#this and only this i will be sympathetic to

[mischievousmoony]

𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚣𝚎𝚛𝚘

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ a guy makes unwanted advances on you at a frat party, and the president comes to your aid ⊹ 3.0k ⟢ warnings/tags: alcohol, unwanted advances + touching and sexist comments from another character, james gets aggressive confronting said character, american!james hehehe (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

By your third visit to the crowded, beer-scented kitchen, your features have set into a deep scowl. You groan, slumping against the wall—only to immediately push yourself off, unwilling to let the exposed skin of your back come into contact with any part of the frat house you're in. Was the wall sticky, or have you started sweating from the heat of all the drunk bodies around you? Either option makes you cringe.

Tonight was supposed to be fun. Frat parties weren’t exactly your ideal night out, but your best friend had dragged you to this one with the promise of a fun time. But your night has quickly turned into a wild goose chase after she disappeared with some guy.

"Are you okay?" a voice calls from your left, barely audible over the music that's starting to make your head pound. You realize that you had started pinching the bridge of your nose. When you lower your hand and turn your head, you find a pair of kind eyes staring down at you.

He introduces himself as Todd after you explain that you've been looking for your friend for half an hour to no avail. With a sympathetic smile, he offers to help, which you gratefully accept. Anything to find your friend and put this dreadful night to an end.

"Are you, like, one of the brothers?" you ask, noticing the letters on Todd's cap as you follow him through the house, but it's a little too dark to make them out. Not to mention, you don't really remember which fraternity your friend even brought you to tonight.

"Nah," Todd shouts over his shoulder. "Not here." He doesn't provide any more information than that as he changes the subject, suggesting the two of you search the backyard.

"I thought the yard was off limits,” you shout as you speed walk to catch up with him. He’s walking so fast that you barely have time to consider why he would think your friend would be outside.

Stepping into the cold, he explains, "Apparently their neighbors complained about the noise last weekend, so they're trying to keep the party inside. But a couple of quiet people shouldn't be an issue. It's nice to be away from all the noise, eh?"

You shudder when the night air hits you, hugging your arms around yourself tightly and attempting to smooth away the goosebumps already prickling on your skin.

"Maybe if it wasn't freezing."

You look around at the back yard, finding it completely empty except for a thin layer of fallen leaves and scattered beer bottles hidden in the uncut grass. Todd is leading you straight across the lawn, farther away from the house and any source of light. You’re starting to get a weird feeling about this—and Todd—so you slow to a stop while he continues to head deeper into the darkness.

"Hey, I don't think my friend is gonna be out here. I'm gonna keep looking inside–"

"What's the rush?" Todd's demeanor changes when he notices you’re falling behind. He quickly closes the distance between the two of you again in two strides.

You release a dry laugh, realizing that you've been too trusting, and your tone turns serious. "I should really find my friend."

"You said she was with a guy, right? C'mon just let her have her fun." Todd drops his voice an octave, trying to sound seductive, but it comes across embarrassingly forced. "Maybe we can have some fun too."

When he reaches to touch the side of your face, your mood starts to change from a little let down and slightly annoyed to seriously pissed off.

"Don't," you say coldly, jerking your head away from his touch.

"Aw, c'mon," he continues to try to coax you, still somehow thinking he has a chance at convincing you. When his fingers graze your sides, you shout at him to keep his hands off, but instead, he slides them to your waist, holding you firmly.

"Let go!" you demand, planting you hands firmly on his shoulders and pushing. He chuckles at your feeble attempts, making you angrier, so you switch tactics. You wrap your hands around his wrists and pry his hands off, applying a pressure to the inside of his wrists that makes him release you with a hiss.

There's an angry voice in the distance shouting "Hey!" presumably at the two of you. You hear the steady sound of footsteps growing louder—one of the brothers probably coming to yell at you for sneaking into their backyard. You're a little too busy to care as you stomp away from Todd.

Todd doesn’t seem to notice the newcomer either. Too absorbed in the sting of your rejection, he starts getting angry too.

"Don't be such a prude," he snaps. He catches your wrist and pulls you back to him with a swift tug, spinning you around to face him. You draw your free arm back, using the extra momentum from the spin to your advantage as you punch him squarely in the jaw.

The punch throws him off balance, sending him stumbling back. His foot catches on an empty beer bottle, twisting his ankle as he loses his footing and crashes onto the grass with a heavy thud.

You stand above him, a little stunned at your actions. Todd is whining pathetically about the pain from the punch to his face, and the pain from the fall to his ass.

Someone jogs up beside you, and you can feel their gaze darting back and forth between you and Todd.

"Nice punch," he says, a little out of breath.

"Thanks," you reply flatly, only now starting to process that you—with the help of a beer bottle—sent this man tumbling to the ground.

"Alright," the mystery man says like he's about to get to work. He steps into your line of sight, looming over Todd for a moment.

He has a mop of dark curls spilling out from under a red baseball cap sitting backwards on his head. The cap matches his letterman-style jacket, which clings to his broad frame, drawing attention to his muscular body. Under different circumstances, this is a view you’d appreciate.

He bends down and grabs Todd by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him to his feet. Even with both of them standing, he still towers over him.

"Hey, man. What's up?" he asks Todd, his casual words contrasting with his abrasive tone.

"That slut just punched me!" Todd shrieks.

You roll your eyes. How pathetic.

He tightens his grip on Todd's shirt collar, using it to shake him roughly. "Watch your fucking mouth or I'll be the next," he threatens, and Todd goes quiet.

Your eyes widen at his sudden sharpness. Almost involuntary, you shift your position, angling yourself to get a clear look at the boy’s face. Black rimmed glasses sit lazily on the bridge of his nose, under his furrowed brow as he glares daggers at Todd. His eyes are big and brown, almost seeming out of place against the hard scowl carved into his features.

"Here's what's gonna happen," he continues. "First, you’re blacklisted. You’re never stepping foot in my house again. And what's this?"

He plucks Todd's hat off his head, inspecting the letters with a scoff before tossing it to the ground. "Of course. I'm sure nationals will be happy to hear about how you've conducted yourself tonight."

Todd's eye twitches at the threat. "Let's not pretend I was doing anything she didn’t want. Look at the way she’s dressed—flaunting herself, just begging for attention."

"What did you just say?" he seethes.

"James, c'mon," Todd says, revealing the name of the taller boy. He speaks with a nonchalance that makes James' nostrils flare, angered by his dismissiveness of the situation.

You begin to wonder how they know each other when James sets him straight.

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to? My friends call me James, you don't get to call me shit. The fuck do you think this is, man? I catch you in my backyard putting your hands on a girl who clearly doesn't want anything to do with you and you think you can talk to me like we're friends? I don't even know who the hell you are."

Your eyes must be bulging out of your head by now. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a scene from a movie—an exposé on the dark side of greek life, or maybe the mafia. Not knowing much about either, it’s hard to say, but the backward hats and pounding music from the house quickly remind you of where you are.

James lowers his voice, his tone dipping into something almost menacing. "But I’ll find out from your brothers, and when I do, you’re finished here. Done. Now come on."

Todd flinches as one of James' hands clasps over the back of his neck with a sharp smack. There were some other guys you hadn't noticed before back near the house, to whom James hands Todd over.

Once James notices that you're still standing in the middle of the yard, he jogs back over. On his way, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his hair to loosen his curls.

"Hey," he says in a soft voice, vastly different from the one he used on Todd. "Are you okay?"

The change in his demeanor catches you off guard. You exhale while you collect your thoughts, a steamy white cloud filling the space as your warm breath meets cool air.

"That was intense," you say. You don’t mean to dodge his question, but he did just switch from mafia boss levels of threatening to sunshine and rainbows.

James breathes out a laugh. "Sorry about that. Gotta be a hardass with some of these dicks, especially ones like that. Part of the job."

You raise an eyebrow, curiosity piqued, wondering what job he's talking about.

James reads your expression, and stands up a little straighter as he introduces himself. "President James, at your service." With an exaggerated wink, he tugs at the edge of his jacket, pulling it taut to show off the letters sewn over his chest.

You nod in understanding. "Well, thank you for stepping in, Mr. President," you say, a slight tease coloring your tone.

A smile like sunshine overtakes his lips. "No need to thank me, really. Anyway, you handled it pretty well before I got here. That was some punch—is your hand alright?"

You had forgotten about that. Splaying your fingers out in front of you, you inspect your knuckles. "Mhm. Fine. I don't think I can feel my limbs anyway." You wrap your arms back around yourself, the cold become almost unbearable in your tank top.

"Shit, yeah, it's cold out here, isn't it?" James holds his hat between his teeth, freeing his hands as he strips off his jacket. Your eyes linger on his toned arms for a moment too long, and suddenly his hat has made its way back onto his head and he's holding his jacket out for you.

"May I?" he asks.

As much as you want to say no, you truly are freezing, so you let yourself be draped in his warmth and the scent of his cologne. The fabric has an unexpected weight to it, almost offering a comfort similar to an embrace.

James rubs his hands up and down over newly blanketed arms to encourage some warmth into them. James studies your face with softened eyes, his tone taking on a more serious note.

"Hey, listen... I'm really sorry that happened to you. Everything he said, and did–"

"It's alright," you interrupt.

"It's not. That shouldn't be happening. Not at my house—not anywhere. I'm really sorry you had to deal with that creep. And if you wanted to take it to the school, I'd be more than willing to–"

"No, no. That's more trouble than he's worth."

James nods, respecting your decision. "For what it's worth, I'm gonna make sure he won't be allowed in any of the parties around here anymore. I doubt I can get him completely blackballed, but I'll do what I can."

You offer James a small smile in response. You're glad to hear that, really, but now that Todd's gone and that's all over, your main concern is finding your friend and getting the hell out of here.

"Why don't you let me give you a ride home?" he offers, almost like he can read your mind. His kind, brown eyes almost make you want to say yes. But after the night you've had, you owe it to yourself to be a little less trusting.

"I don't know." You bite the inside of your cheek while you decide if you should disclose your current dilemma. James does seem eager to help. Deciding to tell him, you say, "I was looking for my friend."

James is quick to offer his assistance. "Who's your friend? Maybe I can help."

You tell him your friends name and recount what she was doing when you saw her last. "She ran off with this guy. Long black hair, leather jacket, I think I heard his name but it was something... unique."

James sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Sounds like Sirius."

"Sirius, yes! That was his name." You're momentarily excited, thinking that James could actually help, but the look on his face squashes the feeling promptly.

"Yeah, uh," James scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, "Sirius left with a girl like an hour ago. About yay high," he holds his hand out to your friend's height. "Tan. Brown hair."

You sigh. Some best friend you have. Here you are, searching for her endlessly, and she's ditched you at the party she brought you to.

"She was your ride, I’m guessing?" The corner of James' lip quirks up in a sorry half-smile as you nod. "It really is no trouble for me to drive you home."

You tap your foot on the ground anxiously. You're really wanting to just accept his offer. He seems nice enough, but there's still a little voice in the back of your mind telling you to be careful.

"I just... I don't really know you."

"Understandable," James starts. "But... you kinda do. I'm pretty sure we have chem together."

"I don't think so." You think you’d remember a muscly, likely rambunctious, frat boy in your boring chem class.

"Okay, I was playing it cool,” James’ teeth graze his lower lip in a bashful manner. “I know we have Chem together—with Professor Brown? Tuesdays and Thursdays. You sit in the front row. Y/N, right?" James looks a little sheepish as he recalls your name.

You nod slowly, really looking at James for the first time, trying to place him. Then it hits you—you do remember him. He sits a few seats down from you in chem, always rigorously taking notes and asking questions you wouldn’t have thought of (but are glad to have the answers to). Seeing him like this, though, is such a contrast to the smart guy from class that you didn’t even recognize him at first.

You feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You’ve only ever spared him a few glances, but you’ve always thought the smart guy from chem was pretty cute.

"Oh. Oh, right. I–I'm sorry I didn't recognize you. You're James Potter." You try the name on your lips, realizing the name didn't click because you had only ever heard your professor call him by his last name.

"That's me," he grins. "And don't worry about it."

You give him a nod, a bit awkwardly. He seems like a good guy, but you’re still not sure if you want to get in his car. "Well, James, I should probably just call an Uber or something anyway. I don't know if you've been drinking or anything so..."

"Oh!" James holds up a finger, stuffing his other hand into his pocket and pulling out a black rectangle. You mistake it for one of those big, clunky box vapes and almost want to roll your eyes. But then, James surprises you by blowing into it instead of breathing in.

The device beeps, and he shows you the little digital screen, previously hidden behind his hand, that reads "0.00" over a glowing green background.

"Haven't had a drop," he confirms. "I haven't smoked or anything else, either. Not my thing."

"Why do you own a breathalyzer?" you ask, a little dumbfounded.

"So I can breathalyze people," he shrugs, fiddling with the device—tossing it a few inches up in the air and catching it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, not satisfied with his non-answer.

“Sorry,” James chuckles at himself. "Uh, I have a lot of people leaving my parties trying to tell me they're sober enough to drive. I got loads of these ‘cause they can't argue with the numbers... as much as they might try to."

"Where did you even get that?" you ask. You can't imagine there's a very big market for personal breathalyzers.

"You can get almost anything with Prime delivery!" he says it like he's proud as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Hey, you want one? I've got a drawer full back in the house." He points with his thumb over his shoulder.

You laugh, shaking your head at his offer. James laughs along with you, his lips curling into a boyish grin.

Well, if you’re going to put your trust in anyone else tonight it, it might as well be the smart boy from chem who takes safety seriously enough to own multiple breathalyzers.

You start walking towards the house. When you don’t hear a set of footsteps following behind, you call over your shoulder, "Come on."

James catches up quickly, happy to be invited to join you. "Where are we going?"

"To your car so you can give me a ride home."

From the corner of your eye, you watch his face break out into a wide grin. And from there on out, there's an extra pep in his step as he leads you to his car.

When you're safe and sound, back in the comfort of your own room, you flop onto your bed with a dreamy look on your face. You hug the jacket closer to your body, thankful for the excuse to talk to him in chem on Tuesday. Little did you know, he let you keep the jacket so that you'd have one.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[wndaswife]

there’s no need to be brave | wanda maximoff & fem!reader

Sometimes things get to be too much, but you know you can always go to Wanda to feel safe and loved. She reminds you how important it is for you to be taken care of.

Word count: 3573

Tags: it’s all fluff, some humour, age gap, lightly implied age regression during one scene, wanda takes care of you and kisses you and is patient and loving and gentle

The front door rattled softly as you unlocked it. From the kitchen, Wanda looked up from her dinner preparation, anticipating your presence after coming from your afternoon classes. 

She gave you the keys to her place a month ago when your classes didn’t align as much with her work hours as it did for your last semester. Now that you had the keys, it was easier to see each other without your schedules aligning. 

You set down your bag in the living room, shedding your coat on top of it, before practically sliding your feet over to the kitchen lazily. You didn’t even lift your head; it was only the vague figure of Wanda that you needed in order to navigate around the counter and wrap your arms around her body. 

Her arms were trapped under yours, forcing her to wiggle them out of your hold so she could hug you. 

“Baby, are you alright?” she asked, her voice light but her tone concerned. 

You buried your face in her chest. You had meant to reply to her question, but as soon as you opened your mouth you no longer wanted to answer, so you mumbled incoherently into her soft breasts. 

“Sweetheart,” Wanda tried again, leaning back to get a look at you.

Finally, you lifted your head, squinting as you looked up at her in the light of the kitchen. She immediately cupped your face with both hands, brushing back your hair. 

“I hardly got any sleep last night,” you said, straightening so your face wasn’t in Wanda’s chest anymore but now facing her. 

Her eyes followed yours as you looked around the kitchen while you spoke. One hand dropped to your shoulder, her thumb stroking you softly while her other hand remained cupping your cheek. 

“Yesterday, I woke up at eight to study, then last night I slept for two hours before my nine a.m. class, then took an hour nap between classes, and my head hurts and I think I’m getting tunnel vision and I’m scared I’m gonna start hallucinating soon, because isn’t that a sign of sleep deprivation?”

Wanda opened her mouth to say something, but you continued. 

“At least I’ve eaten, but I don’t know if it’s enough, because I was still hungry while coming over here, and I can’t go home because they’re fixing the hydro so I don’t have running water until midnight — I don’t know why they scheduled the construction in the middle of the day — and I want to shower, and it was so cold outside–”

Suddenly the hand that had been cupping your cheek was over your mouth, and you finally looked at Wanda who was staring at you with a gentle gaze. Upon meeting her eyes she smiled at you, so subtly that the corners of her eyes crinkled just slightly. 

Slowly, she put down her hand then wrapped that arm around your waist, holding you against her. She dropped her other hand from your shoulder and held your hand. 

“You can shower here. My water is working just fine,” she said slowly. “I’m preparing dinner now, so stay over tonight and we can eat a proper meal together. If you’re hungry now, anything in the kitchen is yours.”

She watched your expression relax and your shoulders untense, and she smiled a little when you tried to shuffle closer although you were already standing against her. 

“Take another nap, baby. Shower in my room then sleep in my bed.”

You nodded wordlessly. 

As your face relaxed and when your mind seemed much less troubled, Wanda took a good look at you. She stroked your hand with her thumb. 

“You do look tired…” she said sympathetically. “Please go up to shower — it’ll relax you. Are you still hungry? I can make something for you before you have your nap. I’ll go up after you’ve finished showering.”

Internally, you felt like teasing her for how she was very much talking to you like you were her child. But oh, how badly you just wanted to be taken care of like a child. 

You nodded again, looking up at her. 

Then, at the sight of her face, her pretty face and her beautiful eyes, and her soft hair and the slope of her nose and the line and curl of her lips, you leaned in for a kiss. 

Wanda pulled back slightly, and your eyes darted up from her lips to her eyes. She let go of your hand, lifting her own in front of your face, wiggling her fingers a little. 

“Don’t lick your lips; I was handling raw meat before you came in and I touched your face,” she warned, smiling guiltily. 

You looked over to the counter and saw Wanda’s bowl of ground meat, and around it, her spices and other vegetables she had yet to prepare. 

At the sight of your to-be dinner and the idea of Wanda preparing it and cooking it all up, you laid your head on her shoulder and buried your face in her neck. 

“Oh, doll…” she whispered, cradling the back of your head as you tucked your face under her jaw. 

“Now you’ll have to shower, right? Because I rubbed raw meat on your neck?” 

Maybe you were imagining it, but you could hear Wanda’s grin forming even though your face was buried in her neck. When she spoke next, you were at least sure that she was speaking while grinning. 

“Is that what you were doing?” she asked. “You could’ve just asked.

Wanda tucked your hair back, exposing the side of your face. She kissed your temple. “Give me a few minutes to finish with the meat, so I can refrigerate it. Wait for me upstairs.”

After some minutes, Wanda found you sitting on the edge of the tub waiting for her. She smiled at the sight of you wrapped in a towel, looking up at her as she entered. 

Eagerly, you all but lept from your spot and turned to run the shower, testing it with your hand until it became warm while Wanda undressed behind you. 

When she had taken all her clothes off, she approached you and undid your towel before laying it on the sink. 

You turned, wrapping your arms around her, feeling her smooth bare skin immediately warming your own upon contact with her. 

“I washed my face,” you informed her before squeezing your eyes shut and puckering out your lips. 

A soft kiss was then pressed to your lips, your lips relaxing from its puckering. Wanda’s hand came to your cheek, her thumb brushing against your cheekbone tenderly. 

“My sweet girl…” she whispered softly as she parted from the kiss. 

In the shower, Wanda washed your hair with her shampoo instead of yours. 

“I’m… feeling kinda…” you started quietly, looking down and playing with your fingers. 

“Mmm?” Wanda hummed, busy with massaging her soapy fingers against your scalp. 

“Kinda… little.”

”I know, baby,” she replied softly. “Just let me take care of you.“

You wondered if Wanda, too, imagined that she heard your smile when it formed bashfully at her response, like you had in the kitchen when you heard her grin.

Earlier, you had been planning to tell Wanda about the other things which had made you feel upset, like how you were behind in your readings and how you were almost certain you did terribly on your midterm paper.

But in the shower, all those things just disappeared. 

A part of you worried for just a moment that Wanda might even think you were being silly or overly dramatic for being upset over only the things you mentioned earlier, so you figured you ought to tell her the whole story. 

But when Wanda turned around and let you wash her hair, you knew there was no way she’d ever think that about you. 

It made you feel like crying. 

Really, you didn’t know why you felt the urge. Maybe it was because it was just a touching sentiment, or because you were overcome with how safe and cared for you felt, in the steam and warmth of Wanda’s shower, her hair in your hands, and her bare body just a few inches from you — Wanda just a few inches from you. 

When she turned around to start washing your body after her hair was rinsed, her eyes fell upon your face for just a moment, and within that moment, you could tell that she noticed you looked like you were about to cry. 

And when you really were about to cry, you didn’t notice yourself; it was Wanda’s immediate comforting that made you realize you were. 

Then, at your soft hiccups, you knew for sure you were crying. 

Her arms surrounded you, and you buried your face in her neck. Your damp cheeks blended with the wet warmth of her skin, making your face feel flushed. 

“Shh, it’s okay now,” she spoke gently. Her arm wrapped around your waist had her warm palm against the middle of your back, her other cradling the back of your head. “I know it gets hard…” 

You sniffled and opened your eyes, watching the water drip from the ends of Wanda’s hair through your bleary eyes. 

“You’re tired and frustrated,” she said. “You just need to be taken care of, right?” She felt you nodding against her shoulder slightly.

“There we go. It’ll be alright, honey. All you need is a little bit of time.”

Your arms squeezed around her waist. 

“I need you,” you insisted. 

“I’m here, Y/N.”

Though you felt you didn’t need anything to eat until dinner, Wanda prepared a snack for you anyway, insisting that you eat something. You asked her to wake you up for dinner because you didn’t want it to get cold before you woke up.

You wanted to wear her pajamas too, so she picked out a comfy pair for you. You were practically beaming as you snuggled down into her neatly-made bed. 

After a few minutes, Wanda came up with some apple slices and some peanut butter on the side. She told you to get to sleep right after eating, and you weren’t even worried you’d accidentally keep yourself up.

With dinner being prepared and Wanda promising to wake you up once it was finished, you snuggled into her bed, promptly falling asleep in her pajamas after eating the snack she put together for you. 

Over dinner, now that you felt far more rested but still extremely eager to sleep cuddled up to Wanda soon, you spoke about her day, and very little about yours, since you didn’t want to think about it.

She sat beside you, touching you occasionally, her hand rubbing your shoulder as she spoke or playing with your fingers that were laying on your thigh.

She asked how you liked dinner, and scooted closer to you when you told her how much you liked it. 

“When was the last time you had a full meal, baby?”

“A full meal?” you asked, thinking about what qualified as a full meal, let alone a meal at all. 

She squeezed your hand as she took a drink from her glass. “One cooked in a kitchen, and warm.”

“Instant noodles in a pot, two evenings ago.”

“That’s not a meal, Y/N.”

“Then… A week and a half ago. When I went for dinner with my friends.”

Wanda let go of your hand and tucked your hair behind your ear. “You need to eat better, baby. Can you come over more often?”

“Can I sleep over more?”

The corners of Wanda’s eyes crinkled when a smile immediately formed on her face, the tips of her ears rising just a twitch. “Please do,” she answered. 

While you were brushing your teeth, Wanda came up after getting the dishes into the dishwasher. She insisted she do it herself while you got ready. 

She smiled at the sight of you still in her pajamas, brushing your teeth in her washroom. She approached you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, your mouth full of minty suds. 

When you had both finished getting ready, you crawled over the bed and laid your head down in Wanda’s lap and brought your knees to your stomach, like a puppy. She set her phone down and laid her hand on your head, massaging your scalp and forehead softly.

Satisfied and relaxed, you closed your eyes. 

“I miss you when you’re busy at school, baby…” she said softly, her voice gentle and a little sleepy. 

You opened your eyes and turned onto your back so you could look up at her. The lamp on her nightstand embraced her in a warm glowing outline around the crown of her head through her hair, making the soft glow look like a halo. 

“Really…?” you asked. 

Her warm hand cupped your cheek, her thumb stroking your skin. She nodded. “So much. I think of you all the time, Y/N. Our phone calls aren’t enough.”

You turned your body and pressed your face against her stomach. 

After a few silent moments of Wanda brushing her fingers through your hair. “Why don’t you take care of yourself? You need to eat and sleep properly, honey.”

You muffled indiscernible words into her stomach, not really trying to give an answer. 

“Are you listening, Y/N?”

You spoke, intelligibly this time, albeit still against her stomach. “Yes, I’m listening.”

“Let’s get into bed,” she said, taking your chin in her hand and making you look up at her. She smiled down at you and you turned your head to kiss her palm. 

You weren’t ready to stop clinging onto Wanda even after she turned off the lights and you got under the blankets together; your arms were wrapped around her waist snugly, your head tucked under her chin. Her hand gently stroked the back of your head.

Your breathing was in time with Wanda’s in a way that when her chest expanded as she inhaled, your shoulders relaxed as you exhaled, creating a subtle push and pull of your bodies’ contact.

“I think I might’ve done really badly on my midterm paper,” you said quietly, turning your head and opening your eyes, looking at the subtle shifting of her shoulders.

“Really?” she asked, continuing to stroke the back of your head. “Why?”

The heavy ache in your chest that arose when you normally thought about your terrible paper had somehow dissipated, and in its place a dull and hollowed out feeling where you expected to feel its weight. 

You tightened your arm around Wanda’s waist, pressing your chest against hers. 

“I knew it was terrible as I was writing it. I was just in such a rush. I didn’t take the time to plan it — nothing,” you explained. The words felt like a confession, finally releasing what you’d done without denying it to yourself and storing it deep within that ache that was presently missing.

“What happens if you get a bad mark?”

For the first time, you genuinely thought about a future that took place after receiving the paper’s grade. “I guess I’d have to talk to a teaching assistant about it… Or my professor.”

Wanda hummed in acknowledgment. “It’ll be alright, Y/N. It’s a midterm for a reason; it's not your final, and you’ll certainly have ways to make up for it.”

“But it’s just stupid…” you mumbled, hiding your face in Wanda’s chest again. 

She pulled her head back a bit and looked down at you. “What’s stupid, baby? Come on, look at me when you’re talking.”

“No, I don’t want to,” you replied childishly. 

Wanda gave in with an exhale through her nose and rested her chin on top of your head again. “Can you tell me what’s frustrating you?”

“I’m just stupid. I’m supposed to be able to do these things properly, and I can’t.”

“It’s not that you can’t, Y/N, it’s just that you couldn’t for that assignment. Don’t call yourself stupid.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” you insisted. “You weren’t there with me when I knew I could’ve done better.”

Above you, Wanda clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth and sighed. She took your chin in her hand and forced you to lift your head from her chest. 

You looked up at her. 

“Why do you want me to scold you so badly, hm? You want me to agree with you and tell me you should’ve and could’ve done better, and that you’ve done a terrible thing?”

The suggestion wasn’t entirely far from what you had been trying to do, but the idea of Wanda actually doing it made you upset. You felt your bottom lip tremble a little. 

“Why won’t you just make me feel bad about things? Just make me feel bad about things I do.”

Pads of her fingers pressed against your cheeks and Wanda frowned as she looked down at you.

“I would never do that, Y/N,” she told you softly. 

You couldn’t tell if you felt more defiant and stubborn, or overwhelmed again by the realization of how much Wanda loved you. 

“Why not?” you asked. 

Her hand combed down your hair until she was holding the side of your face in her hand. “I love you. You’re loved when you’re with me. That’s why.”

You rubbed eyes with the back of your wrist, feeling an onset of tears. You didn’t want to cry — it wasn’t the time, and all you’d been doing since you arrived was cry and whine and want Wanda’s attention. 

“Oh, baby…” Wanda whispered, kissing your forehead and pulling your head against her chest again. “I know. You’re just feeling overwhelmed.”

You wrapped your arm tightly around her waist again, now feeling her shirt dampening against your cheeks. 

“I will always be proud of you, Y/N,” she spoke against the top of your head. Her hand rubbed your upper back. “I will never scold you for falling behind or making a mistake when you tried your best. And I know you did. You’re a hard worker and a good girl.” 

At her words, your silent tears grew into soft sobs and pathetic whimpers which you didn’t care enough to try and silence. 

Wanda asked with a sweet and patient tone, “You’re a good girl, right, sweetheart?” 

You nodded against her chest. 

She pulled away and lifted your face up with two hands. She wiped your tears away and craned her head down to kiss you softly. 

When she pulled away, you sniffled and immediately wrapped your arms around her neck to give her a hug. 

Several quick kisses were pressed to your cheek, and Wanda hugged you tighter. You knew that her arms were hugged around your torso, but it really felt like she was hugging you all over.

“You will always have somewhere to go to be loved and cared for, Y/N. I love you so much,” she said, her lips brushing against your temple. 

You were a mess of sniffles and whines. “But I can’t come over as much as I want. I wish I was with you all the time. I wish I didn’t have to go anywhere, ever.”

“I know, sweetheart. I wish you could stay here all the time and wake up with me every morning, and be here every time I get back from work. I wish neither of us had to do anything.”

Her fingers combed through your hair. “But I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. I’m not upset when you can’t visit. I know you get busy and I want you to do well in school. You’re a very smart girl.”

“I love you, Wanda,” you said. Your words were slightly muffled but your lips were close to her ear, so she could hear. “I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you in my life. I love you so much.”

Wanda’s arms tightened slightly around your body. “I love you too. I don’t know what I’d do without you either. Talking and being with you is my favourite part of every day. You’re the most important thing in my life.”

For the rest of the night, you and Wanda talked about how you’d figure out having you come over more. Now that you had keys to her place, you could come whenever you wanted, even if she was at work, and stay until she got home. 

She suggested you come over just to eat between classes even if she was out, but you said you weren’t ready to be at her place without her yet; it would feel too lonely and you wanted to see her every time you came over. 

In the morning, Wanda made you breakfast while you brewed the coffee. You didn’t want to miss her when she left for work, so you woke up early and decided to study on campus before your first class, so you could leave with her and spend more time with her in the car. 

Everything in the world and in your life made so much sense when you were doing your daily tasks with Wanda, as if your ordinary life was meant to be aligned with hers. 

This was the woman you were supposed to spend your life with, and it was no wonder everything felt better when you were with her.

[rulernogard156]

Damn, here I thought that was just me. Always thought I had a great childhood, but then when I moved away and that began happening.

The two reactions I remember most were, when i shared a childhood storyi thought was normal and funny only for my one coworker to look at me dead in the eye and say, "Why are you always so depressing"

Or when we're all sitting outside on a hot day after the fire alarm went off in our office, and i started popping tar bubles. I looked to my supervisor and said if he remembered doing this as a kid and he looked at me kinda sad shook his head and said "no, no. I think that just might have been u" in the most sympathetic way.

[woso-story]

The Worry Of Love

Alexia Putellas x Reader

The morning light streamed into the bedroom, soft and golden, but you barely noticed it as you stirred awake. Instinctively, your hand reached out to the other side of the bed, seeking the familiar warmth of Alexia. Instead, your fingers found cool sheets. You blinked, reality setting in: she was away at an away game, and the bed felt far too big and empty without her.

You lay there for a moment, letting the loneliness creep in. It was such a cliché to feel incomplete when Alexia wasn’t around, but that’s how it was. She had a way of filling the silence, of making everything feel right. Without her, the apartment seemed eerily quiet.

Eventually, you forced yourself out of bed, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast. The kettle hummed as you prepared your tea, the sound breaking the stillness. On the counter sat a little note Alexia had left before she left for her match:

“Good luck surviving without me, cariño ;) Te amo! Be good. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

Her familiar handwriting brought a smile to your face. You missed her, but you knew she was doing what she loved. Still, you couldn’t help but count down the hours until she’d be back.

---

With the entire day ahead and no work responsibilities, you decided to spend it doing things you loved. After breakfast, you pulled your bike from the storage room, deciding on a long, leisurely ride. The fresh air would do you good, and the thought of a quiet ride through the countryside lifted your mood.

The roads were peaceful, the occasional rustle of leaves the only sound besides the rhythmic hum of your tires. You cycled lazily, admiring the view: sprawling fields, trees swaying in the gentle breeze, and the golden glow of the late-morning sun. You felt lighter, as though the world had slowed down just for you.

But in a single moment, everything changed.

You weren’t sure what exactly happened—one moment, you were gliding along, and the next, you were sprawled on the ground, your bike tangled beside you. Pain radiated from your wrist as you sat up, dazed and confused. You cradled your arm, wincing as the throbbing intensified.

A passerby rushed over, concern etched on their face. They helped you to your feet, offering to take you to the hospital. You insisted you were fine, but the pain told a different story. Reluctantly, you agreed.

The hospital visit was a blur of x-rays and sympathetic nurses. The doctor confirmed what you feared—a fractured wrist. They fitted you with a cast, and though the injury wasn’t serious, it left you frustrated and deflated. This wasn’t how you’d imagined your day going.

---

Back home, you sank into the couch, staring at the cast. You’d planned a full day—shopping, relaxing, watching Alexia’s match—but now, all you had was a stiff wrist and a story you didn’t want to tell.

You thought about calling Alexia. But no, she didn’t need to know. She had a big game tonight, and the last thing you wanted was to distract her. You could already picture the worry in her eyes, the guilt she’d feel for not being there. It wasn’t worth it.

That evening, you settled in to watch her match. Despite everything, seeing her on the pitch brought a smile to your face. She was a force of nature, commanding the game with her usual grace and determination. Her team secured a hard-fought victory, and pride swelled in your chest.

Later, your phone buzzed with her call.

“Hola, mi amor,” she greeted, her voice bright with excitement. “Did you see the game?”

“Of course,” you replied, forcing cheerfulness into your tone. “You were incredible. Congratulations!”

“Thank you! How was your day?” she asked, her voice softening.

You hesitated, the truth on the tip of your tongue. But then you remembered her face when she worried, the way her brows knitted together, how her focus shifted entirely to you. You couldn’t do that to her—not tonight.

“It was good,” you said instead. “Quiet, but nice. I missed you, though.”

“I missed you too,” she murmured. “Just one more night, and I’ll be home.”

You ended the call with a bittersweet smile, guilt tugging at you.

---

The next day, you were on the couch when you heard the sound of keys in the door. Alexia was finally home. You looked up as she walked in, her bag slung over her shoulder, exhaustion evident in her posture.

But her fatigue vanished the moment her eyes landed on your cast.

“What happened?” she demanded, rushing over to you. Her hands hovered over the cast, unsure whether to touch it. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed, explaining the accident as simply as possible. Her expression shifted from shock to worry, and then to frustration.

“You should have told me,” she said, her tone a mix of scolding and hurt.

“I didn’t want to distract you,” you admitted. “I knew you’d worry, and it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal,” she replied, her voice softening. “You’re hurt. I’d rather know, no matter what.”

Before you could respond, she was off, bustling around the apartment, gathering pillows, blankets, water, and snacks. Despite her exhaustion, she seemed determined to take care of you.

“Lex, stop,” you said eventually, tugging her down onto the couch beside you. “I’m fine. Just sit with me.”

She hesitated but finally gave in, leaning against you. “Do you need anything? Ice? Painkillers?”

“No,” you replied firmly, wrapping an arm around her. “The only thing I need is you.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, though the worry in her eyes didn’t entirely fade.

---

Over the next few days, Alexia’s doting reached new heights. She refused to let you do anything, from cooking to cleaning to even pouring your morning coffee. At times, her hovering was exasperating, but deep down, you knew it came from a place of love.

One morning, as you tried to make breakfast, she gently but firmly steered you back to the couch.

“Sit,” she instructed. “I’ll handle it.”

“Lex, I can manage one-handed,” you protested.

“Not when I’m here,” she countered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Though her overprotectiveness occasionally drove you crazy, you couldn’t help but smile. It was moments like these that reminded you why you loved her so much.

And as she placed a plate of toast and eggs in front of you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, you realized that maybe being pampered wasn’t so bad after all.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

You're the only person I know on Tumblr who I feel like I can send this ask so I hope this is ok.

I'm absolutely sick to my stomach terrified. People keep talking about not acquiescing early and to keep fighting and that's good but... I'm a trans person married to a trans person and we have a kid. We are so, so scared that we are going to lose our parental rights and have him taken away, even if he's biologically my partners. We are pretty fucking sure that the only way we could even possibly stay in the US and even possibly keep our family together is to detransition. But then we would still be queer, and I remember the 90s and how it was pretty recent that gay couples were considered unfit parents.

And this isn't us blowing things out of proportion, we have an education in politics so we've got a pretty good freaking idea about how bad things can and will get, but also we don't feel like we can afford to NOT take things extremely seriously. The worst case scenario is pretty horrific for us, so we've talked at lengthe about leaving the country. Which is it's own basket of heartbreaks because then there's a real chance we will never be able to come back. And I don't really feel like I can talk about it because a) the Internet doesn't feel safe to be trans on and b) there's been SO much chatter about how we need to stay and fight and people who can leave are privileged etc etc

I just... I'm scared and heartbroken and angry and I feel extremely hopeless. I guess I don't really have a question after all. I just needed to talk about it because it feels like not enough people are seeing this kind of true tragedy that could come from all this.

I wish there was actual help we could get. But there doesn't seem like there's anyone who can.

You're right, Anon - you're not blowing things out of proportion.

I want to say that I'm relieved in a sense that you are talking about where your lines in the sand are are and what you plan to do if they are crossed. There is hope and comfort to be found in a plan, even if it is a plan for the next generation's survival, instead of our own.

Every trans person needs to start thinking about real answers to the following questions:

What will I do if I'm fired tomorrow?

What will I do if I'm denied a loan? Housing?

What will I do if I lose my HRT?

What will I do if information about trans people is considered illegal to circulate?

What will I do if I I'm declared an unfit parent?

What will I do if my marriage is annulled?

What will I do if I'm declared unfit to own my own property or make my own legal decisions?

What will I do if I'm about to be arrested?

There are answers to all of these questions that aren't just "give up and die." But there's no one-size-fits all solution. People will have varying priorities based on how they see their role in fighting fascism and what resources they have access to.

Community is going to become incredibly important. Trans people have always existed. Sympathetic cis people have always existed. Trans people have always found ways to survive and even flourish, even though it often meant not being able to pursue their original dreams.

If you don't know where to begin with strengthening our community, the Trans Literature Preservation Project is a good place to get ideas. The virtual book burnings have already begun on .gov websites, so maybe doing a little preservation work will give you more hope that you're working to make a difference.

Because the work is important, even if the progress won't happen until after our time.

[confused-squishy]

You guys know what time it is

DPxDC Time

Okay, so de-aged Danny is captured by GIW when he meets the Batfamily. I'm talking, Oracle comes across the guys in white and informs the Batfam who uncover EVERYTHING.

~

I know what you're all thinking. Danny is perfect bat adoption bait. But it's not Batman that catches de-aged Danny's attention. It's the big bad wolf, Jason "Red Hood" Todd. Danny sees Jason through the test tub or cage he's been trapped in and can almost feel the pain Jason has felt through his life.

So when Danny is released from his "prison" he doesn't want Batman to hold him. He doesn't want Nightwing to hold him. He definitely doesn't want to be held by the Robin's who are staring at him like he's something to be stabbed or examined. No. He wants the one who looks sympathetic and looks like he knows how Danny is feeling at that moment.

Danny ignore everyone and holds his short arms out towards Jason. Silencing everyone as they stare. Danny didn't look away from those pain filled eyes. Danny knows his eyes must reflect the same way from how quickly Jason scoops him up. Once he's in Jason's arms it's like the Dam gate had broken completely.

Danny cried. He let the tears go. The tears for his parents who even if they didn't like ghosts still love him dearly. The tears for his sister Jazz who not only raised and protected him, but gave her everything to help him when he needed it. He cried for Sam and Tucker. His best friends who like his family, died trying to save him. Died protecting him from the GIW who didn't care for innocent lives.

~

Jason held the glowing child protectively in his arms. He could see how much pain was trapped behind those gates. He knew whatever this kid had been through was worse then any of the bat family had been in combined. He didn't move from his spot.

Jason barely acknowledged when Dick had tapped his shoulder to show him the tag from where the child had been imprisoned. It read "Phantom-001". But Jason knew that wasn't the child's name. It was like something inside him had clicked when he saw those glowing green eyes.

Something inside him warmed as he gently calmed the crying child. No this was his child now. He was going to protect him and keep him happy. Happy and safe from everything this world will try to put on his son's shoulders.

Jason slightly tightened his hold as he felt the steady breathing against his chest. He moved slowly as to not interrupt the much needed sleep. Leaving the room for his family to search and ultimately destroy. He knew if he stayed in that room he'd blow it up.

Seeing those machines and jars filled with that familiar green terrified him. Not from his past. But from the scars on his new son. He wasn't a fool. He could put the pictures together and he really didn't like what the picture was coming out to look like. Jason carefully made his way outside and stared at the sky making a silent promise that he will never break.

"I'll destroy those who did this to you. I'll make them regret everything and more."

[tactical-jellyfish]

The Mistakes That Have Been Made

Part two :)

Warnings!: Angst, angst, and more angst. Reader will be MAD sad for most of this. Poorly-practiced, unhealthy polyamory. Reader will experience a LOT of gender and body dysphoria over the course of this (though I will do my best to keep it gender-neutral throughout, bear with me), but there WILL be comfort over that.

You spent most of the night following the surgery in a light doze, after a certain man named Gary walks you to your room, only slightly entertaining your efforts to walk upright on your own two legs.

Of course, he can't stay, he's got things to do, and he's not your fucking nurse, but he still makes you unlock your phone and watches you set the timer so you take your antibiotics first thing in the morning.

He still leaves to fill up his own water bottle, and sets it by your tiny, shitty nightstand, and he still brings the thing to your lips to make you take a couple sips, even as you try not to drift off right then and there.

When you look up with tired eyes, he offers a small, sympathetic smile, and leans down to gently bump your forehead with his own.

It's... an oddly endearing gesture, considering that's a grown-ass man, but your delirious smile seems to inspire more of that gentle treatment, because when his hands are free again, he's finger-spelling to you once more.

I googled some stuff for the recovery. Should I send you the links to the articles?

You melt, just a little bit, but nod, tiredly resting your heavy head on the pillow beneath it, just really soaking in not feeling like you're dying. Feels great, you've gotta say.

"Yeah. That'd be real sweet of you, luvie. Thanks for all the help."

He beams at you. You hate to admit it, but you smile, too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day after is slow for you. Seeing as you're one organ down, it feels perfectly fit to work quietly in your own small office space, finding more information for prospective ops down the line.

It's comfortably-paced, much unlike how you'd been before your mistake. Back then, you were frantic, under a deadline you knew wasn't realistic trying to find documents that didn't ever exist.

Your job feels so much better without Price and the team on your ass. They never understand how discovery works, they think it just happens in a way that's frankly, stupid.

And, you're no liar, you'll say that getting periodic texts from your new friend really does brighten your mood.

Roach was a riot. And you forgot how it felt to be with that energy, the spark of new meat that you had felt yourself losing in the team.

He's a good lad, might have to get him a dinner, as-

Your train of thought is (rudely) interrupted by your door opening, without a knock or anything, and an irritated Johnny standing behind it.

"Mind tellin' me why ye werenae runnin' feckin' drills today? Ye said ye'd fuckin' spot me."

You're not surprised that his voice is supremely annoying to you right now. Normally, that Scottish slang is a comforting noise, a reminder of the company you hold, and how they've always had your back.

This time, you kind of want to knock him in the jaw for it.

This anger, it will pass.

Maybe.

"If you've got an issue, go to Price. It's not my job to fill you in on every little detail of my life, and I have a job other than training that I need to be up-to-date with."

The metal of Gary's water bottle makes a quiet noise on the textured plastic of your desk as you raise it to take another sip, effectively silencing Johnny for just a second as you hear him sputter to himself.

"Th' fuck are you- you're not drinking coffee."

Of course that's the thing he notices. He can't notice when you're on death's door begging for help, but he knows how you take a morning beverage.

You really wanna punch him now.

"Detox."

You answer is terse, not quite like you, and he furrows his brows.

"Ye're hidin' somethin', ain't ye? S' it 'cause of the mission? 'Cause that was a stupid call, an' you can't fix stupid."

What a way to make amends, Soap, show up at my door and insult me after a brief interrogation. Charming.

"My god, would it kill you to shut your mouth just once? Is that too big an ask, now?"

Harsh. That was harsh. You know it was, and that it was a mistake, but when you open your mouth to apologize, Johnny beats you to it.

"Fuck you."

The slam of the door makes you cringe, and look back down to your documents, the little notes you've drawn in the margins and the highlighter that's smudged the pen just a little bit.

Before you dwell too long, there's a quiet ping.

A small, stupid looping video pops up when you open the offending chat.

It's a poorly-rendered cockroach, spinning is stupidly whimsical circles and turning colors as a song you don't care to name plays in the background. The text under it is what makes you soften.

medicine checkk in!!! take the medcine if you havent :)

His spelling is amateurish at best.

You're really fucking screwed, with that one, and you know it, but still, you set the phone down, and open a new tab.

British Sign Language basics. You could do that.

Part One | Previous | Next

[idliketobeatree]

Here is one of the best friends he's made in what seems like forever; she's so open and sweet, beautiful and brilliant. It was inevitable, he thinks, that Niko Sasaki would effortlessly endear herself to Charles like a lost younger sister.

(And that is another story entirely, but not one for Edwin to tell.)

He finds it contradistinctive, Niko Sasaki becoming a new source and the easiest target of Charles' spontaneous, affectionate smiles — different than watching him stumble around Crystal. It's well-nigh surprising just how secure Edwin feels, observing their budding friendship, the phantom echo of it spreading around his chest like a slow warmth from a hearth. He harbours no jealousy or hurt at the frequency with which their more private conversations take place. He does not mind the way Niko wraps her hand around Charles' arm as they walk, not one bit, when his best friend's sole attention is focused on her excited chatter. He can thoroughly relate, after all.

As a matter of fact, Edwin suspects that the only thing he'll have to worry about is stifling an inelegant snort when they're all descending a hill in the middle of a legwork-heavy case and Charles picks Niko up for an impromptu piggyback ride.

"No no no no, put me down!", her voice carries over their heads, but Niko's shrieking protest dies in her throat just as quickly as it came to life, turning into an appreciative whistle at the view. In front of them, Crystal turns on her heel and raises her eyebrows in amusement.

"You're that desperate to be the last at home?"

"Please, we'll be there faster than you lot. Right, Niko?" Charles, ever the multitasker, uses his shrug to adjust the grip on Niko's swaying legs. "Edwin?"

He dares to look in their direction, dreading... precisely double the amount of puppy eyes sent his way. His lips twitch in a helpless smile.

"I must agree. The Charles Express is quite a commendable machine. I would not underestimate it, Crystal."

Charles barks out a laugh. Whatever expression Niko must've had on her face breaks through Crystal's composure; she, too, cracks up, a spring in her step as she turns to walk forward again.

"Can barely feel her, can't I? Lighter than my backpack," Charles says, matter-of-factly.

"It's not a race."

"It could be a race."

"I'm not going to race you down the hill in these platforms, be serious—"

"That doesn't sound like a definite no," Niko pipes in.

"Take them off, then," offers Charles.

Edwin glances up at the orange sun set against the milky autumn sky, to his left; the brightest thing on the horizon. He hears her gasps of delight at Charles' cheeky step through the trunk in their way. Something inside him has been shifting and smoothing out for quite a while. Edwin doesn't know how long it will last or what the destination will be. All he knows is that the slope hits his feet once or twice at most.

One afternoon she invites them to watch Scooby Doo together. It's the first time they've gathered as a trio, and Edwin immediately understands why this hasn't happened before when Niko unlocks the door to her room. The bed they usually end up on is narrow to say the least, why hadn't he noticed that before, but it seems too late to make a flimsy excuse and eloign himself from the picture. They were long overdue.

Charles, who looks about ready to turn into an orb of post-case tension, has no qualms about using the threshold for a shimmering quick wardrobe change. He appears right at home, comfortable, downright domestic, in socks, trousers and a polo shirt, sliding his suspenders down and trailing after Niko who heads for the coat hanger.

What Edwin doesn't expect, apart from the rather tight fit for three people - or rather two ghost boys and one living girl - is Niko giving him a knowing look over Charles' head as he unceremoniously flops down on the bed. His groan, which prompts Niko to pat him sympathetically on said head, makes Edwin snap his open mouth shut, suddenly flustered.

He waits politely, pulling down his knitted vest and admiring the decorative sequins sewn onto a flowery cushion, deliberately not looking at the long line of Charles sprawled on the neatly tucked in duvet. He half-listens to Niko as she chatters on, something about needing to show them the more modern rendition of their Mystery Inc. detectives, grabbing her laptop from the desk and sitting down in the very middle, hip-checking Charles' side. Charles sluggishly lifts himself and rolls onto his back, pushing himself up, shoulders halfway up the headboard, neck supported by a plush pillow, hands folded across his chest and long, long legs crossed at the ankles. He must have done this several times now, Edwin's lungs remind him before tightening into knots. The mattress barely dips when he gingerly sits down and settles, too. His back remains straight, and he is barely brushing her arm when she announces out of the blue, "I forgot my snacks. Give me a moment," climbing off the bed and leaving them in — on Edwin's side — suddenly charged, tense silence.

It feels different, of course it does, and Edwin feels guilty that his carefully tucked away thoughts are knocking on the doors of his consciousness when they're in Niko's room, for God's sake. Edwin tries to subtly move away from the overwhelmingly horizontal line of Charles' body. Right now, sitting cross-legged, Edwin's knees are barely touching him, and he bumps his knee against Charles' arm twice before stilling. He doesn't want to hunch down; never again. He stays put.

The sensation of Charles' bony elbow is like the flash of a sharp smile. The room fills with a low hum, something musical and... campy that Niko must have shown Charles on one of those afternoons. With his eyes closed, Edwin compartmentalises the points of sharp heat.

Much, much later, Charles jogs up to the beach where Niko and Edwin are watching the starfish. "What're you doing?", he asks curiously, just when Edwin finishes talking about their lack of a centralised brain.

He hears the shift in Charles' posture more than his opening to say something mouth, and a second of hesitation before it closes again.

He wonders if Charles has noticed their colours.

Niko sends Charles a lingering smile. Her eyes crinkle with mirth. "Luckily, love requires no logic", she says cryptically. They don't notice, crouching down as they are, but his head tilts synonymously with Niko's and Edwin's.

When he dares to peek at Niko, he finds her eyes locked with Charles', with an expression that Edwin knows she must have learned recently, but is not sure when exactly. It says something like, go on. Be brave.

He swallows and clenches his fingers around the red, red sea glass in his coat pocket.

[ozzgin]

For the first time ever,i went to get an actual haircut instead of the usual trim...and the stylist FREAKING MADE IT ALL CHOPPY INSTEAD OF THE PIC I SHOWED HER T_T and there's literally no fixing it,it's too short and i gotta go to class like that where hats aren't allowed. I'M GONNA DIE! -🦊

Back in middle school I had gotten a terrible bowl haircut. It was too short to fix, and I looked like a chubby, Eastern European member of The Beatles. I cried so much that evening.

The next day I obviously had to go to class. My history teacher immediately noticed my sulking expression. She asked me if it was because of my new hair, and that - if she may say so herself - it's rather stylish and elegant: obviously, I thought, she had the exact same cut.

After the bell rang, she tried to encourage me some more, then stopped one of my classmates to help with her argument. "Tell her, boy, tell her it's not bad!" Oh, I was humiliated. I could already picture him rolling his eyes, mumbling some sympathetic lie to be done with this strange request he was suddenly conned into performing. He looked at me and said, "well, you still have very pretty eyes."

He probably has no idea that to this very day I remember the moment so fondly. Was it a bad haircut? Absolutely. Yet, for the life of me, I can't recall any of the jokes, or the insults; only that one compliment.

All that rambling was to say that it's now my turn to pass the baton and tell you, my dear friend, that no haircut will ever take away from your bright smile and your lovely eyes. In a few years you'll laugh about it, I can promise you that. :)

[canonizzyhours]

Before I say this I want to make it clear I am someone who overall likes Izzy. I wanted him to be redeemed and I liked his season 2 redemption arc. But there is something important about season 2 that I feel like I can only say here, because my more canyon-sympathetic moots would go nuts if I said it on main.

If you want to understand season 2 in a way that's not reading against the text you absolutely have to accept that the toe stuff is presented as comedy. Like some previous posts here said it's basically a loony toons gag. It's funny like how it's funny that Jim locked Lucius in a trunk for days and like it's funny how Roach and Buttons tried to kill and eat the Swede and like how it's funny that Ricky's nose got cut off. If you did not get that Izzy losing toes was supposed to be funny you cannot understand anything that comes after.

This isn't about woobifying Ed or excusing his actions. Ed does a lot of really bad things to his friends in the first two episodes. The bad things he does are

(1) being a really shitty boss - overworking everyone, being callous to his employees' needs, stealing paychecks by dumping loot overboard, etc;

(2) endangering everyone by steering into the storm;

(3) purposely making people who cared about him traumatize themselves by killing him; and

(4) shooting Izzy.

The shooting is clearly portrayed as out of line. THE TOES AREN'T THOUGH. THE TOES ARE PORTRAYED AS FUNNY.

The point of it is not that Izzy is being abused. The whole point of the "unhealthy relationship" line is that it's not actually domestic abuse, that's what makes it funny. Here is one of the ways you know they're supposed to be funny: remember when someone in the crew talked about how funny it was on instagram and a bunch of people screamed at her for thinking it was funny? It never occurred to her anyone would react that way because the entire cast and crew obviously understood it as funny.

(Including Con! He's clearly playing the scene as comedy on purpose with those little heem heem whimpers and it's doing an enormous disservice to his performance to refuse to see it! We KNOW he intended to play it as comedy because you can look back at the Vanity Fair article that came out before season 2 and he talks about how one of the challenges he faced in the season was going back and forth between comedy and drama and he SPECIFICALLY MENTIONS PLAYING IZZY'S FOOT INJURY AS COMEDY.)

People in the canyon are STILL mad about how they think there was a plotline in season 2 about Ed domestically abusing Izzy and wondering why the show didn't pay that off but the reason it didn't resolve that is because they imagined it. There was no domestic abuse plotline. There was a RUNNING GAG about Izzy losing toes, which was played as funny because the show expected you to understand that Izzy did in fact vote -- campaigned, actually -- for the leopards to eat his face. It's supposed to be funny while also at the same time making him pathetic enough that you can decide he's suffered sufficiently for what he did in season 1.

The show does not portray all of Izzy's suffering as funny! Like I said, the shooting is treated pretty seriously and that's why it gets brought up multiple times later in the season! But the toes, the toes are purely funny, and they're framed as funny because the narrative knows he deserved it.

#442.

[nionom-art]

Does Lila still have some form of psychopathy in this au 2 explain why she acts the way she does? I remember scrolling through ur blog and seeing breif mentions of that on the old intro sheets (?) and I liked the idea of a slightly more sympathetic explanation for hr lies, even if it doesn’t excuse it. I can’t remember if this was ever used as justification to send her on a redemption arch/paint her in a more sympathetic light but, I did like the idea of it being that way . Is that still the case or is she just like. Evil for funnies lol. I’m sure I’ll like either option I just, don’t want to go in expecting some sort of character study on mental illness only for the explanation to actually be “no she’s just lila”. Like, if I know that going in it’s valid as hell tho lmao.

In writing this, I want you guys to be able to use this as a psychological character study if you want to, or just read it for fun if you would prefer. I personally think she has a lot of traits of psychopathy in cannon as is, so I plan on exploring that further in my au (although I might get some stuff wrong so be patient with me TTmTT)

[radioactiverats]

Mentor Starscream x seeker!reader (8.5/?)

A little snippet because I am Inspired TvT

——

Joors into your repairs, Starscream had let himself back into the med bay. It was abundantly clear that he wasn’t going to leave.

It took a few lengths of pacing back and forth before Knockout tiredly told him to stay the frag put, and Starscream looked ready to throw hands before Knockout pointedly told him it was a distraction to your repairs - Starscream promptly shut his intake and slunk away to perch sullenly on a nearby medical berth.

Starscream’s optics remained glued to your prone frame, but he would look away every time he felt he was being watched.

Knockout stopped working to look pointedly at him, and Starscream’s optics slid stubbornly to some vials in the cupboard by the door. He probably wasn’t even aware that his wings were twitching something awful, shoulders nearly up to his audials with tension. Ex-venting, Knockout returns to his welding.

“You don’t need to pretend in front of me, you know.”

At that, Starscream bristles.

“Pretending?” He snarls. “I’m not pretending.”

Knockout glances at him.

“If you feel nothing, then why are you shaking?”

Starscream’s optics widen for a nanoklik before he leaps off the berth, wings quivering as he jabs a finger against Knockout’s chassis.

“You don’t know anything,” he hisses. “You’re the one who needs to stop pretending that you do.”

Despite having a faceful of angry seeker in front of him, Knockout merely sighs and, having ascertained that you were stable, clicks the welder off.

“Is it so hard to accept that you’re not the only one who cares?”

Starscream bares his denta, optics alight with fury. “If you care, why do I see no evidence of it?”

“Oh, please.”

Knockout rolls his optics, rounds the table to retrieve a jar of nanites. “I’m just better at hiding it than you are.”

He layers a section of torn mesh with nanites. “Cadet patches you up so often,” he drawls, before Starscream can work himself up even further. “Where do you think the endless medical supplies come from?”

That stops Starscream short. Reluctantly, he realises that he’d never actually thought about that.

A snarky retort dies in his vocaliser with an abrupt click as he raises his optics to Knockout’s faceplate - unlike the smugness he’d expected, the expression on the other mech’s faceplate is… sympathetic. Starscream clenches his servos into fists and turns away with a snarl.

Was he really such an open book? He’d spent endless nights struggling with the thought. Against his better judgement, wants you to know that he cares - the last thing he wants is to see your spirit broken. But… Starscream glances back over his shoulder to your frame, caked in drying energon, optics shuttered and oh so still. He shutters his optics with a shuddering ex-vent. Look where his care got you.

His shoulders slump. Reluctantly, he concedes that Knockout has a point. He’d let his weakness get the better of him - thought it would be okay for him to get attached, thought he could keep you out of harm’s way. When would he learn that he would always be alone? The most unbearable thing, however, was for you to become collateral damage. Never again.

“Don’t,” Knockout warns quietly. “They need you.”

Starscream whirls around, servos clenched.

Instead of the fight Knockout expected, though, the pain in Starscream’s optics is damning. No wonder Megatron had picked up on his weak point so quickly.

“I can’t do that to them,” Starscream murmurs, vocaliser thick with static.

“You-“ Knockout ex-vents harshly and curses his luck for being the only mech with any ounce of emotional self-awareness on this ship, even if he does understand how difficult Starscream’s position is. Still -

“You need to get it through your thick helm that their chances of survival skyrocket as long as you’re around,” Knockout snaps. “How can you think of abandoning them at such a crucial point?”

“I wasn’t-“ Starscream growls, and snarls when he meets Knockout’s challenging gaze. “You cannot hope to understand!”

Preserving your spark was the most important thing. Even if he had to keep his distance from you. Even if you ended up hating him. Even if you thought he’d abandoned you - Starscream’s fist abruptly meets the wall of the med bay even as Knockout yells at him to keep it together.

For a klik, his ragged ex-vents are all that fill the med bay.

“There has to be another way,” Starscream rasps. Alarm bells sound off in Knockout’s processor, sensors firing off when the air commander turns to meet his optics again. Starscream’s frame is strangely still, optics huge and glittering in a way that Knockout has only seen in cornered animals before.

“What are you planning?” Knockout asks warily.

Starscream doesn’t reply immediately. On stiff pedes, he approaches your side and, as if for the last time, gently strokes his servo over your cheek.

“Keep them safe,” Starscream whispers, and faster than Knockout can blink, he’s gone.

Mandatory @radioactiverats fic drawing… not an actual quote but I saw that line on Twitter and thought “yeah that’s so them”

[mommyslittlebird]

Her Special Girl

Stepmom!Wanda x Reader

After being away at college for three years, you finally come home for the holidays. And no one is more excited to see you than your stepmom.

CW: Stepmom/Stepdaughter, MOMMY ISSUES, slight daddy issues, mommy kink, cheating, breastfeeding, fingering (R receiving), mentions of strap usage, flashbacks, mentions of past: suicidal thoughts, loss of virginity, ghosting

Word Count: ~5k

A/N: I think if I keep this up, they’re going to revoke my degree in psychology and bury me for defending psychosexual development.

A/N: The fic that started it all. I'm getting nostaligic reuploading this one.

Part 1 of Her Special Girl

She knew something was wrong when you had called her to pick you from your mom’s house a week early. You weren’t supposed to be coming home till Christmas Eve, but here you were, curled up in her passenger seat only three days after being home for Christmas break. 

Wanda wasn’t supposed to be the one picking you up. You originally called your father, but he was, unsurprisingly, unavailable. Apparently he was off playing ‘not the world’s worst stepdad’ with Wanda’s boys for the week. Probably some bonding time enforced by Wanda. He was never terribly keen on spending time with his family. Plus it got the miserable old man out of her hair for a few days. Merry Christmas to Wanda.  

“Mom’s house was that bad, huh?” she asked. You simply nodded in response. She made a sympathetic noise and rubbed the back of your head. “I’m sorry sweetheart. We’ll talk about it when we get home?” 

You nodded again, thankful she wasn’t going to fill the car with awkward small talk. You reached for the radio, turning up the quiet christmas music. You rested your head against your knees, absently humming the familiar music to soothe yourself. You didn’t notice the way Wanda’s heart absolutely melted everytime she got a glance at you. As much as it broke her heart that you’d had a bad experience at your mother’s house, she was glad to have you home for Christmas. 

—------

Wanda and your father had married when you were around 16. In the first years, you weren’t close. In fact, you had hated Wanda at first. The kindness and gentleness she offered you was so alien and unfamiliar. Everytime she did you a favor without being asked, or made a move to give you physical reassurance, you felt like your inside would turn to mush. By that point, you were old enough to decide when you wanted to go to your dad’s house, and it felt easier to avoid her entirely than confront the gnawing feeling in your chest that arose whenever you interacted with her. So you spent those years at your mom’s house.

But as time passed, something shifted. 

In what was supposed to be your last semester of high school, it became pretty clear you were not going to pass. Your life, the one you had planned for at least, fell into a tailspin. You watched all of your friends move on without you. Both of your parents were extremely disappointed with you and seemed to give up on you in favor of the new families they’d created. All of your hopes and dreams of finally escaping to college were put on hold. You had completely lost all direction. 

And one night in late July, when there was no school to look forward to in August and no hope of starting a life of your own without a high school diploma, you hit rock bottom. You were lying down in the shower at your dad’s house and you found yourself unable to get up. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t do it anymore. And just when you thought your body would decay into the blue tile, you heard a knock at the door.

“Honey? Are you okay in there?” 

It was Wanda. You wanted to yell that you were fine and you'd be out in a minute, but you couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. So you didn’t respond. 

You heard the sound of a key pressing into the lock, and the hesitant steps of your stepmother making her way into the bathroom. “Honey?” she called again. She gasped when she found your limp body in the shower. She threw the glass door open, turned off the shower that had long since gone cold, and wrapped you up in a towel. You were too far gone to be embarrassed that your stepmother was seeing you naked at 18 years old. All you could do was throw your arms around her and sob and babble apologies. 

“Oh! My sweet girl. How long have you been in here? I just woke up to use the restroom and I heard the water still running. You poor thing, have you been in here all night? You’re freezing. Your poor lips are purple! Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

With impressive strength, she was able to pick you up and carry you to bed. She threw all of your softest blankets around you cocooning you with warmth on all sides. Then she sat on the bed next to you, wiping the cold wet hair from your forehead. 

And for once, you were too weak to push her away. Too weak to fight the magnetic draw you had always had towards the woman. You needed her more than anything in the world. You wanted to be surrounded by her. You craved an impossible closeness with her. The hole in your heart had grown so big it nearly devoured you, and she was here to patch it up and kiss it all better.

So you melted into her touch, inching your body closer to where she sat on the bed until you were wrapped around her. You almost expected her to inquire as to where this was coming from, the sudden closeness after avoiding her for so long. You thought maybe she would even reprimand you for your childish behavior, or call you weird for acting like this with her. But she didn’t. “Aww my sweet girl. You’ll be alright. I’m not going anywhere. Mama’s here.”

And she didn’t call you weird when you tugged on her nightshirt, silently asking her to lay down with you. She simply crawled under the covers, kissed your head, and pulled your still naked body into her arms. “You poor thing, you're still freezing. It’s okay, mama will keep warm.”

And she didn’t reprimand you when you decided there was still too much separation, so you pulled her nightshirt up over her head, leaving her bare in bed with you. “Mmm, you’re right this will get you all nice and warmed up. You're a very smart girl.”

“I love you, mama.”

“I love you too, sweet girl.”

She tangled her body into yours, enveloping you in the warmest embrace. Her skin was so incredibly soft against your, pressed into every inch of your body. You could feel the way her heart overflowed with contented joy with you between her arms. 

And nothing was ever the same after that. In the span of twenty minutes with her, you’d gone from believing you could die on the shower floor and no one would care, to feeling like the single most important thing in her entire world. You were hers. 

And you were hers when she gave you your first kiss over an episode of “Legend of Korra.” You’d been so over eager, it’d felt like you were trying to eat her face, but she didn’t make fun of you. She just calmly pulled back, giving you all the instructions you needed to make your second kiss perfect. 

And you were hers when she took your virginity while your father was away on a business trip. She had laid you out on the bed, kissing slow trails down your stomach while you gasped and shuttered at every new sensation. That first night, she treated you like you were made of the finest glass, beautiful and delicate. 

And you were hers when she cried into your arms, begging you not to go so far away for college. With her help, you’d finally gotten a high school diploma. You had the funding from your father to go anywhere you wanted. She wanted to want you to go, she really did. She wanted to want whatever was best for you, but she wasn’t ready to let go of you yet. 

But when you packed your bags and left anyway, you couldn’t be hers any longer. There were no phone calls, no texts, no apologies or explanations for why you left. You were simply gone like you’d never existed in the first place.  

—------

“So,” she asked, helping you carry in your luggage and dropping it in the foyer, “do you wanna talk about what happened with your mother?” She knew you and your mother had never gotten along. She was honestly more wondering why you even decided to go home in the first place. You had spent Christmases with your friends since you’d left for college, but this year you had inexplicably decided to come home. 

You shrugged. “Same as always, I guess. There’s never been a group of people I’m so palpably unimportant to. She and my stepdad have a family of their own, ya know? And I’m just… not part of it. Every time I’m there I feel like a ghost haunting a happy family.” Tears welled up in your eyes, falling down your cheeks. 

“Oh, honey,” Wanda sighed, cupping your cheek with her hand. You only cried harder at the gesture. It was so kind. So gentle. So familiar. You fought your every instinct to not throw yourself against, clinging to her like a petulant child. You wanted to be close to her again.  

The look in her eyes made you feel like you were going to explode. She was listening to you, like actually listening to you. You couldn’t help but pour your heart out to her. “I don’t even know why I tried to come home this year. I just had this idea that I was gonna come home after being gone for so long and she was going to have magically changed. I just had this, like… fantasy that she’d wrap her arms around me and apologize for not being there for me, say that all this time away has made her realize that she can’t live without me, tell me how I’m her most special little girl and she’ll do anything to make it right.”

You turned away from her, suddenly very embarrassed of all the things you’d just confessed. “It was stupid. Whatever. It’s never been like that and it’s never going to be like that. I’m fucking 22, I wasn’t going to be mommy’s little princess anyway.” You felt the urge to run away. You couldn’t bear to look at your stepmother’s face any longer. You made a quick break for the stairs, but Wanda caught your wrist.

“Honey, wait!” she said, pulling you back around to face her. Your head spun and your skin tingled when she touched you. “You know you're still my special girl, right?” 

“Of course, but you have your boys and they’re your whole world. And that’s a good thing! They’re really lucky to have you, I just…” You trailed off, unsure of what to say next. 

“You just?” she asked after you didn’t speak for a minute. 

Another torrent of tears stung your eyes. “I can’t be your special girl. I’m not even really yours.”

Wanda tilted her head in confusion. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

“I’m not your baby,” you said, choked up by your failed attempt to not let your tears fall. You ducked your head, avoiding her gaze at all cost.

She took a step towards you. “Hey,” she started, reaching for your chin to make you look at her. “I’ve missed you, you know? While you’ve been gone.”

“You did?” you asked in almost a whisper. 

“I did,” she reassured. “I thought about you all the time. I never let your father get rid of your bedroom, even though he wanted to move his office there. And there’s still a chair at the end of the dining table for you. And in the winter time I always buy that peppermint creamer for my coffee because it was always your favorite.”

Your resolve finally crumbled and you threw yourself around her, clinging to her desperately. “I missed you too, mama. I wanted to come home to see you, but I didn’t think you’d ever wanna see me again. After I… I thought you’d hate me forever!” you were sobbing in her arms, head tucked under her chin as her long nails scratched your scalp, just how you like. 

“Shh, baby it’s okay. I could never hate you. You’re home now. Mama’s got you,” she cooed. “Let’s get you a nice warm bath, get you all cleaned up, and then we can watch a movie in my room. Does that sound good?”

You nodded, reluctantly removing yourself from her. She reached out for your hand and smiled when you grabbed her arm with both hands, clinging to her awkwardly as you made your way up the steps. She led you to the master bathroom that had a fancy corner tub. She ran the water, checking the temperature to make sure the water was just right. 

“Alright pretty girl, arms up,” she said, lifting the hem of your shirt over your head. She neatly folded your shirt and placed it on the counter. She turned around to find you with your arms bashfully crossed over your chest. She took your hand. “None of that, sweet girl. It’s just you and mama, you don’t need to cover yourself.”

“‘s cold,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising across your chest.

“I know,” she said, bending down to unbutton your pants and push them down around your ankles. You wrapped your arms around her neck, using her for balance as you kicked out of your pants. “We’re gonna have you all warmed up in just a second, sweetheart.”

As soon as you were naked, you scrambled over to the warm tub. Steam was rising from the water’s surface where it met the cool air. You hissed as your cold feet met the water. Wanda giggled at your eagerness, folding your pants and underwear and placing them on top of your shirt. “Careful, pretty girl,” she chuckled. 

You sank into the tub, slowly allowing your body to adjust to the temperature. You sighed in contentment, resting your head back against the ledge of the tub. You rolled your head to the side to face Wanda, who had stripped off her jeans, leaving her in a long gray sweater that barely covered her ass. Your eyes glimmered at the sight of the beautiful woman. “Will you get in with me?” you asked. “Please?”

“Not tonight, honey,” she said, sitting down on the ledge of the tub behind your head. She stuck her feet into the water on either side of you, leaving your head between her bare thighs. “Mama’s already had her bath. Now keep your head tilted back for me. I don’t wanna get any soap in your eyes.” Any protests you had were quickly cut short when you felt long fingers massaging your favorite coconut shampoo in your hair. Wanda worked cautiously, careful not to get any soap in your eyes. She somehow managed to keep your face almost entirely dry throughout the entire process. 

You nearly started to cry when she started applying soap to your body with a soft washcloth. It had been so long since someone had touched you so gently. You could feel how much she cared for you as she softly scrubbed the day's grime from your body. Each caress left trails of goosebumps rising on your soapy skin. You felt like you might melt into the bathwater. 

“Alright little love, kneel up nice and straight for me so I can get you all clean,” she calmly commanded. You hesitantly got up on your knees and turned to face her, reluctant to pull your body from the warmth of the water. Now that you were looking up at her, you felt suddenly exposed again. It was much easier to be naked in front of her with your back turned. 

You took in a sharp inhale when the washcloth landed between your legs. “Mama…” you whined, looking up at her with worried eyes. Her touch felt so good you couldn’t help but buck against the cloth while a knot still coiled in the pit of your stomach. You had the fleeing thought that you should tell her to stop and that this was wrong. But as she continued her ministrations, your head seemed to empty itself of any such thoughts. All you could focus on was the growing sensation between your legs. 

“Aww, sweet girl,” Wanda cooed. “It’s okay that you like it when you like it when mama touches you like this honey. You don't have to be embarrassed, angel.” She made slow, teasing circles around your clit through the thick cloth. You grabbed her arm, keeping her in place until she finally had had enough of the teasing and gently freed herself of your grip. 

“Mama,” you whined again as she continued to wash down the curve of your ass and the inside of your thighs. You weren’t sure why, exactly, you found yourself chanting her name, but it seemed to be the only word you could find. 

She smiled. “You’re okay, angel. Mama got you. I love you so very much, sweetheart. I’m gonna take care of you, just like I used to. There’s no need to be embarrassed or guilty or scared. You’re still your mama’s special girl, okay?” She leaned down to kiss your forehead. You closed your eyes and allowed her complete control over your body.  “We’re all finished, detka. You can sit back down now.” She guided you back down into the water, turning you back around and resting your head against her inner thigh. She gently started to dry your hair as you settled back into the water. You found yourself wrapping your arms around her calf, clutching at her like she might fly away.

“Mama?” 

“Yes, little love?”

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

“How do you mean, angel?” Her voice was laced with concern. You weren’t exactly sure how to respond, so you nuzzled your face into her thigh in embarrassment. “Hey little love.” She bent down so she could see your face. “It’s okay. You can tell mama. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

You shifted around uncomfortably, unsure of how to phrase what you wanted to say. “I need you really badly mama,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I know I’m too old, but I wanna be your special little girl forever.” 

“Oh honey,” she soothed, “you’re never too old to be my special little girl. Even if you wanted me to take care of you forever, I’d love every second of it.” She laid back against the wall, closing her eyes and allowing herself to fantasize about what it would be like to have you back. Forever, this time. A faint smile painted her face at the thought. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re too old to need your mama. They might not understand it like you do, but you are a very very special girl and your mama loves you very very much.”

You nodded against her, shyly tucking your face back into her thigh. You sat like that for a minute, letting her fingers scratch your damp scalp while you smiled in contentment. 

But you could only rest naked between her bare legs for so long before the little pings of arousal took over. You turned around to face her, this time straddling a single one of her legs between two of your own. You sat back on your feet, resting your head on her knee. 

“Mama, please. I need to feel you again,” you sighed. You desperately craved the feeling of closeness you’d once shared. The feeling that you and her were the only two people in the world, and that you were as important to her as she was to you, and that was the only thing that mattered. 

You wanted her inside of you, touching all the parts of you no one else got to see. You yearned for the way she made you feel like the most precious thing in the universe, chasing your pleasure like it was her own. She felt good when you felt good. 

Conversely, you wanted to be inside of her, pushing into her like a puzzle piece that had always meant to fit together. You felt like you could rewrite time, finally inside your mama like you were supposed to be all along. 

She reached down beside the tub and pulled up a fluffy pink towel. She stretched it out with her arms, welcoming you into a soft embrace. She took such care in drying off every part of you, down to your calves that still stayed in the water. 

You sat in between her legs, her arms wrapped around your bare body. She pulled you close to her, your back flush against her chest. Then she wrapped her legs around yours, effectively pinning them open against the wall of the tub. 

You pulled at the sleeves of her sweater, desperate to get closer to her. There was still too much fabric between the two of your bodies. 

She shushed you pleas with gentle hands. “Not right now, detka. Let mama show you how much she’s missed you, okay? Then we can cuddle up all naked under the soft blankets on the bed just how we like to. Does that sound okay?”

You let out a displeased whine. You were extremely impatient. It had been years since you’d had her so close. But as she stroked your hair with one hand and your clit with the other, you found yourself more amenable to suggestions. “P-promise?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” she reassured. 

She kept her pace just steady enough that talking, and thinking for that matter, became difficult. “A-and we stay like that all-all night?”

“All night, angel.”

You finally nodded in agreement, relaxing against her. You kept a ironclad grip on her bicep, feeling the muscles flex as she played with your most sensitive parts. 

She moved her fingers down through your folds, teasing your entrance. You tried to force your hips down onto her fingers, but her legs kept you from moving. You settled instead for whining like an injured puppy. “Please mama, please.”

“Mmm,” she hummed in your ear, circling your entrance with the tip of her finger. “I’m so lucky. I get to have my most special girl and all her most special parts,” she sunk her middle finger into you, eliciting a mangled groan, “all to myself.” 

“All yours,” you assured, feeling her finger curl and twist inside of you, making room for more. She was always so calculated with the way she pleased you. You were like a present she was methodically unwrapping, peeling each piece of tape off, careful not to damage the paper. She was in no rush to tear you apart. She kept her painfully slow pace, but sunk a second finger into you. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I’m all yours, mama.” 

She leaned your head back onto her shoulder and kissed your cheek. You didn’t even notice the uncomfortable strain the position should’ve caused your neck. There was just her everywhere, caressing each part of your body with a tenderness you’d never experienced anywhere else. Her hand explored your chest, teasing hard nipples with gentle pinches and soft touches. Nails scraped their way down the soft expanse of your stomach, paying special attention to the curve of your hip bone.

“Mama, I love you. You feel so good inside of me, please don’t stop. Oh god please never stop,” you whined. You didn’t even care that she was moving her fingers too slow to make you cum. You were so content with just her filling you up, touching the parts of you no one else got to touch. You got to be hers all over again.

You thought back to your days with her, home alone. She’d let you sit on her lap in her office, arms and legs wrapped around her like a koala bear, her strap nestled inside of you. She was always so impressed by your ability to stay still for hours on end. But how could you want for anything more than to be full of her?

“You’re so tight and warm for mama,” she cooed. “I love feeling you around my fingers, baby. You make such pretty noises.” She sped up her movements, highlighting the sound of the wetness between your legs. You were nearly dripping a trail down the side of the tub. 

You tried to buck against her hand, but her legs kept you perfectly still. “Ooh mama. I love you. I love you mama,” you cried, unable to escape the building pleasure of her fingers. She slipped a third finger inside of you, only further spurring your desperate cries. “Please mama!  Please, I'm so full. Mama I wanna cum for you. I wanna cum on your fingers. Please! Please let me cum on your fingers.” 

Her fingers twisted and curled in all the ways that drove you crazy. You knew you couldn’t cum until she touched your clit, which she was tactfully avoiding for that exact reason, but you still felt nearly out of your mind with pleasure. You were jerking against her now, causing her to wrap her arms around your waist. “Calm down honey. Mama’s got you. You’re doing so good for me sweet girl.”

“Good girl for mama,” you mumbled brainlessly. The continuous pounding of her fingers made your head spin. There was nothing in the whole world but you and your mama. Nothing else mattered. 

“That’s right, angel. You’re mama’s good girl,” she praised. 

You nodded dumbly, unable to muster any more thoughts than “mama” which you chanted repeatedly. She shoved three fingers in your mouth, making the word come out even more unintelligible. You whined around her hand, but obediently sucked her fingers. 

“Can you touch yourself for me princess?” She asked, both her hands too occupied to finally put an end to your abuse. You both knew that just a little pressure to your clit would finally push you over the edge. 

You didn’t even acknowledge her question, just hopelessly cried around her fingers. “Aww sweet girl, you need mama to do it for you? That’s okay, honey. Mama will take care of it.” She pulled her fingers from your mouth, now covered in your spit, and reached down between your legs. She kissed the side of your head while she finally attended to your neglected clit. “That’s it, princess. Cum on mama’s hand.”

You were nearly silent as you fell over the edge, unable to do little more than jerk and squeak. She gently led you down from the high, removing her fingers and bracing you against herself so you didn’t tumble back into the now cold bathtub. She cleaned you up with a washcloth and wrapped you back up in the soft towel. 

She chuckled when she picked you up and saw your face, blissed out and stupid. She thought back to before you had left for college, when you were 18 and it took a lot more than three fingers and 20 minutes to get you here. “Nobody has touched you like that for a long time, have they angel?”

You shook your head against her chest. “Only you mama.” 

She smiled at the admission. Laying you down at the center of her big bed. You pawed at her sweater when she pulled away. “I’m just taking this off. I’ll be down there in just a second.”

She crawled under the covers only a moment later, pulling you closer and discarding the towel onto the floor. You nuzzled into her neck, wrapping your arms around her waist. You were so warm and so loved. You felt so important again, just like you did the fateful night she’d pulled you from the cold shower. In that moment, you couldn’t wrap your head around why you’d ever left. How could you ever have left anything so perfect?

“Mama, can I be inside of you next time?” You mumbled into her chest, unwilling to completely separate yourself from her. 

“Of course you can,” she replied, pulling you in to kiss your forehead. “Anything for my special girl.”

You smiled. “Can I use the dark red toy? The one that gives you the little bump right here?” You touched her lower stomach in indication. 

She couldn’t help but laugh at the request, recalling the only other time she allowed you to use that toy right before you left. Seeing the bulge in her lower stomach had gotten you so excited you’d pathetically rutted into like a teenage boy. “Only if you can be gentle with mama.”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Gentle with mama.” 

She smiled down at you, noticing your eyelids start to droop. “That’s enough for tonight, little love. Rest now and we can talk some more in the morning, okay?” She gently guided your head down to her chest. She smiled when you almost immediately took her nipple into your mouth, suckling contentedly, just like she’d taught you to do. Oh, how she loved you.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift off into a daydream. Maybe she could convince you to move schools so you could come back, live at home with her. Every stressful assignment or class or situation with your friends could end like this: in this intimate act that drowned out both your stress and hers. Maybe if you’d stay, she could get on hormones and start actually producing milk again. All for you. All for her baby girl. And she'd remind you how loved you were everyday, and you never take her for granted again. 

Yes, she’ll have you back in her arms just like it used to be. You’ll come home to her, and you’ll finally see that you’ll never need anyone else ever again.

[maybe-boys-do-love]

Thai BL isn't lesser. It just has different aesthetic goals. It often prioritizes what some would call a theatrical style to filmmaking over a cinematic one.

Theatrical approaches, in the US at least, are currently associated with older films and television. They're also linked to contemporary shows in what are currently thought of as more conservative genres like youth-oriented cable programming (think Nickelodeon or the Disney Channel), soap operas, and sitcoms.

However, the theatrical style in the west has been at other times very much associated with cutting-edge subversion and queer camp. In the 80s and 90s, for example, counter-cultural cinema projects leaned heavily towards more theatrical approaches in the face of blockbuster corporate sheen. The films grouped into the Queer New Cinema loved to play with this. Consider the bold colors, static shots, and unsubtle dialogue in But I'm a Cheerleader.

In the 50s and 60s, the theatricality of sitcoms was a site of transgressive feminism and gender representations like in Bewitched (see more in The Queer Fantasies of the American Family Sitcom or Camp TV: Trans Gender Queer Sitcom History, among others).

Both those eras used theatricality for a number of reasons: budgetary necessity, subsequent technological limits, but also as a counter to the different kinds of elitism associated with the cinematic style in those periods (intellectual in the 50s and 60s and corporate in the 80s and 90s).

Cinematic style didn't begin to fully emerge anyway until the 1940s and 1950s with lenses and cameras that could depict greater depth and move through the spaces the characters were inhabiting. Before that, theatrical presentation was simply the only option. So Old Hollywood is rife with theatricality, and plenty of of those films still have the power to move audiences and feel surprisingly relevant with their visual and scripted commentary. Camille, with what some consider to be a nearly all-queer cast and main production crew and one of Greta Garbo's best performances, holds up incredibly if you're willing to accept its theatrical diva-licious approach.

But plenty of the Old Hollywood films are also duds along with the other eras mentioned. Theatricality, like cinematic approaches, is not inherently more queer or superior to other forms. They're just styles. As Zadie Smith wrote, "In Britain, we are always doing this: mistaking an aesthetic choice for an ethical one." I'm guessing that tendency is pretty universal, either mistaking aesthetic choices for ethics or, even more often, quality.

Appreciating theatricality will hopefully help you understand other choices in Thai BL with less judgment, though. The comic sound effects, jarring as they might be for western audiences who've had laugh tracks and sound effects sequestered away from much of their 'prestige' media, are an artistic choice in their own right that Thai BL has refined over the years to work as leitmotifs (small repeated sound sequences) in the series that reiterate the themes.

Two great examples of sound cues came out last year even as their cinematography leaned more towards a cinematic style. The Trainee, a GMMTV show about a film production company, used computer error sounds as a comedic beat when characters' fucked up, while Kidnap had a pathetic dog whimper, which created more sympathetic characters, like injured puppies who needed love and patience to recover from their injuries.

There's an art to using these theatrical tools in productions. I was rewatching an episode of Little Bear recently and Mother Bear blew out a candle, which was indicated not by a blowing sound effect but a clarinet trill. So much more tender! These sorts of sonic tricks were used beautifully throughout silent films, opera, and symphonies in the West for years. It merely fell out of fashion outside of cartoons and some comedies.

But just because certain tastes or practices were deserted or designated for "low-brow" entertainment in one culture, doesn't mean that other cultures are somehow 'behind' or 'lesser' for their use of it. Both cultures are equally contemporary to one another. One is not more advanced just because it has a stronger economy or easier access to certain goods and technologies. Nor does the designation of 'low-brow' to some art mean that the 'low-brow' entertainment is actually less skillful or impactful. The viewer just might lack an appropriate angle to appreciate it from or there might easily be cultural biases at play, not just across different cultures but regarding social status and rules within a single culture (and bother are something we ought to be very sensitive about when dealing with queer media).

I want to look at one of my favorite aspects that comes out of Thai BLs preference towards theatricality. The performances, and even certain production elements, often burst with spontaneity, clumsiness, exuberance. It can infect an audience with joy as the shows demonstrate what we often call (from lack of clearer aesthetic terminology) "heart." Dismissively, plenty of fans refer to the 'heart' of Thai series as if its unintentional and unrelated to the elements of the series they see as inferior. Its the sweet taste that got them addicted to a guilty pleasure! The 'heart,' though, comes from the Thai creators prioritizing a view of human messiness over the technical precision preferred by a cinematic aesthetic.

Thai BL often has a similarity to live theater in this manner, as well as improvisation-based media. Again, these are not lesser forms of art. I bring up improv specifically because it's easy to believe that the lack of pre-planning and compositional directive ought to diminish it in the made-up hierarchy people have going in their heads. Yet, we have Mike Leigh, a British director of dramedies, and Christopher Guest, an American comedy director, both famed and critically celebrated for their humanist works founded in improvisation.

You won't find me arguing that all Thai BLs are successful or that one country's BLs are somehow better than another's. I just do my best to understand, explain, and make meaningful comparisons to appreciate the aesthetic goals I see shows' evoking. It's also fun to look into influences beyond my own cultural scope and love (and repost) when others' share them. What are specific East and South Asian media reference points that influence the style of the shows (lakorn, literary BL media, Thai traditional theater)? I'd be remiss not to mention, for example, that the theatrical traditions for Thai shows derive mainly from Asian traditions in cinema and theater, despite all my comparisons to Western history!

Then there's the question of local political, economic, and cultural issues and limits that the creators live alongside and must create within and/or against to some extent. I'll never know all the answers, but exploring the questions is so much more fun than disparaging shows for what they aren't and what they can't or don't aim to be.

But look, I personally have a preference for the style a lot of Thai BLs go for. It reminds me of the cartoons, musicals, DCOMs, and vintage tv I've loved watching for most of my life. I like the variant gender and sexuality representations they offer. I like the intricate economic-political commentary I see the writers working into the subtext. It's not going to resonate for everyone, not everyone will see what I see, and all that's okay. I've personally never been happier with the amount of series' that match my tastes.

[muchtodoonterror]

#i don’t think people understand just how fucking horrible his situation was #he was a marine. he was on that ship for the sole purpose of PROTECTING THE CREW #he watched his fellow sergeant and captain die in front of him #his friend and fellow marine was rendered comatose under his watch #his entire reason for being on that ship was to prevent things like this from happening #like. can you even imagine the guilt #not to mention the entire setting #they were stuck in uninhabitable conditions being hunted by an incomprehensible beast #if the beast didn’t kill them then the cold or the scurvy or the lead poisoning would #so of course he went with hickey#of course he did the one thing that gave him some amount of control in an uncontrollable situation #he clung onto the situation that gave him the ability to do his job again. to command and protect. #he wasn’t in control aboard terror. he had failed over and over on that ship. #hickey’s mutiny was an opportunity to be successful again #to be in control again#he would’ve died for hickey simply because he needed someone to die for #and by the end when he realized just how far gone hickey was #and how little control he really had in that situation #he went back to crozier #he knew he was going to die at that point #so he went out marching. doing the one thing he’d been trying to do the entire time. protect #he never had bad intentions #he was dying and afraid and grieving and trying to find some sense of control in the worst possible situation #i WISH we got to have the great death scene they planned for him that got cut due to the budget #i feel like people would empathize with him more if there was more emphasis put on his redemption-through-death ending #although i don’t entirely think he needed ‘redemption’#he was never evil or anything. just misguided and scared #anyways sorry lol i love him sm #solomon tozer #reblog

officially approved tags by @fivetrench you get it!!! (bolding mine)

I particularly want to pull out "he would’ve died for hickey simply because he needed someone to die for" because I think it gets to the heart of so much. He had let so many people die on his watch that the opportunity to die for someone else probably seemed like only way to redeem his past failures.

I think my original post oversimplified but I stand by that painting Tozer as dumb or unintelligent is classist and takes away his agency and culpability for his choices. Many of those choices were objectively bad and excusing them as just being drawn in to Hickey's charisma, not being smart enough to clock what was happening, is the least interesting way to look at it to me. He saw what was happening and chose not just to follow but to abet. The thing that makes him such a fascinating (and, I would argue, sympathetic) character is why he makes those decisions. He draws conclusions that are heavily impacted by his anger and his grief, but he does draw them for himself. He was obviously very proud of being a Royal Marine and wouldn't have thrown that lightly aside for someone who, at the beginning, he didn't even respect.

I do not understand and am slightly offended by the fanon I come across depicting Solomon Tozer as dumb or stupid. He just isn't.

There are different kinds of intelligence. Just because he hasn't studied like a midshipmen or officer, that only makes him uneducated at worst. He clearly has interpersonal and emotional intelligence which are not to be sniffed at when you have that many men trapped together in harrowing circumstances.

As he is tending to Heather, he very specifically is describing one of the ongoing scientific experiments. That indicates not just that he's paying attention but that he finds it interesting and noteworthy. He could very easily have been talking about anything, about shipboard gossip or relating old adventures, but he's relating what he‘s picked up of the ship's science.

I'm sure one of the reasons he's depicted thusly is his poor choice in joining up with Hickey and subsequent doubling down on that choice. That is a topic for another essay but my point here is: grief empirically affects one's ability to process and make decisions. Tozer is arguably one of the most grief stricken men on board. They've all suffered losses, but being widowed (if we're taking the real Tozer's biography into account), with witnessing the deaths of Bryant and Sir John, with Heather, with Fairholme's party, with Morfin - he is not just grieving these losses but often feeling a direct responsibility for them. One of these alone is enough to impact his ability to make rational decisions, and as they pile up? And that's not even factoring in the effects of scurvy.

In conclusion, leave my boy alone; he's not dumb, he's just grief-stricken and doing his best.

[meraki-yao]

Poppy Playtime Chapter 4 Thoughts (Spoilers!)

Who stayed up till 1:30 am trembling in her blanket and continued to do so the whole morning for the new Poppy Playtime Chapter? Me!

So here are my thoughts and a few theories before the freshness washes off

(also disclaimer, I didn't actually play the game because I am by no means a gamer and way too much of a scaredy-cat to actually play it, this is based on the play-throughs I watched)

Thoughts

Monsters/Bosses:

Yarnaby:

Big kitty. Seriously though I feel like he's kind of standard for a poppy mid-level boss.

Pianosaurus:

Now some say that he was wasted but honestly I don't think so? All things considered I don't think he was hyped up all that much: he had one distorted image in the ARG and one jingle with not much actual information on the bigger-body. So truthfully speaking, I think the twist of having him be so quickly and suddenly destroyed by Doey was really successful, I for sure did not see it coming at all.

Nightmare Critters:

Okay as someone who really grew to love the smiling critters, the nightmare critters' very concept confused me. Like I don't dislike it, I'm just confused, like what is the in-game reason for their existence? I really think they wanted to reuse the mini-smiling critters concept from chapter three, but since the smiling critters in Chapter 4 are children refugees in Safe Haven, to make a distinction they created the nightmare critters. Defintiely annoying little pests though, which means they're fulfilling their purpose quite well.

The Doctor:

I was wondering if they were gonna re-use the weeping angels mechanism from Miss Delight because when I watched the trailer I couldn't think of anything else, but turns out they're traffic light systems but reverse: yellow means the minion is going to move, and red means it is moving. The VA acting is absolutely on point, so all the applause to Baldwin, but game play wise I... honestly feel it's a little underwhelming? It's all very confusing and a lot of brute forcing, and truthfully speaking to have this villain that was built up for so long, second to the prototype get destroy fairly quickly, felt... too easy for such a horrendous character. I still don't understand with what intention is he and prototype collaborating. I also feel like the stuff in the ARG about Sawyer's backstory didn't really pay off?

Doey:

OH GODS I CRIED SO MUCH I COULD WRITE A WHOLE POST ABOUT DOEY ALONE. I knew he was gonna be a twist/final boss in someway just because of how he was marketed, but oh my God, I wasn't prepared for how tragic this was. I think it is the oldest sister/eldest daughter in me, seeing Doey try so damn hard to be a leader to wayward children, trying so hard to manage and protect everyone, that's something I understand and sympathise with. The oldest part of him was only 15 when the hour of joy happened! The tape of him talking to himself, giving himself a reminder to keep holding on and protecting kids, God that broke my heart. I was sobbing and muttering "it's okay... you did great... you can rest now... you can go see your mommy and daddy and friends now" when he died.

I think the two facts that make this even more tragic is that the other completely sympathetic character, Dog Day (still my favourite best boi), bad things was inflicted on him. Even Dog Day as a boss, that wasn't his choice, he didn't have one. Doey on the other hand, it was self-inflicted: I can't say him going beserk was a choice per se, emotions are complicated, but he was the responsible one. This pain was self-inflicted, and unlike Dog Day, could have been avoided.

Which brings me to my second point: for Doey (so I have to emphasise, this is in NO WAY a comment on actual DID systems, and boy do I have thoughts on that), in one of the VHS tape, the scientist remarked that one of the kids that made him up: Kevin Barnes, was erratic and aggressive, and could pose a danger if included in the experiment. He ended up being included because Sawyer demanded it and "The Doctor's word is law". This means if Kevin wasn't included in Doey, if it was just Jack and Matthew, then Doey wouldn't have that insane breakdown. He would be sad, he would feel guilty, yes, but all of those are the average human emotions experienced in a situation like this, and it wouldn't have been so destructive. HE COULD HAVE SURVIVED. In his insane monster form, we can literally see the three kids in the monster's mouth, two of them frowning and one of them angry, the two sad kids trying to hold the mad one back. THIS COULD HAVE BEEN AVOIDED.

Anyways, I love the guy. I'll be drawing and mourning him. Sleep well buddy, you can rest now.

Plot and Lore:

Riley made me cry so much too. God, what a kid, trying to help, even a single soul till the very, very end. Sleep well kiddo. You did so well, and you're with your mom and dad now.

Also the way she described being turnd into a bigger-body, I wanted to throw up. Props to the writers for doing such a good job on that.

Oh the excited shout I let out when I saw the tape with Bigger Bodies Hoppy! So we know that there are more Bigger Bodies Smiling Critters that survived past the experiments and the hour of joy. But then I remembered that Dog Day said he was the last of the smiling critters and got sad, whoever Hoppy is, at this point in the story, she's gone :(

The omni-hand confuses me storywise: it's just a keycard equivalent?

Kissy Missy!!!! (that's it, I just love her)

I called three things: Poppy being Elliot's daughter, Ollie being the prototype, and Huggy still being alive. Granted a lot of people called it too, these are just the theories I believed in that turned out to be true

THERE ARE SO MANY DEAD BODIES AND EACH AND EVERY ONE OF THEM WAS A CHILD BEFORE I WANT TO SCREAM ABOUT THIS THIS IS AWFUL

The player is shaking in idle. That is some details. Also this person is gonna be triple traumatised.

I don't think Poppy is evil per se, but I think she is very selfish and self-centred, in the sense that she believes that she is the one with all the answers. I wonder how much did Elliot Ludwig spoil her. Also, bitch, she ditched us again.

Theories and Questions

In the Hoppy VHS, she mentioned she got jumped while trying to get supplies: jumped by what and who?

What the hell is the deal with Stella Greyber's change of heart in joining the executives on the bigger-bodies initiatives? Her change of heart is so sudden and so illogical?

It's one thing for Poppy to believe in Ollie. But Doey knowing and believing in Ollie too? How many people did he fool?

Also given that Ollie is the prototype, was his "HE'S OUTSIDE" that led to Doey going out and leaving safe haven a distraction?

I think the prototype is also an amalgamation, and one of the identities is Elliot Ludwig. It's final speech to Poppy, telling her to "come home" sound pretty in line with an evil father figure, and my sister pointed out if you removed the "T", "Elliot" is an anagram for "Ollie".

What is the prototypes agenda at this point? It's willing to collaborate with the doctor, the very person that started all this hellfire. It doesn't care about the children's lives seeing as he bombed Safe Haven, killing everyone inside. It's whole "burn it all down" idea actually echoes Poppy's agenda, but Poppy sounds genuinely shocked and scared to learn that Ollie is the prototype. What the hell is going on?

Who is Kissy? The bigger-body Kissy Missy that's been our companion for the past two chapters. Game Theory had their theory that it was Patty Hall, but I'm... starting to think it was Stella? We don't know Kissy's experiment number, and I don't think we have any info on Stella's status during the hour of joy, so it's not impossible. It's just... their... attitudes, for a lack of better words, seem to align.

Leith Pierre is out there somewhere, we know he survived since he's in project playtime, but where the hell is he now? He is a bigger player in this scheme than he lets one. I don't believe he's not gonna make an appearance in the future.

What the hell is Rich's deal? So turns out he's one of the more likeable higher-ups? And he's the head of shipping? What is up with his change in attitude from moody aggressive guy to the dad friend/supervisor?

There's this one mystery from Chapter two that still hasn't been solved: there were slides with plates of each department's head's name and one was missing: we still don't know who that could be.

I truly think at the very least for this storyline, the next chapter is the last. The doctor was the second greatest villain and now he's dead. Additionally, we came into direct contact with the prototype, so from a storytelling perspective, the next chapter has to be the last stand. I don't believe this will be the end of the poppy playtime universe though.

Conclusion/Overall Comment on the Chapter:

I liked the chapter, but I think the problem is that unlike the previous chapters that felt like a constant overall upgrade, this one didn't feel like an improvement (but nor it did feel like a downgrade though). There are aspects of the chapter that definitely improved from that last: the graphics, the gameplay mechanics, the gore making people immediately physically uneasy, and characterisation of both major and minor characters, making us immediately love or hate them in a very short time. But the pacing really felt less enjoyable compared to the last chapter, same with the boss battles. It felt like it dragged too much then rushed too much. The pros and cons kinda cancel each other out, leadings to a net zero.

My favourite is still Chapter three, but I'll give this one a 7.5/10.