fell in love with Kephale, who is their rival and fought them. A very direct parallel to Phaidei

2. But it’s less about their parallels and more about what they do at present in the story. The most conspicuous incident of this is the last part of 3.1’s quest, where they’re parting. Firstly, Phainon is the last person Mydei met. He was the last farewell Mydei wanted to give before he left. Secondly, when they do talk, Phainon asks this

To which Mydei first replies that the Kremnoan philosophy can never be encapsulated in a dictionary. And then he says this

Don’t tell me this doesn’t read like Phainon worried that the word for romance really doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language but hoping that it does. Because language makes culture. And as a Kremnoan, that should mean, at least in theory, that Mydei is not fully capable of romance. But this reads like Phainon knowing they have feelings for each other, and teasing Mydei about it. Like “hey I know you say romance doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language but you definitely like me so you’re probably lying”. Because why would this be one of his parting sentences? It’s too irrelevant at the moment.

Add to this what Mydei says in the end. Don’t tell me this doesn’t read like the most classic doomed gay ship trope! Because it is!! It is!!!!

(Also I don’t know how many people noticed this but when Mydei says the last sentence, his tone is uncharacteristically soft)

3. This GIF.

I can’t stop thinking about it. Phainon knows Mydei has his back (and vice versa because… lol). Phainon feels absolute relief knowing Mydei is with him, and they will fight together. Phainon trusts him, and Mydei trusts Phainon even more.

There is also this scene.

Since my post is getting long I’ll recommend reading a small breakdown of it here (much better explained than I could). They have each other’s backs, and they trust each other with everything. Also the way Mydei says “found you”. I cried.

4. Including their lives!

What an insane scene man. Reveal your proverbial Achilles heel to one man and one man only, who coincidentally happens to be the man who you trust watching your back.

5. They help each other get better. Not much explanation needed but Phainon and Mydei understand each other deeply, and they understand the other’s desires and even masked feelings. Phainon helped Mydei make that final decision that he needed to change the lives of Kremnoans and be a better king (by recommending he go to Chartonus, to whom Phainon had relayed details about Gorgo’s signet ring)

And Mydei helps Phainon with this

There is, of course, a lot more “evidence”. The smallest of expressions (like damn Mydei smiles a lot around Phainon lol) to it being heavily implied their comfort zone is each other. My point, though, is that I’m very impressed by a Chinese company willingly making so much implied gay content despite censorship restricting them. Phaidei has become another one of those iconic HYV ships for me at least.

Btw, if you see this post, please don’t add “but they could be friends-“ I’m aware and it’s a redundant argument. There is a very thin line separating platonic and romantic love. Yes this could be an example of a beautifully higher level of platonic love. But I choose to read this as romantic because I trust in a game company known for making heavily implied gay couples to have made another one.

And please do not treat this as discourse despite how I started it!! This is about Phaidei and I wanted to give a background about why I think they’re pretty gay

[untolduttering]

Cravings

Summary: Sanji has gone much too long without his favorite meal and he fears that it’s driving him insane. Once he finds himself fully alone with you, he takes full advantage of the moment.

Tags: Sanji x afab!reader, nsfw, established relationship, oral (female receiving), fingering, face riding, overstimulation, squirting

Word Count: 3.4k

There’s a hollow pit in Sanji’s stomach this morning and it sets him on edge. He woke up late, a dream of you keeping him asleep longer, one that was cut off too early to be satisfactory anyway. When he got up from bed, the cold air bit harder than usual, settling into his bones and it seemed nothing could warm him. His clothes did not hug his body the way they should have. The image of you sleeping in his bed, hair mussed and sheets rumpled, didn’t leave him warm and fond, but instead running hot and with a fierce ache. The taste that he desires most hasn’t been on his tongue in much too long and he’s afraid it may kill him.

He arrives to the kitchen late. His process is not as smooth as usual, he starts and stops again and again. His foot caught on the stairs on the way up, tripping in a way he never does. He had to pause at the top to take a moment, to relax the building tension in his body. As he searches for ingredients, he has to dig around for much longer. He scans the fridge again and again, his eyes not finding the sauce he wants. He moves bottles and containers around and still cannot find it. He slams the door shut, thinking to try again later. When he does, he finds it immediately. He lights his third cigarette of the morning by then. Everything is too loud, too much. The pots and pans clang and bash as he uses them. A spoon clatters to the counter as it slips from his fingers, another to the floor. He grits his teeth.

Brook was always silent when he came in. There was a routine here by now, a pot of tea waiting on the table for when he wandered in. He waits until Sanji has been in the kitchen for some time before he enters, so he must have noticed Sanji’s late start. This time, Sanji can feel his eyes—or whatever damn thing the skeleton saw with—boring into him. His neck prickles with Brook’s all too knowing gaze and so Sanji waits.

It must have been after his first cup that Brook decides to venture a question. “Has something bothered you at all this morning, Sanji?”

Sanji twitches at his voice even though he had been anticipating it, and grunts. “Nothings bothering me.”

He wonders if he sounds too gruff. Does he grunt like that when he feels fine? He’s sure he does, but does it sound exactly like the way it did just now? Was his answer rude? He asks himself these things even though he can’t do anything about it. He can’t admit to what’s bothering him anyway, isn’t sure what he can do about it either.

The thing is, the past few weeks have been perfect. They ran into some marines, yes, but they’d won and no one had been injured. The last island didn’t bring any issues. The stock has been well kept, Luffy’s grubby finger successfully and consistently kept at bay. They could relax. But that didn’t mean they weren’t busy, or that their ship life meant they had all too much alone time.

It meant that Sanji couldn’t lavish you in the way he wanted. When you could be intimate, it had to be quick. Any time spent with you is time spent in heaven, so he cannot really complain, he still enjoys it immensely. However, it does also mean that you want him as close to you as possible. That you want him inside you as fast as you can. And your love for his mouth on yours means you don’t want to break away to breathe for even a moment. He loves this, he loves this, but it leaves him without having his favorite meal between your legs, and that’s what has got him so irate this morning. To go so long without the taste of your pussy on his tongue might be the thing that drives him insane. He’s considered stealing a pair of your panties to stuff his mouth with while he cooks. It wouldn’t be enough, but it’d be something to tamper the need.

His thoughts turn vile, leachurous, nasty. Thoughts he is always too afraid to say aloud to you. He wonders if you know how good you taste. He thinks of you alone in your shared room, your fingers dipping into your wet cunt and collecting the slick there. Bringing them to your mouth and sucking on your fingers. Fingering and collecting and tasting again and again. He grips the counter and pictures himself showing you how delicious it is. His fingers dipping in and your tongue swirling around his digits, watching your cheeks redden as he describes to you how it feels to drag his tongue through your folds, to shove it in your hole—

The door to the kitchen slams open, followed by confident footsteps, a stride so sure of itself. Zoro. All brashness, he comes in, heading straight for a bottle of sake. Not even a good morning, not even a oi, shit cook. Just coming in to raid his supplies, ruining the perfect fantasy he had going. Sanji starts in on him immediately, legs flying.

The fight doesn’t last long. Sanji’s too focused on getting him out, and Zoro’s too baffled on what the fuck he possibly could’ve done this time to really put much effort into staying.

It isn’t too long until you catch wind of Sanji’s foul mood. Zoro goes storming by, grumbling about some idiot shit cook. As you watch him pass, Brook comes up on your other side. He’s silent as he finds his place next to you, watchful. It’s clear to you he has something on his mind, and you think it may have to do with Zoro’s attitude. You look up at Brook, inviting him to speak.

“Do you know what’s bothering Sanji?” he asks.

You raise your eyebrows and glance in the direction Zoro has just gone, but he shakes his head. “It started before that.”

You frown. “Oh, well, no. I’ll go see what I can find out.”

Brook nods and pats your head as you walk past, perhaps as a way of saying good luck, or maybe thanking you.

When you walk in, Sanji knows it’s you by your soft footsteps. He can pick you out by any sound you make. He knows you by your scent and by the smallest flash of you across his sight. He could be deprived of all his senses and yet he could still pick you out, still know it’s you.

He pauses before he turns, taking in his progress. It’s close enough to done, close enough to breakfast. All he really would have to do is keep most of it warm. His fingers twitch as he thinks of this, as he does the math in his head. I can, I can.

Some mornings, the crew comes in still wearing their pajamas. It depends on the day and the mood of the person as to whether they’ll come to breakfast dressed and ready for the day. For you, the morning has been a lazy one, and you walk in wearing one of his t-shirts with a pair of shorts hidden beneath. Your hair is still a little messy from your pillow. The sight has his cock throbbing.

Before you can fully open your mouth, fully form your question, he’s across the room in a handful of strides. His mouth is on yours immediately, heated and desperate, and he starts dragging you back to the pantry.

“You must forgive me,” he murmurs. “Forgive me for my crassness, forgive me…”

“Sanji?” you ask him, confused and concerned.

Brook and Zoro will be warning everyone off by now. They’ll know you’ve come in to do some sort of damage control, and won’t come in themselves until you give them the all clear. You both have time.

You’re in the pantry, door almost slammed shut so he can push you against it. Sanji drops to his knees and the impact of bone on wood makes your stomach churn.

“Sanji—”

“You must understand,” he cuts you off. “You must understand just how much I need this. I’m sorry but I… I need it.” The last part comes out high pitched as he gets your bottoms off, removed at an impressive speed.

He doesn’t waste anymore time. He latches onto you as he hitches your leg over his shoulder. The moan he lets out is sinful, the shiver that wracks his body almost terrifying. He’s like a dog, the way he immediately starts lapping into you, the way his hips buck as he humps air. Sanji knew he had an affliction, one revolving around you, and could only be solved by you. He knew he was a desperate man, but he did not know just how bad it was.

You give up on trying to get anything more out of him. For one, it’s clear he’s not going to answer you. Two, it’s difficult for you to form words, to form a single coherent thought. He knows you so well that he already has you moaning, arching off the door, and sliding your fingers through his hair.

It’s perfect. It’s exactly what he has been wanting. But some greedy part of himself, one that he tries to keep tucked away, tears its way through, and he feels that it’s still not enough. He adds his fingers, reaching two in to hit that spongy spot that has you keening, because he needs you coming in his mouth now. He needs you tugging on his hair and grinding down onto his tongue right this second.

You give him just that. The way he pumps his fingers so mercilessly into you, the way he sucks on your clit and flicks his tongue, the way he’s so uncharacteristically aggressive with you, has your hips bucking on his face. When he wants you, he’ll ask so sweetly, sliding his hands all over to convince you. He’ll ease you into it or simply beg, face buried in your shoulder. You have to take the final step and say yes. But right now he was just taking, and it made your head swim. He throws you into your orgasm and your legs shake with the force of it.

It’s wet and it’s messy and it has him shivering with delight. And all he wants is more.

He maneuvers you onto the floor so that he can shove his face into you harder. He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, he simply keeps licking his way into you. He’s eating so much sloppier, making out with his delicious treat.

There’s an ache in his teeth that he’s unfamiliar with, an urgency in his jaw. It feels similar to when he feels the urge to snap, to dig into someone. His mood swings are constant, a thing everyone is used to, but it’s not a feeling he ever feels towards you. His mouth, as never before, just wants to bite.

You can feel his teeth grazing, wanting to sink into flesh, but never doing so. The sensation makes you shiver. You’ve prompted marking each other before, something he’s glad to let you do, but he can’t bring himself to do it in return. He’s slowly loosening to the idea of hickeys, as they don’t hurt as they’re given. The bruising still bothers him. But biting, he’d always been firmly against biting.

He, as always, never wants to harm, never you, and now he wonders why he tortures himself so. To put his teeth so close but never sink them in. He thinks it may be the yearning, that he always has to have something to ache for, but knows he’ll never receive. Something about what he does and does not deserve. Something about deserving suffering, perhaps. Or maybe he does have a part of himself that likes to toy, to tease.

You’re so sensitive from your first that it doesn’t take him all too long to get you to your second. Your back arches off the floor, the zaps of pleasure running through your spine and all the way down to your toes. The throbbing of your cunt spurs him on and still he does not let up, does not give you a moment to recover. You pull on his hair and wriggle your hips, trying to get him to at least slow down.

“Sanji,” you whine. “‘S too much, too good, I can’t. Please?”

Just taking the short moment to pull back and answer you makes him want to cry. He can’t handle the short distance between him and your pussy. You feel his breath tickle you as he speaks. “Oh, but my sweetheart, please. Don’t you know how good you taste? It just drives me wild. And you’re doing so good for me, squeezing my head and clenching,” his voice hiccups and stutters on the word, “around my fingers… yeah. Yeah, my baby, you can give me more, can’t you? I know you can…”

He dives back in after trailing off, your pussy pulling him back into a trance. The teary look in his eye and desperation to his voice makes it impossible to tell him no. You let out a whimper but say, “Okay...”

He coaxes another out of you, all tongue and fingers and spit. You buck and spasm so hard, legs kicking out, that he has to put in more effort to hold you down, making sure you don’t hurt yourself. And yet he is just not satiated. He never truly is, really, but usually he’d be… calmed by now. Some out of place thing inside of him would be put back. His mind a little clearer. A sense of purpose, a job well done, a need fulfilled. But he feels as jittery and needy as ever.

“Just… just a little more, my love,” he tells you, and starts to move you again.

You can do little else but allow him to do as he pleases, and soon your pussy is hovering over his face.

“Your full weight, baby,” he murmurs, running his hands up and down your thighs, rubbing your hips. “Don’t think, don’t worry about a thing, just sit and feel good.”

You mewl out his name again as he pulls you down. Your thighs give out, unable to hold you, and it causes him to moan in delight. You’re always too worried, too self conscious, to ever fully press down on him. To have you too weak, too fucked out, to hold yourself up was delightful.

Ravenous. Depraved. Deprived. His mouth aches, his tongue and jaw tired, but it doesn’t matter. He feels you start to rock your hips and he groans, but suddenly you yelp and stop. The added movement was too much, overstimulating, and you couldn’t keep it up. Sanji wanted it, though, needed it, and began to grind your hips for you. You cried out, babbling about too good, too much, all over again, with his name in the mix, and you try to crawl away from him.

Good god, what was happening? You’ve never had to crawl from Sanji before. He would overstimulate you at times, so eager and needy for more, more, more that he’d keep going, begging you to let him. But if it was just too much, he’d relent. Kissing and apologizing and thanking you.

He wasn’t listening now, though, and he didn’t let you move. He’s got an iron grip on you, the hardest his hands have held you. The moment he feels you try to move away, his heart twists in panic. He feels like something precious is being taken from him. You're his, your pussy is his, and he couldn’t handle it being taken before he’s done, taken from him ever.

He feels pissed each time he has to stop to breathe, too. He can’t believe his body thinks he still needs air. Why the fuck would he want air right now? His real form of substance is already sitting on his face. It’s a waste of goddamn time to breathe. He was a man built for servitude, pleasure. Breathing currently interrupted that, so why would his body request it?

Above him, you’re barely holding on. You’re on your forearms, panting and moaning and trembling. You can’t form any more words, the babbling having ended a bit ago. All you can do is whisper his name, your throat barely able to say it, and simply keen. You snake a hand down, so shaky the whole way through, and tangle your fingers in his hair. Maybe if you give him this last one, he’ll let you go. You wonder if you’d really want him to. It makes your stomach flip and your pussy pulse to think of him forcing more orgasms out of you.

He’s just as noisy, as he always is, as he has been the whole time. Making slurping noises so lewd it makes your skin burn. A few more guided movements of your hips and your coming again, but this time you’re squirting, gushing all over his face.

This, this, is paradise. Sanji’s cock, neglected and aching and leaking, shoots hot ropes in his pants; a wet and hot mixture soaking through the fabric. His hips buck from just how strong his own orgasm is, his back arching as much as it can. You’re creaming all over his face, from his ministrations, from his love. And oh, how you sing for him. He couldn’t think of a better way to fix his mood, a better thing to cum to.

You collapse, falling to the side and laying there, taking deep, stuttering breaths. Sanji doesn’t move, he keeps his head tucked between your legs, and simply twists to lay on his side as well. He doesn’t continue to eat you out, however, finally relenting and letting you both calm down and find yourselves.

He does take the time to stare at your pussy, though, enjoying the sight. All puffy and swollen and wet; you just look so pretty. He wonders if you’d let him sleep like this at night, so close to a most precious part of you. He likes breathing in the scent of you, watching the way you flutter and clench from him just looking. Your thighs keeping him so warm and cosy. Yeah, he could easily fall asleep like that. He gives you feather light kisses up and down your slit, trying not to push you any more, but you’re so sensitive that you twitch and jolt anyway.

When he’s had his fill—which is to say he hasn’t, he just misses your face terribly—he comes crawling out to hold you. He finds himself equally concerned and bashful. He can’t believe how… demanding he’d been.

“How do you feel, my love?” he asks, sheepish. He pulls you close, squeezing and rubbing at your body, switching between legs and hips and arms.

You hum, and softly answer, “Tired… but good.” You know that what he’s asking for is if he took it too far, did anything wrong. “You always make me feel good.”

“I’m… I’m sorry I—”

“So, so, sooooo good,” you cut him off. For him to crave you so madly that he just has to corner you and pin you down so that he could fuck you with his tongue? How could you not be flattered?

You lift your head to look at him, and his face is dripping. Your slick is smeared all over, his upper lip a mixture of your cum and blood from his nose. His face is flushed from both pleasure and his shyness. He chews his bottom lip, meek from your attention on the mess he’s made.

You giggle. “We need to clean up.”

Sanji grins a little at this. “I don’t know, I quite enjoy my face being covered like this. I might just stay like this all day.”

You stick your tongue out and scrunch your nose. “Gross.”

He smiles wider. “No, my love, this is what bliss looks like.”

“Dork,” you snort.

You both stay like that a little while longer, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. Breakfast could wait just a moment longer.

[smallestapplin]

Transformers animated has me by the neck, enjoy my somewhat Ultra Magnus rambling with his little human.

-

-

Ultra Magnus never once thought he’d have an interest in organics, being a busy bot himself it really doesn’t give him time either. Even going to Earth he wasn’t expecting to engage with them much, but you certainly love proving him wrong.

Cute little thing you are, small and squishy though much bigger than the smaller organic you are helping. From Optimus, you are their older human friend, but to Magnus you are something more.

You show such curiosity over the ship, yet you are polite, offering your own help over these decepticon matters. Originally he never thought someone so small could aid them, but it seems that just what you wanted cons and bots alike to think, using it to your advantage.

You’ve peaked his interest.

He even ignores Sentinal’s loud squaking at the sight of you on Ultra Magnus’s shoulder.

You are certainly sweet, perched on his shoulder and keeping him comapny, asking non-private questions and answering his about Earth and your life. The stoic leader’s expression always softens when you are around, it nearly breaks his spark to leave his little human, but Cybertron isn’t safe for an organic, certainly no fuel your body could handle either.

But that doesn’t stop him, not by a long shot.

Your eyes wide as Optimus hands you a box, its small for his but it’s nearly the size of you! Opening it, you’ll find a rather expensive gift in it, at least back on Cybertron it is.

A beautiful multicolored steel, as if different metals were melted together to create such stunning patterns. Inside next to it, is a note from Ultra Magnus himself, telling you about his day, how you somehow manage to even make basic protocol seem more lively.

You brought joy back into this old bots life.

You try to offer the same, to use communications to contact him and send him something in return, but it seems things are down, seems to have went down just after he sent you this item.

You show it to the others, gushing about this long steel like staff, just for Ratchet to choke on nothing.

“Don’t ya know how expensive that is!? Put that down before you whack someone with it.”

Not only does it cost more than half this planet, but it’s also a stasis staff, shocking whoever you were to hit it with into stasis, perfect for protecting yourself and fighting cons.

You are Ultra Magnus’s human, not many get the honor to see him so tender.

Treasure it well.

[revelboo]

Any chance we could get a part 2 for Silverbolt?

Sure!

Save World Get Girl Pt 2

Silverbolt x Reader

• Screaming, you take off into the woods, a predator in pursuit. You’re obviously no fighter, too small and helpless to defend yourself and every protective instinct he has flares to life. Snarling, he charges after you and sees the predator dive for you, claws catching at the back of your gear and your little feet leave the ground. Kicking and flailing when the predator drops you and lands to attack. And he’s there, denta bared and brandishing his blade. Ready to protect you even though he has no idea what you are, only that you don’t belong.

• That thing trying to eat you looks like a dinosaur which is just impossible. Terrified, you crawl backwards, thinking of all of things you’ve not done yet but wanted to do. Meant to do. And then a new monster is between you and the dinosaur, you don’t even know what you’re looking at. A lupine head, feathers, metal skin, and yellow optics. Definitely a monster. It has a blade in its hand, slashing at the air and snarling at the dinosaur. Your best guess? This thing wants dibs on eating you.

• “Stay down, I’ve got you,” he growls, denta snapping at the predator until it decides to find easier prey. Turning, he vents, somehow not even surprised to see you booking it into the woods and danger. Growling, he chases after you. “Wait! Not that way!” And you just ignore him, running like he’s the one trying to devour you. You’re not very fast at least, reaching out, he snags you by the back of your gear and you screech even louder, kicking.

• Swearing and thrashing to get away, you yelp when your feet leave the ground. And you come face to face with that snout full of pointy denta. And it’s growling at you, the sound rough and guttural, before it looks around. “Look, you don’t want to eat me, I went on a health kick for a while and drank kale smoothies for a year. I probably taste like kale. Nobody likes kale,” you say, aware that you’re babbling and that you can’t stop. So terrified, there’s no mouth to brain filter. But if you hyperventilate, you won’t have to watch it eat you alive.

• Struggling to control your wiggling form, you chirp frantically at him. Upset about being handled if he has to guess. But it’s not like he has any choice. You’re so small and he’s sure if he lets you go you’ll just run off into the jungle again. Carefully hefting you over a shoulder, your chirping becomes more urgent, clearly upset. “Sorry, but I can’t just leave you out here.” Whatever you are, you have no claws or fangs, no weapons. You’re helpless and definitely don’t belong out here. Optimus probably isn’t going to appreciate him bringing you home, but he can’t just leave you. And besides, you got here somehow. You must have a ship and maybe it’s their ticket home. Because he wants to go home so bad.

Previous

[prince-kallisto]

Ahh these are the sort of topics I don’t know how to word well in English , so forgive me if I have roundabout explanations for things 😆 this is a bit of a fandom bent, I apologize again for any mistaken words on anything 💦

But I guess I’m just a little disheartened by the EN fandom- particularly with the whole manga Yuu situation. I adore all the Yuu’s, I love all the Yuu OCs that this amazing and creative fandom has designed.

But I’m seeing an…over exaggeration? Or pedestal put onto the Scarabia Yuu, Yuuna Oujou, and the way some people have discussed the manga Yuu’s have made me a little uncomfortable.

I’ve seen some people be like “finally! A girl Yuu for the manga!” Or “finally! A Yuu who presents herself as a woman!” (This is way different than a celebration of a femme Yuu btw).

? Yuuka, the Savanaclaw Yuu, IS a woman. Some people have been claiming that she’s “hiding her gender” in the all-boy’s school, or “downplaying” her gender, and how they’re so happy that Yuuna is “unapologetically a woman.”

But Yuuka, even in her previous world, has ways presented as a bit more masc- a very bifauxnen, cool girl type of character who is resolute in her strength because of her judo experience. A translation of the manga I read even has her referring to herself as a “ordinary school girl.” It’s just her own personal style of presenting herself. She also exercises in a sports bra! The only troubles she has is the troubles ALL Yuu’s have: that they’re magicless and aren’t meant to be here at this school and this WORLD.

And frankly, it’s uncomfortable that I’ve seen so many people in the fandom act as if feminine style is the only valid way to present as a woman, the implications that Yuuka is not a woman from the way she chooses to dress or cut her hair.

I’m so so happy that people find joy in a very femme presenting Yuu- I love Yuuna just as much! But when the conversation begins turning into…implying femininity is the only way to be/present as a woman, that’s not…it just feels awful. Yuuka was our first girl Yuu, Yuuna is the second. They present differently, but neither of them ever once worry about having the “hide” their gender. Please celebrate Yuuna’s style if that’s what you mean, instead of the “true girl” Yuu.

And on another note, there is the very popular and so far very likely theory of a “boy-girl” pattern in the manga Yuu’s- especially since all the Yuu’s so far have been the opposite gender as the Disney villains of each dorm. Meaning, the theory is that a male Yuu is likely for Diasomnia.

And I’m seeing a very vocal crowd dismissing the idea of male Yuu in the Diasomnia arc, that they want a girl, they’d hate a male Yuu, “Malleus forgot it’s not an Otome so it has to be a girl Yuu!”, they want a girl to be with Malleus “because [we] want Malleyuu.”

And again. It just feels so…alienating. Malleus and Malleyuu personally isn’t for me, but I’ve spent many years hopping around Otome and romance games in the past, and male and NB fans of these genres are frequently told that they don’t belong in the fandom, that these games cater to women.

But most conversations bringing up the possibility of romance games bringing in he/him, they/them or even customizable pronouns for the player are often shut down in most community spaces. Games like TWST, with an ambiguous MC and individual interactions with a character of your choice (ie the home screen voicelines)- or even games like Obey Me or the Arcana, are a rarity have made me really happy and feel really comfortable in the fandoms. Even if the game’s audience is mostly women, the MC/Yuu has *always* had an open identity.

So…the concept that Malleyuu is only WANTED by a portion of the fandom ONLY it’s a girl Yuu just brings back those same feelings again. Of course you may have whatever Yuu you want in your own personal Malleyuu ship!! But one girl Yuu can never represent the whole fandom, one male Yuu can never represent the whole fandom. So it’s strange there’s this complete outcry at the idea of a boy, and in turn of non-het Malleyuu ships in the fandom. Male Yuu is still Malleyuu. An NB Yuu is a still Malleyuu

The manga and the Yuu’s have never shown a romantic relationship towards any character- any fanservicey moments still remain from the game, no matter the Yuu it’s aimed towards. And not just from Housewardens- all the characters have their bits of fanservice! But it never goes farther than that in the main story especially.

With the reveal of Yuuna, the EN fandom has been celebrating the diversity and openmindness of the world of twst, and how customizable your Yuu’s truly are. Yuu is…you! Yuu can be whoever you want. But it all falls apart when a portion of the fandom see Yuuna as the only valid girl Yuu, when the mere idea of a male Yuu for Diasomnia or for Malleyuu is bashed and hated.

Or you know what- the idea of male or even NB Yuu is bashed entirely every single time there’s a damn announcement for the manga. A while back, the Scarabia manga announcements were mistranslated in English, and the gender ambiguous language for Yuu was accidental turned into he/him (which turned out to be Yuuna). And the level of vitriol I saw over the idea of a male Yuu was so fucking disheartening. And now it’s happening all over again with a future Diasomnia manga.

Edit: this is not to say that I don’t like the speculation over the future Yuu’s. I love hearing about the theories of their possible personalities, interests, looks, etc based on the previous Yuu’s 😆💖 including the super interesting concepts I’ve heard for the story of a girl Yuu in Diasomnia! This vent is aimed towards different comments however

Is the manga and their Yuu’s really a celebration of diversity in the EN fandom? It doesn’t feel that way, at all. Perhaps I’m just being self centered about this, but I’ve found myself increasingly upset about how vocal these two issues have been, and I wish some people could be more mindful about it

Apologies for my incoherency in this vent 💦💦💦💦💦 this is NOT hate toward Malleyuu or Yuuna fans as a whole- or towards anyone in fact. This is just a vent and a slight critique just certain parts of the fan bas

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Okay, so, I see a lot of people talk about “stats” on fics. Here, Reddit, other social media…often in a way that suggests one can gauge quality of a fanwork based on those metrics. Writers using them to try and determine if their work is “good.” Readers using them to filter fics for just the “best” ones. So let’s talk about stats.

And yeah, this is going to be long, so let’s have a cut, but TL;DR:

AO3 stats numbers can, in the aggregate, tell us some things but they cannot tell us the quality of a piece. Authors, stats don’t mean that your writing isn’t good, no matter what the “ratios” are. Readers, stats are poor indicators of fic quality, but you should know that writers are using those numbers as indicators of engagement with and enjoyment of their work; engagement is the encouragement writers use to keep writing.

I’ve read so many posts — on Tumblr, on the AO3 subreddit, fanfiction and writing subreddits, in other social media arenas — by both authors and readers talking about the stats on fics. Wondering if they’re good, or if they aren’t. Lamenting or judging a writer’s skill based purely on those numbers. Using those numbers as a way to filter fics to find the “best” ones. Wondering if writing is even worth doing in the writer’s fandom.

Usually, because of where I hang out, they’re talking about AO3 stats, but I occasionally see stuff about Wattpad in a similar vein. I don’t know Wattpad; I’ve never used it. So I’ll just focus on AO3 here.

So, first things first, I’m not going to tell a fanfic author that they should just not care about their stats. Not because I think stats matter, really, but because I know that’s an impossible ask. If we didn’t want people to read and enjoy our stuff, we wouldn’t post it. I can read my own writing with way less work and effort if I don’t post it, honestly. I post it to share it. So I get that saying “who cares what the stats are” is actively not helpful advice for a demoralized writer and doesn’t encourage participation for readers. So here’s what I’ll say instead about what we can, and more importantly can’t glean, from AO3’s stats as writers, and try to put those AO3 stats in perspective for writers and readers of fanfic alike:

AS A WRITER:

1) Comparison is the thief of joy. If you’re getting engagement with your fic and it makes you happy, try not to dwell on whether other authors are getting more engagement. I know this is a tough one to implement.

2) If you’re going to compare, it needs to be apples to apples, and I see a lot of folks comparing apples to oranges and then feeling let down by that comparison.

2A) Someone writing for the most popular ship in your fandom while you write a rare pair is probably going to get more engagement; not because it’s better, but because more people are going to see it. They will get more hits because more people are filtering for that pairing. That doesn’t mean what you wrote isn’t good or compelling.

2B) This goes even more granular: someone who is in the Neve/Rook tag on AO3 and either excludes M/F or filters for F/F isn’t going to see my fic. And that’s okay; they’re looking for something specific and I’m not writing it. I’m writing M/F Neve/Rook at the moment. The longer a fic is up, the more engagement it’s likely to have gotten, so I need to look at dates. If I were going to compare - and I don’t and shouldn’t for my own sake - M/F Neve/Rook posted within a few days of my post would be what I should compare myself to.

And even then, given that different fics tackle different subjects, have different OCs, etc., it’s still not likely to be truly 1:1.

2C) Multi-chapter fics and long fics get different numbers and ratios of hits/kudos/comments than one-shots. The engagement pattern is different.

2D) Smut/NSFW/Archive Warning fics also tend to get different engagement patterns than fics that don’t have those markers. Some people are concerned about their usernames being linked to those themes/plots/topics. Some readers are smut fiends (and we love that for them). Both these things can skew numbers here.

3) A registered user who is logged in can only kudo once, even if the fic has multiple chapters. Someone can read an entire 27-chapter 200k word novel and love it and only be able to leave a single kudo. Guest users are tracked by IP address, so if their IP address hasn’t changed they too can only kudo a fic one time.

4) The above means that re-readers are often not getting seen in kudo numbers even if they’re your biggest fans.

5) “Hits” counts individual views, but only if outside certain timeframes. If someone reads your fic 5 times in 24 hours it won’t count as 5 hits. However, outside that time box it will register as multiple hits, which may mean you’re getting more hits and no kudos because of re-reads.

6) Engagement from readers is lower across the board. There’s been entire articles about it. It’s not just you, I promise.

7) There is no “hits to kudos” or “kudos to comments” or “hits to comments” ratio that can reliably tell if something is good or not for all the reasons above.

AS A READER:

1) Writers want engagement. Crave it. If an author didn’t want engagement, they wouldn’t post their fanfic. It’s not like they’re getting paid. And it can be incredibly discouraging not to receive any. Writers use those stats numbers - hits, kudos - and those comments to determine if people are looking at and, more importantly, enjoying their work. It’s a way of gauging engagement.

Does that mean a writer is entitled to engagement? No. But if you want an author to keep posting fic, engagement is the way to encourage that. Like I said, I can read my own stuff with much less work if I don’t post.

2) As I said above, a registered user that is logged in (or a guest still on the same IP address) can only kudo a fic once, no matter how many chapters it has or how many times they’ve read it. If you want to show you like a new chapter after you’ve dropped that initial kudo, or show a re-read, you’ll need to comment. Even if it’s just a “❤️” or “have another kudo!”

3) You aren’t bothering writers by commenting on something; really, you’re not. I see so many readers worried that they’ll come across as weird by engaging.

Friend, we’re all weird here. Go for it.

I love when people send me a multi-paragraph comment or kudo 7 of my fics in a single night. (I also love all comments, to be clear. An “OMG” or keysmash is also great. So’s a random one-off kudo.) Don’t worry you’ll annoy the writer. We can turn comments off if we don’t want them.

4) Writing and posting fic is time consuming. There’s the writing itself (already a major labor of love) and, even if there’s no editing or beta-reading, formatting and summarizing and rating and all that. Bare minimum. If there’s editing or beta-reading, now there’s an additional (and often lengthy) part of the process that has very likely meant a time investment not only from the authors but the folks that helped them. Engagement is the only pay they get.

5) To put a finer point on topic 1: Yes, lack of engagement has absolutely ended fics people loved or led writers to stop writing/sharing fanfic at all. I don’t say that to insinuate you owe a writer your engagement, but no one wants to shout into an empty room; if fanfic doesn’t involve participation from both sides, the system does eventually break down.

If you read a fic and don’t kudo or comment, the author has no way to know if you liked it or if you accidentally clicked the wrong link and immediately fled. Writers aren’t mind readers.

If you’re someone who reads a rare pair, this is doubly true. Authors of rare pairs can face a lonely existence in fandom spaces if the readers that read rare pairs don’t engage.

6) Please read the writer’s list to understand why kudos/hits/comments numbers are poor indicators of fic quality.

In Conclusion:

I don’t say all of this to suggest that someone’s feelings about fic stats and engagement levels aren’t valid. Writers, you’re allowed to be frustrated or let down by engagement levels; I’ve been there, and I see you. Readers, I have absolutely been the person that read an author’s entire catalogue of fics and didn’t comment because I didn’t know what to say or if I should (though I’m working on that). Like many people, my earliest days in fandom were spent lurking with the lurkiest among us. I’m not judging. But I think some of this stuff is helpful to remember.

You all make fandom better by your presence. No matter what the numbers are. Be kind to yourselves. And, if you’re ready, maybe throw your writers a kudo or comment. It’ll make their day.

[crooked-wasteland]

You probably wanna avoid interacting with Chai btw. They’re just a toxic person who condones doxxing and harassment based on ships. Only sending this as a warning in case you weren’t aware of the things they’ve done, a lot of their fans have been bullying critics and downplaying what they’ve done and said. I literally don’t trust any of their mutuals it’s all internet brainrot

Frankly, Anon, I think you and I have fundamentally different ideas of what Toxic is. For example, I think lying about someone simply because you don't like them is toxic.

Chai has always been a vocal advocate of letting people ship whatever they want in fiction for the last 2 years I have been following his social media. It is something so consistent, in fact, that I am entirely comfortable saying that portion of your post is a blatant lie.

Second, if there are fans of Chai, their actions are their own. Once again, Chai has always been very accepting of shipping whatever anyone wants to ship so long as they don't harm real people and animals. If so-called "fans" wish to act out, that isn't Chai's problem. Unlike Medrano, Chai has told his audience to not engage in that sort of behavior. So he has done his due diligence and is not responsible for the actions of others in my opinion.

I am not a friend of Chai, I have barely talked to him in fact. I personally follow him because he does have connections and information I use to form my thoughts on Spindlehorse and Medrano's character. Not based on Chai's opinions, but on the patterns of behavior Chai has been able to bring to light by knowing those who were directly involved with Medrano.

If you genuinely believe these falsehoods and are earnestly looking out for some stranger on the internet, then rest assured I hear you and am able to say with personal certainty that the information you have is simply incorrect.

But on the off chance that I am wrong, I do request you bring me evidence instead of making baseless accusations the next time you have a concern.

[athenagc94]

Dear Daddy Long Legs - Chapter 13

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

First | Prev | Next

Chapter 13

You hurried up the stairs of your complex, a dark cloud swirling overhead. The elevator stopped working that morning, meaning you had to scale seven flights to get to your apartment. Class wrapped for the day, but your philosophy professor wanted to be a bigger ass than usual and threw a pop quiz in your face. You were sure you failed, which was the last thing you needed this close to the end of the semester. You couldn’t even share a harried look with Steph because you stopped talking to her to focus on your studies. A decision you were now beginning to regret, but you tried to hold firm.

In conclusion, you were going through it, and you wanted nothing more than to sink into your couch and binge-watch Bridgerton for the umpteenth time.

As you reached the landing on your floor, you paused, noting the package that awaited you outside your door—a small, unassuming brown box.

Huh.

You didn’t order anything.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed legitimate with the appropriate shipping labels and all that jazz, but you didn’t survive this city without being at least a little wary of pleasant surprises.

It was heavier than you expected. Something you took mental note of as you tucked it under your arm and headed inside. While it could be an explosive or trap sent by a gang or super villain, you hoped they had bigger fish to fry than a college student on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

And at this point, a small part of you welcomed the sweet release of death if it meant you didn’t have to take your finals next week.

You settled cross-legged on your couch, turning the package over in your hands as you tried to guess what it contained. Its contents shifted slightly, and you still had all your limbs intact, so you took that as a good sign.

Sparing yourself the suspense, you ripped it open. A leather book tied with a cord sat on top, unmarked saved for the braided border etched on its cover. Next to it sat an ebony fountain pen with vials of ink. A small smile flitted across your face as you removed the journal, flipping through its pages to appreciate the rough texture of the pages. It was almost too nice to write in.

Beneath it, sat two more books. On Writing by Stephen King, and a collector’s edition of Les Misérables by Victor Hugo. You appreciated the first as a good resource for your upcoming submission, but your attention snagged on the latter. Its deep blue cover looked expensive with gold-pressed fleurs dis lis along its border. You flipped it open to the first page, noting that it was written in French. Somehow, you knew it would be.

A handwritten note sat at the bottom of the empty box.

You’re doing well. I chose you for a reason. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not for my sake. Take a break from the letters and enjoy the holidays. You’ve earned it.

—Your Dear Daddy Long Legs

Your skin pebbled with the twist in your gut, simultaneously too cold and too hot. You laughed, because you couldn't decide what else to do in that moment. Gifts were one thing, expected even from a man who had plenty of money to spare, but a few words of encouragement and the joining of an inside joke... that was priceless and exactly what you needed right now.

Writing letters had quickly lost its appeal once you started double and triple guessing every word that went onto the page. Life had gotten in the way, so you distanced yourself from your new friends to focus on your studies. You assumed you made the right choice, but it only succeeded in making you feel more isolated. With the end of your first semester looming, you wondered if you’d made a terrible mistake by taking his money.

Bruce Wayne clearly didn’t care about you or your struggles, especially after never receiving a response to your frantic letter apologizing for your misstep.

But maybe you’d been a little too quick to judge.

Your laughter died on a wheeze as tears gathered in your eyes, hot and searing, relieved you hadn’t fucked this up. It wasn’t often the actions of billionaires brought you to tears, and happy tears at that. Hah. You wanted to laugh and sob and scream. Perhaps, an ugly combination of all three. A weight you’d carried over the last few weeks lifted, and you could finally breathe a little easier.

He wanted you to be yourself.

Your paranoia could settle, and you could finally enjoy life instead of sitting around and waiting for him to pull the plug on your academic pursuits.

Grabbing your new journal, you headed for the window. Ice and gray-flecked snow gathered on the grate outside. You sat on the small bench inside your apartment and cracked the window, relishing the chilly Gotham night. As you considered how best to christen your new journal, you heard the pop and drag of a grappling gun. Everyone from Gotham had come to recognize the call of an incoming vigilante.

Your gaze snapped toward the sky, searching the rooftops for the telltale smear of red on the black canvas of night.

Several seconds passed, the air thick with tension before you saw him. A speck of red landed on a roof two blocks down. Red Hood bolted, swallowed by the shadows before you fully realized you’d spotted him. You squashed the urge to call out to him.

Catching a glimpse of him every now and again was enough, you tried to reason with yourself. Knowing that if you ever ran into trouble again, Hood might be the one to save you was enough.

You almost believed yourself this time too.

To avoid the temptation of watching the sky, you retreated further inside with your journal. You sat cross-legged on your couch, anticipation buzzing through your veins as you tried to focus on the blank page. Much to your chagrin, words were harder to come by with your attention drifting back to the window every few seconds.

A distraction—that’s what you needed.

You turned on the TV, resuming where you left off in your rewatch of Bridgerton. It wasn’t long before you caught your attention straying toward the window once more. You groaned and laid out flat on the couch so you couldn’t see the window at all.

When he decided to grace you with his presence was outside your control. You knew that. The only logical step was to focus on something you could control. Pulling out your phone, you scrolled through a slew of unread texts. Your thumb hovered over the picture Steph had uploaded. One of her posing with Cass after one of their self-defense classes.

She tried texting.

She tried calling.

You never answered.

She had every right to ignore you now if she wanted to, but it was worth a shot. You clicked the ‘call’ button and raised the phone to your ear. At the very least, you could leave a voicemail. Steph deserved an apology, even if she never wanted to speak to you again.

The call connected after two rings. “My horoscope has never led me wrong. It told me to expect an unexpected call today.”

You struggled to contain your smile. At least you could count on Steph to remain consistent in these trying times. “If you expected it, can it be unexpected?”

“Psh. Begone with your logic. So, does this call mean you want to be my friend again?”

You had the decency to act sheepish. “I know it was shitty of me, to disappear. I just...” There was no real justification for your actions, and you didn’t try to explain yourself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have cut you out like that. I was in my head, and if you want to tell me to pound sand, be my guest. But, if you’re amendable to an alternative, I would like to grab lunch tomorrow and catch up.”

Her phone crackled as she readjusted her phone, quiet save for a small hum of contemplation. You held your breath as you waited.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I am,” you answered honestly, “I got the pep talk I needed.”

You could hear the smile in her voice as she said, “Good. Though, for the record, I’ve been known to give a pretty stellar pep talk myself. You could have come to me. I love telling people how great they are.”

She also loved devastating people with a single, well-aimed slight. You’d seen it for yourself on several occasion but thankfully had never been on the receiving end. Steph truly was a woman of multitudes.

You laughed despite yourself. “I’m getting used to friends. Sad, I know, but I panicked and this was the result. I am sorry. I’d like to make it up to you. Lunch is on me.”

“Ew, keep your money. I just want to hang out and talk shit about Dr. Edwin. I mean, can you believe he had the gall to throw a pop quiz at us? It's a philosophy class for fuck's sake? I wasn't even aware there were tests," she groaned before quickly adding, "You can also tell me about this life-changing pep talk while we’re at it.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips. If she knew it came from Bruce Wayne, you’d never live it down. “Just a friend.”

“I thought you didn’t have friends?”

“Do you want to hang out or not?”

“Hm, suspicious,” she said with a sniff, “I’ll drop it for now, but we will talk about this tomorrow. Can I invite Cass? She missed you too.”

“Yeah, that sounds gr—”

Several things happened in that moment.

You heard the pop of a grappling gun.

Something large hit your fire escape.

A voice, warped by modulation, groaned.

Your heart lurched.

It couldn’t be...

“Hey? You still there?” Steph’s voice dragged you back.

“I—yeah, I’m here. Someone—I gotta go. I’ll text your tomorrow.” You hung up before Steph could respond and sat up.

Red Hood ambled to his feet, outlined by the flickering streetlamp outside. He rolled his shoulder experimentally, another round of colorful curses crackling from his mask.

“Hood?”

He froze.

Slowly, his attention shifted to where you perched on the couch, then toward the TV. You followed his gaze. Daphne Bridgerton hung off a ladder as Simon's hands disappeared beneath her dress. He pressed searing, open-mouthed kisses to her exposed throat, their moans heavy and loud in the silence that stretched on.

Your eyes widened as you hurried to turn down the volume, to turn it off, anything to spare you from the mortification of explaining the plot of Bridgerton to him.

The screen went black, and you whipped around to face him. “I—”

“I preferred Anthony’s season.”

Your brain turned a little fuzzy. “You’ve... you’ve seen it?”

“Out of morbid curiosity. Nothing more.”

The lie was far from convincing, but he stared back, daring you to call him on his bluff. You let it go because you had yet to fully accept that he was here, talking to you. He crouched to speak with you through your window. It was a sight to behold, his shoulders comically wide for the frame.

You stepped toward him, fearing moving too quickly might scare him off. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a while.”

That much was obvious. “It has.”

His fingers flexed around your windowsill, his leather gloves squeaking softly. Neither spoke. You waited, but he seemed reluctant to say anything more. That meant it fell to you to fill the empty air.

“Did you want to come in?”

It was smarter not to let him in. This was more than enough. No need to be selfish. And yet, you offered anyway.

He nodded and said, “Sure.”

Shoving the window up, he managed to squeeze inside, grunting softly as he rolled his shoulder again. You stepped forward to meet him halfway, nearly touching him now, but not quite closing the distance.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I, uh...” He stood a little straighter. “I fell just now.”

Another silence wrought with tension settled. You glanced around your apartment, wishing you’d known he would appear so you could have tidied up a bit. His attention, however, didn’t stray from you. It sat like a weight on your chest, pressing the air from your lungs.

After months of nothing, his presence shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, but your body fizzled with anticipation. Your hand fell back to your side. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“I wanted to see you.”

He recoiled, and you imagined that was something he meant to keep to himself. Still, his confession hung in the air between you, waiting for you to do something with it. He stayed rooted to the floor, not even the crackle of his breaths passing through his modulator.

You broke away from him as you considered your next move. You imagined what this meeting would be like. What you would say? How he would respond? Reality was far more daunting. Hesitantly, you turned to the small collection of books organized at the foot of your bed.

One chance.

You had to make this count.

Pulling three from the lowest shelf, you turned to face him once more. “I realize I don’t know anything about you.”

He didn’t correct you.

You pressed on, “I also realize that it’s probably safer that way considering who you are and the life you lead.”

Again, nothing.

Closing the distance once more, you offered him the stack. He reached for them, though you couldn’t tell if it was a deliberate choice or simply reactional. He released a shuddering breath that rippled through his modulator—the only indication that his brain hadn’t completely shut off.

Before you lost the nerve, you continued, “I read the Emily Wilson translation of The Odyssey. I know that feels like a lifetime ago, but I think it helped me understand the man who hides behind the mask a little better.” You looked at him in earnest as you fiddled with the strings on your yellow hoodie. “Our favorite books can say a lot about a person’s character. I wanted to share a few of my favorites with you too. Maybe this is how we can get to know each other without sharing too much.”

You waited for him to say something.

Anything.

Seconds passed, each more constricting than the last. This was the most vulnerable you’d been in a while. You’d hoped for a little more of a reaction, though it was difficult to know what was happening under that damn helmet. Your fingers twitched at your side as the silence stretch on between you.

You cracked first. “I’m sorry if this is weird, I just thought—”

He handed the books back to you, effectively shutting you up. You knew outright rejection was a possibility but experiencing said rejection was much worse. Your throat tightened as you fought back whatever knee jerk reaction clawed at your chest.

Once more, you were caught staring at each other, the space between you cavernous and achingly cold. Your grip tightened around the books, half-tempted to chuck them at his head.

How dare he come here.

How dare he toy with your emotions.

He could have stayed away.

He stepped toward the window. “I need to go.”

You didn’t stop him when he ducked through the window and shot into the night. Numbness quickly settled in his wake, soothing the sting of rejection as you set the books on your table and drifted listlessly back to your couch.

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A/N: Let me take a second to thank those of you who have taken the time to read and comment. It means a lot, and brightens my day whenever I get a notification! I hope you enjoy the ride.

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@bungunz @emu-lumberjack @goldendistrict

[saintsenara]

Perhaps not the point of your ongoing Snoldemort (Vape?) masterpiece, but I really like how you write Lily. She’s adventurous and determined and charismatic, but also utterly careless about Severus’ emotions and especially his poverty in a way that’s - for those of us who’ve been in the same boat - utterly demeaning. And I think that’s all clearly there in canon too! I know she’s rather underwritten due to her mystery being kept under wraps for 6.95 out of 7 books, but I don’t think she’s *quite* as underwritten as many people think considering she’s only got about 10 lines. So I really love it on the exceedingly rare occasions when she flashes up in fics to be less saintly and more…correct in most respects, but also such a dick about it.

i can't believe i've been foolishly persisting with "snapemort" as the ship name when "vape" was in front of me the whole time.

[a shot of lord voldemort listening to the radio broadcasts of the wizengamot...]

thank you very much for this lovely message about scylla and charybdis, anon! i'm delighted you're enjoying it.

the starting point for her characterisation in the fic was - basically - god forbid a teenage girl not be the most selfless person in history.

i'm always really struck [and completely unsurprised...] that both sides of the fandom debate about snape seem to focus a lot on lily's supposed saintliness. since i'm a snape fan, i end up seeing the anti-lily side of this fairly often - endless rounds of "well if she's so great why didn't she do exactly what snape wanted all the time? why did she simply not accommodate everything he thought? checkmate, snaters" nonsense, which then quickly devolves into "every even mildly negative thought she had about snape was driven by her pure evil"...

but the thing is... even without any of the rest of it - the fact that she's a member of the wizarding world's persecuted underclass and there's a war on, for example - she's allowed to not be constantly thinking about other people's problems. and she's allowed to be annoyed and selfish and uncharitable and rude. and she's allowed to not be constantly filtering her words and actions through every single possible societal nuance in order to make sure she only responds in the most perfect way ever... not least because that's fundamentally impossible.

i like the fact that she never quite gets how snape's poverty changes his engagement with the world - especially in the most recent chapter, when she's thirteen and she thinks she's having a nice time hanging out with her pal and she thinks he's saying what he means when he says he doesn't want anything from the ice cream man, rather than pretending that he doesn't because he hasn't got any money and he finds the idea of admitting that to her to be too humiliating to bear - because it's a situation where neither of them are in the wrong, which i just find much more interesting than the fandom's determination to divide characters who are in conflict into the winner and the loser, or the good person and the bad one, or the person who's right and the person who's wrong.

snape's feelings about his poverty are entirely understandable, and lily clearly hasn't thought as much about it as might be admirable... but it's also his own fault that he doesn't share these feelings with lily, and just expects her to read his mind and modify her behaviour without him offering her any explanation as to why he wants her to do this or offering her any chance to refuse or to ask him to compromise on these desires.

and this lack of honest communication leads to their bigger, much more clear-cut resentments - over james, over mulciber and avery, over dark magic, and - of course - over voldemort. lily's obviously completely correct to say that voldemort is a terrorist and she won't respect anyone who's obsessed with him... the moral argument is black-and-white, lily's the only person who's right.

but the issue is that snape isn't actually arguing from an opposing position. he's not arguing that voldemort isn't a terrorist - he's arguing that voldemort is a terrorist who's also the only person he's ever met who's offering a tangible way for him to get out of poverty. and this is true - both in the fic and, in my view, in the canon text. the material argument is much, much more complicated than the moral one.

lily can't solve these problems - she's just one person, and she doesn't have to risk her own safety to try and deradicalise someone seeking to join an organisation which hates muggleborns - and i don't expect her to have ever been able to do so.

but i also like the fact that - just as snape's major failing in canon is indifference [he can tolerate what voldemort does until it affects him] - the good guys' major failing is indifference too.

the ministry and the order are principled people taking a righteous moral stand against terror... and they also have no idea how the system they're fighting for oppresses all but the elite of wizarding society... whereas voldemort understands this intimately, and he uses it to swell his ranks with disaffected recruits who are looking for someone to blame for their conditions...

[hence why he's the person - even as the text tries to present him as someone whose aims are pureblood oligarchy - who canonically commands the support (or, at the very least, the toleration) of the working classes and the non-human peoples oppressed by the wizarding state...]

but these recruits are nonetheless entirely aware what they're signing up for... they're not joining a legitimate political party, or a union, or an activist group seeking to bring about change through non-violent means... they're joining a terrorist organisation...

but their experience at the hands of the state makes them easy to convince that they've got no other choice...

i like this sort of vicious cycle approach to both the first and the second war because it's so much more interesting than canon's "this is a straightforward battle between good and evil" vibe.

[solarmorrigan]

18 with platonic stobin please! (Sorry if this sends twice I got an error message >:( whack)

Did not send twice, but I'm glad it came through at least once!

18. Headache - Platonic Stobin

cw: mentions of alcohol use

-

Robin is certain of three things:

1) Today is going to be terrible, 2) she’s dying, and 3) Steve is the worst.

Well – okay, no, that last one isn’t really true; he’s actually making breakfast for them both right now, which is great, because, again, Robin is probably dying.

It’s just he has the audacity to bustle around their kitchen like he hadn’t had just as much to drink as Robin had last night, like the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows isn’t stabbing painfully into his eyes the way it is Robin’s, like his stomach isn’t roiling like they’re on a ship in a storm, like the dark circles under his eyes and his sallow complexion don’t indicate he’s every bit as hungover as Robin is.

“How are you even functioning right now?” Robin whines from where her head is half hidden behind her arms, slumped over at the kitchen island.

Steve shrugs. “Practice, I guess?” His voice is a little croaky, but he sounds otherwise unaffected, and Robin hates it a little.

“There is no way you’ve been this hungover often enough to just be used to it,” Robin argues. “I would’ve noticed.”

“No, not hungover,” Steve answers with the soft breath of a laugh. “Just– migraines, y’know?”

Robin gives a vague, affirmative grunt, but it takes a few long moments for the meaning of the words to reach her through the soupy mess of her brain.

“Wait,” Robin mumbles, braving the murderous rays of the sun to look up at Steve where he’s standing over the stove. “This is what a migraine feels like?”

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling right now, but– are you nauseous?” Steve asks.

Robin swallows thickly, humming in the affirmative.

“Kinda dizzy?”

“Mm.”

“Light and noise make you feel kind of like you want to die?”

“God, yes.”

“Head hurt so much that you wish it would actually just fall off?”

Robin jams the heels of her palms into her eyes, nodding pitifully.

Steve hums. “Then that’s about it, yeah.”

“Oh my god.” Robin drags her hands down her face, staring blearily at Steve as he pokes nonchalantly at the eggs he’s currently scrambling. “You do this regularly?”

“Sometimes it’s not as bad. Sometimes it’s worse. That’s when I get stuff like trouble seeing, or talking. But I guess?” Steve shrugs again, the line of his shoulders stiff; it’s clear he doesn’t feel well, but he’s far more active than Robin thinks she has the capacity to be right now. “Like, this sucks, but I’d still classify it as okay enough to go to work. Maybe run errands, if they’re important.”

“Oh my god,” Robin mutters again, laying her head back on her folded arms. “You deserve financial compensation for being alive.”

Steve snorts. “When you find someone to talk to about that, let me know.”

The quiet clink of porcelain against tile sounds just beside Robin’s head, and she opens her eyes, unable to remember when she’d closed them. Scrambled eggs and buttered toast are laid out temptingly on a plate before her, looking good enough that she’s willing to contemplate actually eating them despite the faint protests of her stomach.

“Did you take something for your head already?” Steve asks.

“Tylenol,” Robin says, fingering the edge of the plate. “Definitely hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Steve rounds the island, coming to stand behind the stool Robin is perched on. “Here, sit up straight for a minute.”

Robin groans, but slowly drags herself upright. Behind her, Steve laughs.

“Don’t complain; I’m gonna make it worth your while.”

Before she can ask just how he’s going to do that, Steve’s hands come up to rest at the juncture of Robin’s neck and shoulders, large and strong, a little clammy, but comforting and warm all the same. Then he digs his thumbs into the tense muscle at the back of Robin’s neck, and she thinks she might actually murder him.

The pain only lasts a few moments, though, before the stiff muscle gives way under Steve’s attention, loosening and relaxing until the persistent ache that’s been radiating from the back of Robin’s head begins to ease.

“Holy shit, you’re magic,” Robin says, hushed, almost reverent, shifting slightly in discomfort as Steve moves on to her shoulders, before the muscle there yields, too, granting another ounce of relief.

“Magic, huh?” Steve teases, sounding warm and smug. “I’m gonna remember you said that.”

“Tell anyone and I’ll deny it. You’re too full of yourself as it is,” Robin says, though it comes out with zero conviction, on the tail of a pleased sigh.

“Uh huh.” The massaging motion of Steve’s hands slows and tapers off, leaving him rubbing warm, comforting circles just at the slope where her neck meets her shoulders. “Well, now that I’ve worked my not-magic, do you feel like you could eat?”

Robin looks at the eggs and toast again and finds that her stomach has calmed a little now that her head isn’t pounding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good. I didn’t put all that work in just to have it go to waste,” Steve says, moving back around the island to hop up on his own stool, pulling a second plate towards himself.

“Oh, yeah, ten whole minutes of work. You poor thing,” Robin drawls, but there’s an amused little smile tucked up into the corners of her mouth.

It might not be such a bad day after all, she decides, and she’s probably not dying, but she does know that Steve is actually, probably, the best.

[nerdybookworm25]

Even MORE Caitvi Headcannons

If you don’t ship Caitvi pls just scroll away 🩵

SFW:

- as soon as Cait was able, she was back at work. It was a lethal combination of her workaholic nature and her guilt over what she had done under Ambessa’s manipulation (this drove Vi nuts)

- Vi didn’t know what she wanted to do after the war and healing (physically) and it had her really down for a long time

- Eventually, Vi gets back into boxing (which helps improve her mental health) and much later on ends up opening a boxing studio where she teaches classes for all ages on the Zaun side of the bridge, but still in view of Piltover

- every class is entirely free Zaunites

- The studio ends up reconnecting her with Zaun, less people consider her a sell out/Piltover lapdog, etc, and she ends up regaining ownership of where the Last Drop was, rebuilds it, and reopens it

- You will see Vi there working pretty much any night that Cait is working overnight because she hates sitting alone in the Manor

- All of the money Vi makes from running the bar goes to the upkeep of the facilities, her employees, and the Firelights; she keeps none of it for herself AT ALL

- Cait doesn’t go into Zaun for YEARS after the war. She just staunchly refuses no matter how much Vi tries to convince her to visit her at either of her jobs

- PDA is something they both do a lot but only to an extent

- Like in public Cait and Vi are always holding hands/someone’s hand will be in someone else’s back pocket/an arm will be around a waist but they don’t really like kiss or hug in public

- you might catch a cheek kiss or a kiss to the back of a hand but it is always chaste on the rare occasion it does happen

- these girls LOVE a farmers’ market holy shit like they will walk around with Artemis and Apollo and kids’ll come up and pet the dogs and it’s just like a fun family thing they do together

- SPEAKING OF FAMILY, THE KIDS!!

- I think they have 2 girls and they’re named Cassandra Felicia Kiramman (Cassie/Cas) and Lavander Kona Kiramman (Lav/Vandie)

- I looked it up, and found that League (which I know nothing about tbh) bases Ionian language pretty heavily on Japanese, so “Kona” is the Japanese word for “Powder” or in this context, the Ionian word for it

- Cassie is older and looks like baby Cait but with more indigo/purple hair than Cait’s indigo/blue hair and has Vi’s eyes. She also has Cait’s build: Long legs and a short torso

- Vandie has hair that is a super pale purple — like it’s truly reflective of her name and Cait’s eyes, but holy fuck does she just have Vi’s face. She has a long torso and long legs (Vi’s torso with Cait’s legs if you wanna have it put that way) so she ends up being the tallest in the family by the time she stops growing

- When Cait sees Vi and Lav together, she calls them her flowers (Violet and Lavender — get it? Also fun fact these flowers both have been used historically as symbols of lesbianism so that’s fun too!!)

- Cas got nicknamed muffin as a kid and it has STUCK so when she and Cait are together, Vi ends up calling them baked goods or sweet treats and they both roll their eyes affectionately

- Cassandra and Lavander are five years apart and holy fuck they DID NOT get along until they were like 15 and 10 respectively and even then it could still be a little rocky, but it was usually a lot more playful from then on

- They really became best friends the year before Cassandra went on her first tour about Runeterra with Piltover’s professional shooting league

- UGH I HAVE SO MUCH I COULD WRITE ABOUT THESE GIRLS I SWEAR

NSFW:

- idk why im so fixated on Sub!Cait and Dom!Vi right now when I think they do the reverse slightly more often but oh well

- I’m just gonna get right into it I think they’re both into ass play/anal to an extent and no I cannot explain where that thought comes from

- For whatever reason, I think Cait is both the most into that between the two of them and the most embarrassed about it (Vi fucking LOVES to tease her about when she’s domming)

- While neither of them will be outright degrading to one another (both in and out of kink and ESPECIALLY when Cait is domming Vi) but Cait does like a mix of praise and degradation and tries to

- they both absolutely have collars

- Vi kisses it after eating it regardless of if she’s in charge or not

- These ladies LOVE a boiling hot bath together as part of aftercare

- QUICKIES ARE A STAPLE

- these two always have hickies all the fuck over

- Cait always tells Vi to not put them in visible spots because she doesn’t want ppl at work or around Piltover to see them (not because she is embarrassed of Vi at all, but rather because she thinks that it would be unprofessional of her…and admittedly very distracting to her when she’d catch herself in a reflective surface)

- in contrast, Vi doesn’t give a shit where Cait puts a hickey on her and she won’t cover up visible ones unless she and Cait have an official event to go to. It wouldn’t be unusual to see them walking around Piltover together on a weekend holding hands with Vi’s neck looking like it got mauled

- I KNOW I SAID NO IMPACT PLAY AND I STAND BY IT BUT I do think that if she’s in the mood for it…Vi doesn’t mind having her pussy slapped lightly; its never enough to hurt — frankly, it’s more of a tap than anything — but the moan she’ll let out when Cait does that…fuck

- they’ve had sex in some form in almost every single room of the manor (excluding the servants’ quarters and the rooms that Tobias moved to once Cait and Ci moved into the master bedroom)

- Grinding is huge for both of them, but on different parts of each other’s bodies

- I think I’ve mentioned this before (I could be wrong but whatever) but I think that Vi loves to grind on Cait’s thighs

- Cait, on the other hand, loves to grind on Vi’s abs

- Both of them are fucking freaks and will occasionally grind on whoever’s in charge’s boots

- Cait is ABSOLUTELY more of a brat than Vi. They’ll both brat sometimes, but if it’s a game of who’s most likely to, it’s going to be Cait

- I know I’ve talked about how Cait would punish Vi in a previous post, but I don’t think I talked about how Vi would punish Cait

- It is absolutely making Cait work herself up while she watches Vi work herself up OR Vi will make Cait work to “earn” her collar (this is where the boot grinding comes in — just read a FANTASTIC fic with this premise and holy fuck it was so so SO GOOD)