#will never get over it until it's resolved

[grison-in-space]

Y'all if you really need this to be all queer all the time I can support that but it's not that fucking hard to do. Make em both bi or pan or nonbinary or any number of fun things. The notion of a romance founded in mutually seeking an abortion and the intimacy of sharing one's desires for the present and maybe the future against the backdrop of ensuring one another's freedom from parenthood (at least, right now) is too good a concept to let go.

Couple of Texan kids, say. I spent a long time there, it's a natural pick for me. They're in college and they go to one of those keggers the frats throw, meet at a wild party as college kids, maybe they're freshmen or sophomores. Call em Sam and Kris so I don't have to specify which character has which genitals.

Sam's a nervous anxious perfectionist with huge career plans and big dreams who has life planned out in exhaustive (and exhausting) detail, only even at this party because a friend insisted on a break between exam rounds. There's a lot of internal pressure built up that's going to explode the moment Sam relaxes. Kris is a little unformed, not sure what major to pick or what career to settle on, still trying to work out what kind of person might be good to grow into, good at surface connections but kind of lonely for something deeper. The frat parties are familiar and comfortable—Kris knows how they work and how they run, and if you're friendly and you smile at people and maybe hook up now and again you get to feel REALLY connected and useful, and that's a heady feeling. They meet at the party Sam's friend picked out and immediately feel the attraction and hook up while totally shit faced—huge aberration for Sam, maybe not so much for Kris. There's a condom, but it breaks. It doesn't seem like a big deal in the moment, but in the morning, that's another story.

Sam is panicked. A baby is going to derail all their careful plans and their self control, but you can't not step up to take care of a baby. Ohhhhhh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, what do we do? Kris is quiet as they consider the mess and the possibilities. Shit. Shit shit shit. They maybe exchange numbers and withdraw for a minute until someone's period is late. They might try to find plan B but neither of them is entirely sure where you buy that shit and it takes a few days to find out, by which point it's too late. And then the period fails to show up, and it fails to show up, and the pregnancy test reads positive, and they're running out of time...)

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

IF SAM HAS A DICK: they are a moral and ethical enough person that they do not consider abandoning Kris as an option if the pregnancy goes to term. They may propose marriage or coparenting as a potential option but they are clearly terrified by all possible options.

Kris is touched and kind of flattered. They're not sure whether they want kids or not, but now doesn't feel like a great time with everything so up in the air. Anyway, Sam is hot but used diapers and vomiting do not sound hot at ALL right now, and Kris's parents are kind of distant and definitely aren't going to be any kind of useful. They broach a preference for an abortion, Sam sags in shocked relief, and then starts talking about figuring out how to pay for it—not what Kris expected—and making plans to skip classes and talk to teachers to figure out the logistics. Oh, Kris thinks, feeling warm and fuzzy: Kris expected to be on their own to fix this, but Sam is acting like this is both their responsibility equally to resolve. They've never felt cared for like that. Oh...

IF KRIS HAS A DICK:

Sam is hyperventilating over the pregnancy test results and acting as if going to one party doomed them for all time, and Kris inexplicably kind of wants to hug them? Shit happens sometimes. They ask tentatively what Sam actually wants as Sam starts collapsing under the weight of the impending ruin of their life and how disappointed "everyone" will be and all the bad things that might happen, and Sam whips their head over and stares for a second in astonishment before saying, huntedly, "I want for none of this to be happening!"

"Oh, okay. Do you want an abortion?"

"I can't afford to on my own, I'm going to have to ask my parents for extra money and they are not going to be happy. Shit, shit, shit, I'm going to be paying for this until the end of time, I don't have time for this—" and Sam bursts into tears. Kris feels bad and, like, look. Kris likes to help people anyway, and it's not like this situation isn't equally Kris's own fault. So they offer to help Sam figure this out and pay for the whole thing—they've got a job at a bar that can cover it—and they help Sam calm down and explore some options so that together they can find a place to get an abortion. They offer to drive, too: that means they don't have to wait as long on a bus or something but Sam can study from the passenger seat. It's not like any of Kris' classes require a lot of effort; psychology is good for that much. Let's make a day trip out of it.

Sam, who is used to having to do everything on their own, is feeling really cared about and seen right now. And, well, Kris is really hot...

There you go. It's a fucking romance. Deal with it.

there's an extremely niche plot in romance fiction wherein our invariably heterosexual leads fall in love after a night of passion leads to an unplanned pregnancy and they're now bound together by an impending child. I cast no judgment on anyone who enjoys this, but since I'm an evil gay and this is my personal nightmare scenario I want to see a zany romance novel premised on the opposite resolution: a couple falls in love while on a whirlwind roadtrip to obtain a legal abortion

[junixscribble]

SCREAMS ur responses are so good ty for feeding us I'm so excited for your writing omggg

ANYWHO. SO. You mentioned Jayce giving Viktor a raspberry and also the tags on the s2 art so~ let's humor that~

Raspberries are arguably one of the most childish and intimate forms of tickling because well duh. I feel like Viktor probably never had a raspberry before Jayce (at least not one he remembers). He probably saw parents blow raspberries onto their giggling kids and thought to himself "I guess it's funny, or feels weird". Never considered just how bad it could tickle.

Jayce on the other hand is FULL OF LOVE and definitely has fuzzy memories of his mom pressing her lips to his belly when he was younger. Even just tickly kisses would take him down! He's a tummy guy.

Anyway, I feel like Jayce would suddenly remember that he can Do That to Viktor one day, and he just HAS to try it out. Poor Viktor probably looks in absolute horror as Jayce pushes his shirt up and takes a big breath in Like???? What are you DOING Jayce?!?!? Then when he touches down, Viktor SCREAMS. Like full on EEEEEEEEEEs because holy shit it tickles so so so bad. Probably knocks his head against the floor as he shrieks. Jayce has big ol powerful cheeks and a scratchy face (before the beard) so it's unbearable 💔

Poor Jayce probably gets a metal leg brace to the head as Viktor jerks his legs involuntarily. And oh boy does Vik blush because ??? WHAT WAS THAT????

You know how I said I was taking so long cause I had Ideas? Well. Here you go!

Fruit

Title: Fruit

WC: 1376w

Summary: Tensions are high in the lab with tight deadlines. Arguments are had, resolved, and when under inordinate amounts of pressure one must make time for stupidity.

——————

Viktor rested his head against the blackboard, sighing. Work had been trying lately. The council was expecting something big, and fast, so he and Jayce often found themselves burning the midnight oil more often than not. Their late nights and stressed disposition had led to a decent few arguments, mainly about stupid things such as who left the dishes all over the kitchen. Most recently it had been about an equation that had ended up half rubbed out - neither of them could decide who had done it, and both were saddled with figuring out what had been written down and rewriting it. 

They had been ignoring each other for most of the day, and to be honest Viktor was tired of it. These hours only passed quickly when there was chatter and ideas being thrown about like darts at a board. With nothing but chalk scratching breaking the silence, the seconds were painful. Usually Jayce was the one to break such silences, but he had been steadfastly soldering one of his gauntlets for the past hour and a half. 

For once in his life, Viktor put his stubborn nature aside and relented. He set his chalk down and wiped his hand on the side of his pants before walking over to Jayce, leaning on his crutch. Jayce didn’t look up on his approach, and Viktor stood awkwardly by him for a full minute until he put down the soldering iron.

“If you have something to say, say it.” Jayce said through gritted teeth. Viktor shifted his weight awkwardly. 

“I… am sorry. About the equation. Truthfully, the last few days have been melding into each other, and I can’t remember who wiped the board. It very well could have been me.” 

Jayce sat up straighter, genuine surprise in his eyes. “You’re not here to berate me some more?”

Viktor flushed, looking aside. It was hard to keep composure when Jayce was looking at him like a kicked puppy. “No. I should not have done so in the first place.” 

There was a moment of silence where Viktor was convinced Jayce was going to turn his back on him, but before the idea could make a home in his head Jayce was up and his arms were wrapped around him. 

“It’s okay. We’ve been working hard, and I’ve said some things I regret too. Still partners?” Jayce asked, pulling back slightly. 

Viktor allowed himself a smile and put a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Of course. Now, I’m sure I have some alcohol in here from last time…” 

…

The next few days were a complete turn around from the stress. Now that they weren’t on edge around each other the ideas were flowing and problems that seemed impossible suddenly had clear solutions. 

“Ha! If I reverse the polarity on this, it will stop the hex crystal from spinning out of control!” Viktor exclaimed, nearly throwing his screwdriver. Jayce pushed away from his workbench and cheered. 

“Man, we are on a roll.” He sat contended for a bit before furrowing his brow. “Vik, I’ve just realised I’ve never asked you about your family.” 

Viktor turned to face him, amused. “And what started this train of thought?”

Jayce shrugged. “I was just thinking.” 

“Dangerous, coming from you. Anyway, there was never much to speak of. Never had siblings, my father was absent before I was born, and my mother passed when I was quite young. As was the way of most in Zaun.” Viktor said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Don’t be. The life I lead now… it makes up for it.” 

Jayce tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Aw, I’m glad to hear I’m like your family.”

Viktor sputtered. “I- what…well-”

Jayce laughed and shook his head. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me. Ooooh, we should do family things! Have a big awkward dinner with aunts you’ve never met, create unnecessary drama,...”

“Jayce, it sounds like you are describing the council.” Viktor commented, half a laugh on his breath. 

Jayce mimed vomiting and pouted before lighting up like a candle. “No, of course not. I couldn’t do this with any members of the council.” 

Viktor assumed he was talking about their banter, so he smiled and turned back to his work. However, the minute he picked up his pen he was grabbed from behind and wrapped up in a hug. He squeaked in surprise and swore in his native tongue before going limp in his embrace - he’d learned there was no escaping Jayce when he got lovey-dovey. 

“You know something else families do?” Jayce sing-songed, being a dick about it.

“What, Jayce?” Viktor sighed, playing along. 

It turned out there was no verbal response to that question - that being because Jayce had taken the opportunity to worm his fingers under Viktor’s arms and start wiggling on his ribs. Viktor immediately curled in on himself and made a strangled noise, pushing at Jayce’s hands. 

“No! Jahayce, you bastard-” He yelled, squirming. Jayce just laughed, pulling him away from the bench and over to the couch they had set up. Viktor knew what that meant, and he knew it could lead to him not getting back to his work for at least an hour. When one of his moods struck Jayce was hard to escape - not that Viktor minded too much. He could admit he needed the break, and he could put up with Jayce. 

Nevertheless, he protested. “Jaaaayce JayceJayceJayce we can talk about this, no? You don’t have to- haha! You don’t have to do this!” 

“Oh, but I do.” 

Viktor half-fought Jayce trying to shove him down on the couch, swearing the whole time. The minute he was down, Jayce would go ham and he wouldn’t know peace. Despite the half-assed attempts at escape Jayce successfully pinned an already laughing Viktor to the couch, and Viktor braced himself. What came, however, was hands deftly pulling up his shirt in one quick movement. 

“What the fu-” was all Viktor managed before Jayce took a deep breath and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Now, Viktor had seen this done before - often parents with small children - but always assumed the resulting laughter was because of the general silliness of the action. Never in a million years had he expected it to tickle so fucking badly. 

Viktor let out what could only be described as a screech at the contact, immediately kicking out and bashing his head on the back of the couch. Jayce nuzzled his face into his tummy, grinning, and Viktor broke into a chorus of cackles. 

“JAHAYCE! Whahaha- whahat are you dohohoing??” 

“What do you think?” He replied, still speaking into Viktor’s stomach and by god he was going to dissolve because his stubble made it so much worse. Viktor shrieked again when Jayce blew yet another raspberry, squirming within an inch of his life. 

“Yohou fucking asshole!” He yelled out for nothing, getting rewarded with Jayce’s fingers joining in the fun by kneading into his lower ribs. He made a series of high pitched sustained yelps at this, caught between the sensations of rough hands on sensitive skin and lips over spots he was discovering were really ticklish. After one particularly potent raspberry, Viktor accidentally sent his knee straight into the back of Jayce’s head, finally halting the onslaught.   

“Ow!” Jayce cradled his head while Viktor caught his breath, quickly covering his stomach. 

“You deserve that!” Viktor admonished, sitting up. His eyes were wide, staring at Jayce.

“Have you… have you never had someone blow a raspberry on you before?”

Viktor shook his head. “That affront to dignity is named after a fruit?” 

Jayce laughed. “Yes.”

“I was not expecting it to… have such an effect.” 

“No? If it’s too much, I won’t do it again-”

“No!” Viktor said before he could stop himself. “I mean, ah, I can handle your bullshit if I must, Jayce.” 

Jayce raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to do it again?”

Viktor turned red. “Of course not.” 

Despite this, he sank further into the couch and his shirt rode up slightly. He didn’t pull it back down. Jayce grinned. 

“Well regardless, I’m not done with you.” 

It took very little time for Viktor to start cackling. Again.

[midnightminx90writings]

Emmrich wasn’t lying to Rook when he said he doesn’t regret their relationship.

But he did have second thoughts about it, before the end. And those are the thoughts he regrets more than anything, because they could have cost him everything.

His whole life, all Emmrich has wanted is lasting love, something that will last into eternity. Someone to hold his hand, to sleep next to at night. A person that will sit next to him and read books, or work in a garden.

Someone who will say “I love you” in return and mean it.

Wanting is a scary thing. A terrifying thing, if he is to be honest with himself.

Because now he has found someone who wants him back, and while Rook flirts with him in return, and does so at frankly the strangest occasions, Emmrich is terrified this is just another fleeting thing.

But Rook takes his hand, takes his heart, takes all of him and turns those too large feelings into something slightly more manageable.

Parts are put into Manfred; into carefully guiding him to become more, to become someone who can take care of himself long after Emmrich is gone.

More than an assistant; now a prodigy. A son, as Rook says, and a part of Emmrich settles, a part he did not know needed settling, but there all the same.

Like the piece of a puzzle he never knew the scope of.

Then there’s Rook himself; calming and exciting in equal measures until Emmrich no longer knows which way is up.

Rook, who loves unconditionally and surprisingly, who turns Emmrich’s knees weak and holds him up with the same look in his eyes. Rook, who tells him gold is his favourite colour and in the next breath admits that Emmrich is his first in everything.

And how can a man respond to that?

By bewilderment, at first, then pure joy and pride over being chosen. And lastly, thoughts he would like to not admit to, calculating ones entailing how to best go about it, to show how good it can be with the right person. How right.

It feels selfish, Emmrich thinks, but shows an immense amount of trust.

He cannot say no to that. To hold that honour.

So he kisses Rook, shows him the merest hint of what he can look forward to, even as his own body screams at him to take it further but also to step away before he ruins something beautiful again.

He gives, in the end, helpless not to.

Emmrich knows the exact number of days that pass between Rook’s first expression of interest, to their first kiss, to their first time.

And he knows the exact number of days between that, and when Rook is taken from them. From him.

When Rook is taken, Emmrich is terrified.

His love is gone without a trace, after an argument between them that they did not resolve, and the loss of two of their dear friends.

Emmrich can see why people are driven to madness, to desperation, doing whatever it takes to get their loved one back. His books hold no aid for the first time in his life. He cannot return to the Necropolis because what if…

And so he cries and he rages and wears himself into exhaustion again and again, dreams filled with nightmares where Rook is never found and there is an empty grave next to those of his parents.

Even Manfred holds no comfort for him now, as hours turns into days, turn into weeks until finally, there is a hand in his, and he knows that hand unlike none other, and he thinks do not let go this time, clutch it as tight as you can until only eternity remains.

EDIT: now on AO3

[achromatophoric]

Wenclair Week - Day 6: Dystopic

A recently awoken Enid stumbles across haggard friends in a world dramatically changed.

Enid: What’s going on? What happened? Why is everything like this?!

Bianca: Enid, it’s been years. You’ve been missing for YEARS! What happened to you?

Enid: Years? But I just— Willa and I had a fight, so I went to go nap it off in the forest, and then—

Enid: *frantic* Where’s Willa?!

Divina: Enid— Wednesday, she— *deep breath*

Divina: After you went missing, we all spent months trying to find you, and Wednesday, she… she never gave up. At least, not until…

Enid: Until? Until what? What happened?!

Yoko: Bitch went crazy! From Stabbah Hauntana to Chiquita Bananas, full stop!

Enid: Ohmygod. *pales* Did she— Wednesday did this?

The girls pause to gaze at their surroundings, a dystopian landscape that is lazily horrifically indescribable.

Bianca: *grim* She did. Some kind of ancient black magic. A ritual that altered a fundamental piece of reality, tied somehow to the last thing she said to us before she totally lost it.

Enid: What— *gulps* What did she say?

Bianca: *quotes* If we can’t have a resolution, then no one shall.

Enid: 🫢

Enid: 😐

Enid: 🤔

Enid: Um. So like—What did the ritual do?

Bianca: No more endings.

Enid:

Enid: Huh?

Divina: Not a single show has ended since then!

Bianca: They all just taper off into limbo. Stranger Things, Yellow Jackets, Delicious in Dungeon— ALL of them.

Yoko: Not just shows! Movies, comics, podcasts, books— It’s like George R.R. Martin took them ALL over.

Enid: *gasps* No! What about Wicked: For Good?!

Divina: *shakes head* Screen goes black like fifteen minutes in.

Enid: ACOTAR?!

Bianca: Blank pages after a couple of chapters. Every single printing. Sarah J. Maas can’t even remember how her last book ended

Enid: 😨

Enid: And… and that caused everything to become like this?

Bianca: Oh fuck no, not that part. It gets much worse.

Enid: Then what—

Yoko: *blurts out* ORGASMS!

Enid: Wh—

Yoko: *frantic* They’re fucking GONE, Enid! All of them! No one has them anymore! Do you understand?!

Divina: *begins crying* Years, Enid. YEARS! The whole fucking world.

Enid: 😱

Bianca: *desperately* But maybe we can fix that now! With you back, maybe we can finally get through to Addams and—

The sky suddenly darkens as a sinister presence peels the light from the land, strip by trembling strip. It races toward the girls like some ill tide, eating the distance between them with a savage gluttony.

Bianca: Enid! It’s her! This is our chance!

Divina: We’ve got your back! You can do this!

Yoko: For the fucking orgasms!!

Something rises from the core of that rapidly encroaching black, a figure with an achingly familiar, if distorted, voice.

Once-Wednesday: NO MORE RESOLUTIONS.

With the weight of the world upon her shoulders, Enid straightens and faces her twisted beloved. She takes a deep breath, steels her resolve, and shouts with all her heart.

Enid: WEDNESDAY! IT’S M—

[hettolandija]

#not only is chuck still alive but the whole jack taking on the god power thing was so sus#and they way jack acted immediately after. and then in spnwin too. SO SUS#and just the fact that i think the only way they can truly be free is to eradicate the position of god#bc chuck too was allegedly 'hands off'...until he wasn't#and i think there's a good argument to be made for the god power itself being a corrupting force#like we saw it with the godstiel arc too#being god eventually leads to an abuse of power and corruption#so whether jack is actually being possessed by chuck in some way or it's simply the god power changing him something is still not right#and the restoration of heaven. the focus on peace in 'paradise'. those are all antithetical to what tfw was all about#and especially what dean was all about. FREEDOM over PEACE#and what does he get instead? 'peace when you are done' and no concrete answers on if he is actually free#if his life was ever real#and nothing in heaven CAN be real. like on a foundational level all of heaven is built off illusion and memory#no matter how much 'jack' and allegedly cas 'reform' heaven it's still never going to be an adequate substitute for real life and living#even the reformed open world concept of heaven (if we are to believe that's REALLY bobby--rocking chair?! like hello.)#even then it's like. ok but what kind of meaningful 'life' can they all have in heaven?#and dean immediately busting out and SEARCHING for 'family' is just so telling#like for all that dean may have been depressed / giving up (bc of his on-going crisis that was never resolved)#once he's actually dead and in heaven i Know that man's gut instincts were SCREAMING something is not right and the first thing he does#is what cas once told him to do. drive on the road as a way out of heaven#he is not content to just sit around. he still has work to do. first and foremost figuring out wtf is going ON#spn 15x20 (via angelsdean)

thinking again about how dean was - and i don't use this phrasing lightly - losing his sanity in season 15. justifiably, but still. he was questioning every layer of his reality. and that was not resolved. at all.

[lockes-woods]

Pleasure and Punishment

!!MDNI!!

This was originally a kinktober request, but since I got sick for the second half of October I still want to fulfill the last two (now one) requests.

Request: kinktober: Nami x Sanji x AFAB reader switch! sanji, switch! reader, dom! nami, overstim, bondage and blindfold?

Requested By: @crow-twink

WARNINGS: Oral (F Receiving), PIV, Fingering, Unprotected Sex, Over Stimulation, Dom Nami, Switch Reader&Sanji, Blindfold, Bondage, Strap-on,

Taglist: @nocturnalrorobin

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

“Mhm Sanji s-stop,” you barely managed to get out as you lay reclined against the pillows of your shared bed. Sanji openly ignored your pleas as he doubled down stretching you out with a third finger, mouth sealed around your clit. He continued with the knowledge that if you actually wanted him to stop, you’d use your safe word.

“Fuck,” you moaned, torn between being a good girl for Nami or giving in and going all the way with Sanji. Your breath began to come out as pants as your thighs began to tremble under Sanji’s ministration. You were so close.

“S-sanji please,” you begged as your brain began to feel foggy. At this point you couldn’t decide if you wanted him to stop or keep going. Overwhelmed tears welled up in your eyes as Sanji met your gaze with a mischievous look; lips still wrapped around your clit. It only took one last hard suck for your resolve to crumble as you gave in to your orgasm. You writhed against the bed, shamelessly grinding against Sanji’s face as you rode out your orgasm; overstimulated tears streaming down your face. Sanji waited patiently, fingering you through your release until your hips were still. You couldn’t look away as Sanji pulled back from your cunt, shamelessly wiping your release off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Mhm, sweet as always amour,” Sanji said, smirking down at you, “Now then, do you think you can be a good girl and cum on my cock?”

“B-but Nami told us to keep our hands to ourselves until she comes back,” you said, coming out whinier than you intended.

“Mhm,” Sanji hummed, “I think we’re well past that point love. Anyway, she also said I was in charge until she comes back,” he pointed out. Your response died in your throat as you watched Sanji shed his button-up and begin to ease out of his trousers. You bit your lip as his cock came into view; already standing at attention.

“You know she won’t like this,” you argued, tearing your attention back up to his face.

“Mhm, that may be true, but only if she finds out,” Sanji replied.

“But we don’t know when she’ll be back,” you pointed out as he kneeled once again between your thighs.

“Baby, we both know how long it takes her to make decisions when it comes to her cartography equipment. Plus, we’ve never been to this island before, it could take ages before she finds a shop, if one exists at all.” Sanji argued back, stifling a groan as he pumped his cock before positioning it at your entrance. Your eyes widen as he playfully stroked the bare head of his cock between your folds.

“Sanji,” you said in a warning tone, “please tell me you forgot the condom,”

“Mhm,” he hummed, “I wouldn’t say forgot so much as choosing to abstain from using it.” He said, a playful look still plastered on his face.

“But-but us fucking is one thing. There’s no way she’s not going to punish us if you cum in me without permission.” You replied, pushing yourself up on your forearms.

“That’s only if she finds out darling.” He started, “Even if she does would it be the worst thing?”

“Fuck,” you whined, as he breached your entrance, “Your stupid degradation kink is always getting us in trouble.”

“You’re one to talk,” Sanji said smirking down at you, “We both know how much you love getting filled up.”

You could only whimper in response as he slowly fucked himself into you, taking care not to do too much too quickly. The worst part about this was you knew he was right. You loved him cumming in you, especially on days like today when you were feeling particularly needy. You had whined and clung to Nami in bed this morning all but begging her to stay on the ship. She promised she’d be back as soon as possible, before kissing your forehead and reminding both you and Sanji of the rules while she was gone. The best cure for your uneasiness was cockwarming; especially after Sanji came inside you.

“Fuck,” you moaned, as Sanji bottomed out. You groaned at not only the stretch of his cock inside of you but also of your leg muscles as he folded you in half. You shared a sweet kiss, your legs resting on his shoulders. Your head subconsciously emptied of any of your resistance. Any worries plaguing you disappeared in an instant as he began to thrust into you slowly building his pace until you were left a moaning mess. All you were able to do was focus on the sensation of Sanji’s cock as it dragged against all your most sensitive spots. You couldn’t help but close your eyes as the stimulation started to become too much. You were being catapulted to yet another orgasm as Sanji set a brutal pace. All you could hear outside of the lewd sounds of Sanji’s hips hitting yours were his desperate pants and reassurance in his native dialect. Despite not being able to understand him completely it was a comfort nonetheless. You were both too lost in each other’s sensation to notice the door opening until it was too late.

Your eyes snapped open as Nami’s voice filled the room.

“You filthy mutt!” she screeched, dragging Sanji off you; her fingers threaded through his hair. A needy whimper escaped you as he was forcibly pulled back leaving you empty on the cusp of your orgasm. A groan slipped out from deep in his throat as Nami all but threw him backwards onto the chair in your reading nook. She released his hair in favor of squeezing his cheeks together, causing his lips to pucker.

“What part of, ‘keeping your hands to yourself’ did you not understand?!” she yelled into his face, “I’m gone less than an hour and a half and you think you can fuck my angel? Without my permission? You perverted little mutt, putting your filthy paws all over-”

Nami paused, silence filled the room. You could easily hear a pin drop as her eyes locked in on his cock.

“Vinsmoke Sanji,” She seethed tone even, emphasizing each word, “Were you going to cum in her?”

Sanji bit his lip and gave a delayed nod, cock twitching under her intense gaze. She released her grip on his face, before silently stalking to your wardrobe. You scrambled to a sitting position as you braced yourself for her punishment. There were a variety of toys, gags, and restraints at the bottom of your wardrobe. You relaxed slightly as you caught a view of her holding ropes and a blindfold before prowling back to Sanji.

“Spread,” she demanded. Before she could finish her statement, Sanji had already spread his legs and arms to align with the chair's. Nami made quick work of tying him up, degrading him the whole time. Sanji could only whimper in response to every tug of the ropes, the irritated head of his cock began to leak precum.

“There,” she said backing up to give her work a once over, “That should keep your disgusting paws from tainting my angel.”

“Now,” Nami started turning to you. You unintentionally gulped as her sole attention focused on you.

“I’m sorry mistress,” you said before she could even begin to scold you.

“Baby,” Nami started in a soft empathetic tone, “You know better than letting that hound have a taste of you; it only reinforces his bad behavior. You know he’s only permitted to touch you under my watch.” She continued crawling up over your body as you once again lay propped up against your pillows.

“Have I not been giving you enough attention?” she asked, in a faux sympathetic voice.

“No,” you quickly gasped, “I-I just wanted to feel full.”

She hummed thoughtfully as she stroked up and down your bare sides.

“While I can empathize with that, that wasn’t your call to make. After all, who owns this pussy?” She asked cupping your sex.

“You, mistress,” you gasp out as she stroked up and down your seem.

“Good girl,” she cooed, tilting your chin up, and forcing eye contact. You submissively sucked her thumb as she stroked your bottom lip. You laved and sucked at it, never breaking eye contact with her. She smirked down at you attempting to pull back as your mouth followed her retreating hand. She stroked your cheek lovingly before continuing.

“Now I’m going fill you up, and I expect your sole focus to be on me baby,” she said, wrapping the blindfold over your eyes, followed by her securing your hands to the headboard before pulling back, “I’m gonna fuck you so good that filthy pup won’t ever be able to satisfy you again.”

You tried your hardest to listen to where she was as her weight left the bed, but all you could make out were Sanji’s faint whimpers and the groaning of the chair as he shifted his weight. You let out a surprised gasp as she thrusted the dildo, undoubtedly connected to her strap, against your lips. Your eyes widened under your blindfold as the head breached your lips. A whimper escaped as you took more of it into your mouth. Based on the girth alone it had been either the blue or indigo dildo from your rainbow set. The set consisted of seven dildos that progressively got larger: red being the smallest and violet being the largest. You were really hoping that it was the blue one; the last time she fucked you with the indigo one you felt the ache of it for days. You were pulled back to the present at Nami’s soft encouragement.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” she groaned at the sight of your submissive form, “Get me nice and wet.”

“Though I guess you don’t need as much prep as normal. You’re so wet that you’re leaking onto the sheets.” She teased, pulling the dildo out of your mouth and shifting her weight between your legs.

“Please,” you begged, feeling the head of Nami’s strap resting against your lower lips.

“Oh? Is my messy little girl ready to be fucked?” Nami taunted.

“Fuck, please mistress I’ll be so goo-” A moan wreaks through your system; cutting yourself off as she began to thrust into you at a relentless pace. All you could do was moan helplessly as she fucked you with the indigo toy; if it weren’t for Sanji’s cock stretching you out there’s no way you would be able to take the dildo with such little prep. The stretch alone was enough to make you lightheaded. You rapidly approached your orgasm once again as the coil deep within you tightened to an extreme extent.

“Mistress can I-can I please cum,” you begged.

“Go ahead angel,” Nami panted, “be a good girl and cum all over mistress’s cock,”

Just like that, you were gone. Your thighs quaked, as a moan cut through you, loud enough for passersby to hear. Nami fucked you through your orgasm to the point of overstimulation before she pulled back. You were left a panting mess as she undid your restraints. You found yourself once again alone on the bed as Nami’s weight disappeared. You were at a loss before you heard Sanji’s moans echoing around the room.

“That’s it,” you heard Nami coo at Sanji, “You better savior her taste, it’s the last time you’ll have a single drop of her cum until I see fit.”

You clenched around nothing as you hear Sanji's whimpers die out as the sound of her fucking his throat took over. You could feel new waves of arousal flow through you at the broken sound of Sanji’s whine as she pulled out of his mouth with a lewd, ‘pop’.

You went to take off your blindfold before Nami’s soft hand reached out to stop you.

“Oh baby, I never said we were done.” She said encouraging you to move from your sitting position to all fours, chest pressed against the mattress, “I have to make sure my angel’s satisfied enough to never go back to that mutt for release.”

You gasped at the feeling of her cock’s head once again breaching your pussy. You were in for it.

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

Thanks so much for taking the time to Read ^-^

If you liked this one shot I'm currently doing a 10 one-shot count down to New Year for my 100 follower celebration. I still have 5 slots left for requests. You can find the master post with the details here

If you are sending a request in please do it through an ask. I just don't want to lose any requests in comments.

Anyway I hope you're doing well where ever you are 💛

-Locke

[pricegouge]

Idk how you feel about A/B/O but Alpha!Nik and his Omega!daughter. Still on my Princess in a tower bullshit because how else would he keep her safe from all those other alphas except by keeping her locked away in rural Russia.

He comes to visit and is immediately hit with the smell of her heat, which she is supposed to be taken suppressors for. He finds her in her nest in her bedroom just naked and sweaty and writhing. She’s in a puddle of her own slick and a hand between her legs but it’s not working. He can’t stand to see his malyshka in pain.

Nik offers his hand and she about rips it off. So know he’s in the nest with her and she’s delirious, humping his leg, crying and begging for him to knot her because it’s all just too much. He’s trying to scent her to calm her down but it’s just riling her up more. Nik is trying to be strong but his pupils are blown, cock hard and he’s near drooling over the smell of her soaked cunt.

It’d be fine as long as he doesn’t mate her, right?

-🗡️, who woke up with this vision from the devil

i'm not big into omegaverse, but neglected omega does tend to grab my attention

[vaguely related]

poor thing, left to face your heat all alone :( rationally, you know it's no one's fault because you were taking suppressants, but you can't help blaming him when you can feel it creeping up on you. he should've known they wouldn't work forever. you should've known.

you smell him coming before you see him - crashing through the door, reeking of sweat and dirt and horse. it should disgust you, but it only drives you more wild, his natural scent the only alpha musk you've ever known. he lets you bury yourself in his neck, rooting out the source of his scent while breathing open mouth and humid against his skin. it only works for a minute before you're pawing at him again, trying to shove away the layers that separate you from the warm expanse of skin you want to feel flush against your own.

"it hurts, papa," you whine, pulling at his hands to get him impossibly closer because you don't realize how tightly intertwined you already are until you're looking up at him, big puppy dog eyes, and asking, "won't you make it better?"

~*~

nik's just a man. can't help himself when you're straddling his lap, soaked cunt rubbing against his belly until your juices mat the hair there, stain him with your scent.

he's never reacted this way to an omega's smell before. not even the professional ones he was sometimes given while rutting in the field. he thinks maybe it's the nest, the fact you've made it of just as much his stuff as you have your own. he tries telling himself it's because you didn't have much of a choice, but then you're tonguing at his sensitive scent gland and he knows. knows what he's done, too, keeping you all locked away.

it'll be fine. he'll help you just this once and then he'll set you up with a nice match. maybe a beta. someone who will keep you on a tight suppressant regiment so he never has to risk this again. never has to test his limit, trying to ignore your scent. the way you beg for his knot.

he won't give it to. will stop just short. at least, that's what he tells himself when he helps you sink down onto him, tight cunt spasming as you try to take him too fast. his hands are like manacles on your hips, bruising with the tight grip he tries to keep on both your controls. you whine and cry anyway, upset you can't take him to the root. upset much it hurts even just to take him as much as you already have. he soothes you anyway, tongue flat against your virgin scent gland as he huffs sweet words against your skin. telling you how well you're doing, what a good little omega you're being. you preen each time, cunt spasming. happy to please.

his resolve finally shakes apart when he's given you every inch; thumbing away your tears as you keep babbling, begging for more. he just can't stand to see you like this, not when he knows what you need. so hush now, printsessa, papa will make it better. just stop whining and take it.

[painted-flag]

A VICTOR, part three (final) - Commodus

𓃮 emperor commodus x fem!reader 𓃭 masterlist. part one | part two | part three (final) 𓃮 warnings: 18+ descriptions of violence and smut (fingering, pinv, slight biting kink and nipple play, possessive behaviour) 𓃭 As a longtime and loyal servant working in the underbelly of the palace, your emergence into the light catches the attention of the emperor.

It had been a long, excruciating week. You had managed to avoid Commodus in that time. Attius was still insistent that you complete your duties despite the injuries, but you had managed to do them all in the lower levels of the palace. In the few instances where you needed to get work done in areas Commodus could be, you chose to do them very late into the night. 

There was not a word you could use to express the heartache you had felt at that time. It is funny that a person could be stamped so permanently onto your ribcage in such a short time of knowing them, but the emperor was a man you would never forget. 

In your dreams, you could still feel the touch of his calloused hands and the warmth that only he could provide – no other form of warmth like fire or the sun could compare or compete. 

The swelling in your face was gone, but you still sported a cut lip and the bruises were still prominent. Each night, you would go to Cassius to get a poultice to put on your wounds, which soothed the skin and removed some of the aching pain. 

While you had been smart in dodging Commodus and staying on the lower levels of the castle, you had to fetch rosemary from the gardens and it could not wait until night. So you found yourself, in the heat of midday, picking some rosemary in a secluded area of the palace gardens. 

It was calm, with a gentle breeze that kissed your skin. You held a woven basket with the handle tucked into your bent arm. With a small knife, you would cut off bundles of rosemary that looked ready to harvest and placed them in the basket. The motions were soft and serene and you found some peace with it. 

Footsteps alerted you to a presence behind you. You wanted to turn, but at the sound of their voice, you knew who it was and could not afford to face them. 

“You are not sick,” Commodus spoke from behind you, his tone full of contempt. 

You stopped your current task but still refused to turn around. Keeping your back to him was incredibly disrespectful, but you feared what he would do if he saw the markings on your face. How quickly would he cast you aside? 

“I have… recovered quickly.” You excused. Commodus scoffed from behind you and stepped closer. He was only a pace or two away from you and his close proximity had your knees weak and resolve crumbling. 

“You were never sick. I am not stupid…” His tone then switched to something that sounded almost insecure, “Have I done something to incur your indifference? Why do you avoid me? Whatever it was, name it and I shall work towards absolution. Shout it at me, insult me even, I give you permission for that. So long as you speak, so long as I can hear you talk because I have learnt that nothing… nothing hurts more than the absence of you.” 

His small speech could have knocked you off your feet. It sent your mind reeling. A strong urge to drop your basket and fling yourself into his arms washed over your body. How much you dearly missed the comfort of his embrace. He sounded vulnerable, not something you ever thought would come out of his mouth.

“It is not you, Caesar.” You hoped the honorific title would make him display more mercy toward you, but you failed to notice the depths of his devotion that had built up long before he invited you to his chamber so many nights ago. 

“Commodus.” He corrected what you addressed him as, “You of all people do not need to call me that. What is it that burdens you so?” He questioned. 

You knew there was no point in trying to keep it hidden. Your clothing thankfully covered most of the bruises, except for the one on your face. Slowly, while looking at the stone ground, you turned to face him. Your face raised and made eye contact with him, finding some solace in the green of his eyes. His look of desperation for your attention quickly morphed into simmering rage. You could see the bump in his throat move as he swallowed and his jaw set. 

He took the final step to get closer to you. Commodus raised his hand and hovered it right over your bruise, eyes scanning it over and over as if it was not real. 

“Who?” His voice was oddly calm. It was as if his mind had shut down, unable to fully process what he was seeing. 

“I am fine and–”

“Who did this?” Commodus interrupted. He gently traced over the bruise with the tip of his fingers, mapping the way it marred your face. 

“I have neglected my duties as of late. Master Attius did only what was necessary.” You tried to reason. His nostrils flared at your words. 

“It was him that did this to you?” You wanted to answer, but there was a sob that threatened to claw its way through your throat. You did not wish to cry in front of him, but the stress of everything had hit you. He saw the tears that welled in your eyes and pulled you in for a hug. However, his sudden touch on your arms caused you to flinch.

Commodus looked down immediately, grabbed your wrist, and pulled up the sleeve of your dress to see the bruises that littered your forearm and disappeared under the top of the fabric. His breath became laboured. 

“Nothing must go unpunished, he told me.” You bit your lip to hold the sobs back. Commodus let out a long sigh and rested his forehead against yours. The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, letting the warm breeze hit your bodies. 

He eventually moved, lifting his head and planting a kiss on your hairline. His hands reached up and rubbed your shoulders gently, trying to provide comfort while also not wanting to make your pain worse. 

“You are not to do any more work today. Go to my room and wait there.” He instructed you. 

“Wait for what?” You asked. He did not answer you, only giving your temple one last chaste kiss before he turned around and left the garden. You could hear his harsh footfalls as he got further away and you were scared at what he was capable of. 

Commodus was angry and that was dangerous. You worried about what his wrath meant for anyone in the palace. Yet, you could do nothing but stand there as he left, bracing for the coming aftermath of whatever he had planned.

You swore that you would wear down the marble flooring in Commodus’ room. For the last few hours, you had paced back and forth. Sometimes you would sit in a chair for a few moments before becoming restless again and resuming your short march. There had been no word from Commodus or anyone as to what was going on. 

You surmised that was the best outcome. He had not gone on a rampage and caused chaos, which was good. It had only struck you recently that perhaps you had been terribly stupid this whole time. The way he looked at you in the gardens and his vulnerability at thinking he had done something wrong to you. There you came to understand the depths of the situation and that the feelings you held are in some capacity reciprocated. 

That was why you paced so relentlessly. He harboured feelings for you, which in itself felt surreal. You were nothing and would remain nothing, but somehow that was enough to catch his attention. Had it been that festival you sang at so many years ago? Was it that moment when the fates decide to entwin both of your paths?

The door on the other side of the room opened and you stopped pacing. You stood still, hoping to see Commodus. It was hard to conceal your disappointment when another man walked through the doors. He was old and hunched over slightly, but his face appeared kind. He carried a bag with him and set it down on one of the tables. 

“Excuse my brash words, but where is the emperor?” You questioned. 

The old man smiled and began to take items out of his bag; vials and bandages, “The emperor has not been in the palace for hours, my lady.” 

“I am not a lady,” You spoke. 

“I have been instructed by the Caesar to look over his lady that awaits in this room. I am correct in assuming that is you?” He teased you slightly and you felt a little more relaxed around him. You approached the table and looked down at the healing supplies he had laid out. 

“Yes, uh, that would be me.” You shrugged. You did not want to question why Commodus had referred to you as his lady but knew it was not something to take lightly. Whatever he said goes and there was no reversing those words. The more you thought of it, the more it warmed your heart. 

“Well, I am Cosmo, fair lady. Might I check over your injuries?” He questioned. 

You nodded with permission and he moved towards you. While he tended to your wounds, all you could think about was Commodus; where he was and what he was doing. He was not in the palace and Rome was a large city. A sinking feeling of worry and dread washed over you.

After you had been tended to, more servants came in to bring you new attire. The dress you wore was nothing you had ever come close to having. The tunica, stolla, and palla all matched with the vibrancy of orange and black. Commodus had picked it out for you and you could not help but wonder if he chose it because it was similar in colour to your favourite animal, the tiger.  

When you had gotten ready, guards escorted you to a waiting carriage. Each time you tried to ask what was happening, you only got the same short response; Caesar awaits you. By now, slight fear had entered your heart. He had been gone that whole day and the last you saw of him was when he became consumed by rage. Had he hurt others? Had he hurt himself? 

The large imposing figure of the Colosseum entered your vision as the carriage approached. There were not many times in your life when you had time to visit, but each memory had been ingrained in your mind. The sun was setting and cast the stone in a delicate golden light. The heat of the day waned and you became grateful for the clothing wrapped around you to shield you from the occasional cool breeze. 

You do not remember there being a gladiatorial game scheduled for that day and your suspicions got worse as you were led out of the carriage and into the Colosseum. There was no shouting, no screaming, or bounds of cheer. Nothing but silence greeted you as you walked up some stairs and found yourself at the cloth-covered entrance to the emperor's viewing box. 

The guards escorting you grabbed the silk curtains and pulled them away, allowing you to enter alone. The viewing box was grand, filled with seats for the senators. A large stone chair, like a throne, was placed up front in the centre. There, leaning against the stone railing, was Commodus. He had his back to you, but you could see he wore a regal outfit of black armour with silver and gold accents. A gold laurel crown rested over his touseled dark locks. 

Your heartbeat picked up at the sight. 

“Commodus?” You questioned. At the sound of your voice, he turned around and smiled. He raised both of his arms like one would do to welcome someone with a hug. 

“Ah, you’re finally here,” He approached you and placed one hand gently over the healing bruise on your face, “How are you?” His other hand rested on your waist to pull you closer. A flush fell over your body. 

“The healer says I am doing well. There are no complications.” You answered. You had no idea what to do with your arms, so you pressed the palms of your hands against the chestpiece he wore, feeling the bends and grooves of the detailed pattern and the coolness of the metal. 

“And how is your mind?” His thumb swiped back and forth across your cheek. 

“I am alright. It hurt for a while… everything is fine now.” You reassured him. During your week of avoiding him, you had missed his comfort dearly. While he had originally gone to you for solace, you became attached to him and learned that you wished to lean on him as well.

“Not quite, darling.” Commodus took your arm and guided you to the big throne. He sat down comfortably. While you looked around for a chair next to him, he pulled you down so you sat on his lap. The movement was abrupt but sent heat through your body. 

“Nothing can go back to normal until you see justice for the crimes you have suffered,” Commodus wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you securely in his lap. The armour he wore was almost cold, but his presence provided a warmth that erased that feeling.  

“Attius was well within his rights to punish me and–” 

Commodus grabbed your chin and turned your head to look at him. There was a quiet rage within his eyes, though not directed at you. 

“I’ll not have you speak like that, do you hear me?” He told you. You nodded which made him smile and leave a chaste kiss on your cheek, “Good. Now, I have prepared a show for you.” 

“A show?” You questioned. 

“More like a trial,” He motioned with his hands to a set of guards standing within the arena. They began to march towards one of the entrances and he continued to speak, “I will not have my lady wronged. Nothing must go unpunished.” That phrase clicked in your head, the one that Attius had used against you. At that moment, you understood what was happening.

The doors to one of the entrances opened and out came the person you were expecting. Your master, Attius, had his hands bound by shackles in front of him. He was led in by multiple guards, crossing the sandy terrain. You sucked in a breath when they got closer and you could get a better look at him. He was dressed in rags, but his arms and the lower half of his legs were exposed, showing the gnarly bruises that littered his skin. Splotches of blood, some aged more than others, consumed the brown cotton he wore. 

What shocked you the most was the bruise on his face that was almost an exact copy of the one he gave you. 

Commodus chuckled lightly to himself when Attius almost stumbled over. You now understood where he was for those hours of not being at the palace. While undeniably barbaric, something about his protective nature and thirst for vengeance on your part was, in a twisted way, attractive. When Attius got within speaking distance, Commodus tightened his hold on you as if to assure himself you would no longer get hurt. 

“You have committed an egregious crime,” Commodus spoke. Your hands placed over his that rested on your stomach and began to carefully thread your fingers through his. He had gotten tense and you were doing what you could to calm him down, if only slightly. 

“Caesar, please! Mercy! Show me mercy!” Attius was shoved down to his knees by the guards, kicking up some of the sand. 

“Mercy from me? No, it is not me that you wronged,” Commodus turned to you, his face of indifference and hate towards Attius morphing into adoration for you, “My lady, do you grant him mercy?”

For a moment, you wanted to. You may have many weeks ago, but lately, you had come to understand that violence was often necessary; all thanks to Commodus’ guidance. You thought of everything Attius did towards your fellow servants over the years. Each indignity, each strike, each time he would show no clemency. 

You wanted him to feel that fear. 

“No mercy,” You answered. Commodus smiled at you and his eyes twinkled with something akin to excitement. He surged forward to capture you in a heated kiss. You matched the fervour, pushing back and feeling the softness of his lips against yours. He hummed with satisfaction, tasting the fruit you had eaten a while ago on your lips. 

He pulled away and whispered, “You’re perfect,” He then turned to face Attius again, losing all sense of warmth in his gaze, “It is, with my fair judgement, deemed that the offended parties will fight until death.” Your brows furrowed at his words. He did not mean that you would fight, right? 

Attius looked just as confused as you, “Caesar, surely I will not fight her?” 

“Of course not,” Commodus scoffed as if the mere notion was the worst idea ever proposed, “No, you will not be fighting my lady. Moreover, my lady’s favourite animal shall fight for her.” 

While Attius was still perplexed, your face dropped. You looked around the arena, suddenly aware of a looming threat. Commodus would not, would he? But then again, this kind of violence was in his nature. You understood why he picked out your outfit for that night, how the colours matched that of a tiger. The same animal he had seen you weaving into the pattern of a carpet. 

Suddenly, growling could be heard, looming ever closer. With a loud thundering snap, a section of the ground was pulled back quickly. There was no time to spare as a tiger, large and snarling, lept out from the depths. A chain was linked to a collar on its neck but did little to disrupt its movements. 

Your eyes were glued to the scene, stuck in a state of both stupor and intrigue. Commodus was smiling madly and he rested his chin on your shoulder. You revelled in his warmth while you watched Attius fail to fight back with nothing but a short sword. 

The fight did not last long. Even if he was not beaten and frail, there was no winning against the ravenous beast. It lunged and sunk its teeth into his side. You could see the tiger's jaw clench down and elicit screams of pain from Attius’ mouth. When he fell, the tiger took it as an advantage and aimed for his throat, cutting off his wails. As the beast fed, Commodus leaned back in his throne and used a hand to turn your chin to face him. 

“Do you see what I have done for you?” He began, “Take it as a vow. All those that lay a finger on you will be eaten like scraps. That was the fate of that filthy vermin that marked your arm, the fate of your master, and the fate of anyone who dares come after you now. You belong to me and me alone. Right, darling?” 

You nodded, too lost in the trance of his eyes to speak. His thumb brushed your lower lip before retreating. From a small round side table, Commodus lifted a woven laurel wreath that was as green as his eyes. He placed it on you and adjusted it so it sat along the crown of your head. 

“It appears you won the fight. Congratulations, my victor.” He kissed you on the cheek before gently tracing the bruise on your face. There was still an air of contempt that he held while looking at your injury, but Attius’ death gave him more satisfaction. 

“Thank you, Commodus.” You said. 

“We shall celebrate,” He squeezed your hips as a signal to get up and you did. He stood up after you and held out his hand, “Come,” 

You placed your hand in his, warming at the familiarity of his touch. Taking one last glance at Attius’ still body, you followed Commodus out of the viewing box.

You had been eating at a table in Commodus’ chambers since the two of you arrived back at the palace. It was a private dinner, but still grand in the assembly of food laid out. The two of you ate and talked like you once did before you avoided him. It felt right to go back into that routine like all was finally right with the world. 

The sun had long set and the both of you finished eating and only talked after. As the night got older, you began to unwind. Commodus stood off to the side, facing away from you as he took off his armour pieces. You occasionally glanced towards him while sipping on wine – not remembering the amount of cups you had. By the time he had gotten down to his underclothes and was unfastening his forearm braces, you decided to voice a question that had been burning you inside. 

“Commodus?” He turned to give you his attention and hummed. You took another quick sip, “Why did you choose me?” He paused for a moment, as if your question did not entirely make sense.

“I’ve already told you. At the very least, part of it,” He took off his braces and placed them next to his other armour pieces. His footsteps echoed off of the marble flooring as he came back to you. Commodus rested his forearm over the top of your chair as he leaned over you. 

“You sang at that festival and I felt warmth for the first time. It followed me in my dreams ever since. Admittedly, I did not know if you were still in the palace as you did not frequent above the lower levels. I should have hanged Attius for keeping you from the light.” His fingers reached out to trace your arm, moving up the length, across your shoulder, and towards the exposed collarbone. 

All of a sudden, his posture went rigid. You could see the bump on his throat move up and down as he swallowed nervously. After a few tense seconds, he lowered himself to your eye level, crouching slightly. The gesture alone was incredible. Never would you have predicted an emperor would lower himself to your level, both literally and figuratively. 

“I am correct in assuming these feelings are reciprocated?” He asked. You understood why he had become so nervous. While naturally ruthless, Commodus was an insecure man who looked for approval in the faces of everyone around him. Whether one could consider that a weakness or a strength was up to them. For you, none of that mattered. 

It was almost comical the way you shared that same worry for a while. You too were scared that the depths of his dedication and care were shallow, but if today had taught you anything, it was that a notion like that was far from the truth. 

“You are correct, Commodus.” You responded, “I deeply care for you.” Those words washed over him and you could see how he instantly relaxed. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, scanning you up and down as if to see if you were real. 

He surged forward and captured your lips with his, an ecstasy of heat. You melted into the feeling and relished in the attention. His hands gripped your waist tightly and pulled you up from the chair until your lower back dug into the table. He lifted you to sit on the table, the plates and cutlery jostling with the movement. Commodus was devouring you and at that moment you realized you did not mind it at all.

His movement to pick you up and place you on the table caused you to gasp, which he used to his advantage. His tongue entered your mouth, exploring and dominant. Your breathing became laboured and your body felt fuzzy – as if all the sensations around you that were not Commodus faded into the background. 

He kissed you a few more times before gently biting on your lower lip, pulling away and letting it go. You opened your eyes and saw him staring right at you. His chest was heaving slightly and he kept his forehead resting on yours; completely unwilling to be further from you in any way. 

“That…” Your whispered voice trailed off. Commodus smiled at how dazed you were and was happy to see his power over you. 

Glancing out the window near you, you saw just how dark it was and understood that it had to be closer to twilight. Your mood instantly died. You would need to go to bed immediately. Already you had lost out on valuable sleeping time and knew it would cause you to lack in your chores tomorrow. 

“Commodus, there is nothing I would like more than to stay with you, believe me. But I need to go and rest. There are many tasks I have to get to tomorrow.” 

He looked at you like you had said something incredibly bizarre, “Did you not hear what I told you in the arena? You are mine and because of that, you will do no more work. From now on, my room is yours. You are my lady, the emperor’s lady.” His hands rubbed up and down your thighs, as he pushed himself to stand between them. Even sitting on the table, you did not reach his height. 

“And what will people say?” You questioned. 

“They’ll say nothing if they favour their heads.” Something in the way he said those words made you more eager for him. Deciding to take charge for once, you grabbed the fabric of his tunic and pulled him towards you for a kiss. Commodus moved with you as he was eager to participate, but remained gentle to not hurt your bruises.

There was a heat that bubbled in your stomach, fueling a hunger that you had never felt before. Instinctively, your hips ground against his. Commodus reciprocated, moving the clothed area of his hardening length against your core. The kiss got more intense, a mesh of heated breath and knocking teeth. He clung to you like a last resort, like you were his last chance to arrive in the Elysium fields. 

Your hands roamed everywhere, up his arms and down his chest, feeling the muscles that lay under the fabric of his tunic. The table moved with the force of each of your movements, becoming unstable. Commodus gripped your thighs, pushing them against his sides and wrapping around his waist. You let him pull your arms around his neck and he lifted you off of the table. 

His strength nearly shocked you, but it was not surprising. He pulled away from the kiss long enough so he could walk up the marble steps to the raised dias that held his bed. Before you knew it, you found yourself falling onto the plush silk sheets of his bed; or more accurately what he has now framed as your shared bed. The thought sent a fluttering feeling to the already burning part of your stomach and lodged up towards your chest. 

Commodus leaned down over you and rested on one forearm while he used his free hand to trace across your collarbone and neck, “You’re mine. Not the senate’s, not Rome’s, not anyone’s.” 

You nodded enthusiastically, begging for more attention from him, “Yours, only yours.”

Commodus leaned down and began to assail your neck; licking, kissing, and biting every inch. You trembled under his touch and became reduced to nothing but breathless moans. His hands pulled away at the fabrics that wrapped your form, the pretty assemble being torn off you. You would have been sad about it if it were not for the fact that he could easily buy you another. 

He took away each layer and left you bare under him. Commodus stopped his assault on your neck and pulled back to look at you. Despite the occasional bruise on your arms and legs and a fading one on your stomach, he reached out and gripped your hip and swiped his thumb back and forth as his gaze travelled over you. 

“My Venus,” He whispered. If you were not already unwound below him, you would have melted right there. 

“Commodus,” His name fell like a plea on your lips. You needed him desperately and began to tug at his clothing. He humoured you, smiling softly as he stripped down. Once he was bare, you latched onto his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. You felt the softness of his lips as your tongues explored one another. His chest brushed against yours and the skin contact made you moan. He felt just as hot as your blood, pulsing and begging under the skin. 

One of his large hands trailed down your stomach and brushed over your hip bone before caressing your inner thigh. In an instant, you opened your legs – entirely ready to surrender to him. Sensing how eager you were, he chuckled against your lips. 

“So impatient, my love.” His fingers moved up your inner thigh but stopped just as he got close to your core. You whimpered when he ceased his movements. “Beg, darling. Tell me how much you want me.” 

“Commodus please,” You moved your hips to try and get closer to his touch but he used his other hand to hold you down. He tsked and shook his head from side to side. 

“That’s not playing fair,” He scolded you. While his hands were preoccupied with holding you down, yours were free and you used that to your advantage. He may be able to bring you to heel, but you know you could do just the same. 

“Fuck being fair,” It was the first time you swore in front of him and his eyes sparkled at that, “Fuck me, Commodus, please.” Your hands moved to his lower stomach, lower and lower until you were able to grasp his hard cock. His entire body shuddered and his nostrils flared. Something clicked in him, a snap and his patience was gone. 

Commodus pushed up further on the bed and crawled on top of the sheets, moving right up to you. You had shuffled towards the headboard with your legs bent at the knees and together. His hands gripped your knees and spread your legs so he could slot himself between them. 

“Do you want this?” His warm breath tickled your neck as he trailed his lips across the skin, just barely touching but feeling so right. 

You grabbed his jaw with both of your hands and moved his head to look him in the eyes, “Would I have spread my legs for you otherwise?” His eyes darkened at that and you could feel his jaw clench. 

It was then that you had an idea that may not have been the best. You had seen how possessive he was of you and the violence he was willing to give to others on your behalf. You wanted to test the waters and see how much you could rile him up. 

“Are you going to stop teasing and fuck me or do I have to find someone else?” It was a fake threat. There was nobody else that could ever compare to Commodus; nobody else you would ever want to even speak to. His face fell into incredible seriousness and you let go of him, only for his hand to grip your chin. It was not strong enough to hurt but it held your attention. 

“I know what you’re trying to do, darling.” He leaned down with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “By the time I am done, you won’t even be able to think about anybody else.” 

In an instant, his warm fingers brushed through your folds. You sucked in a breath at the contact. His fingers moved meticulously, discovering each stroke that made you shake under him and moan. Commodus kissed across the expanse of your neck and chest, dragging his teeth along the skin occasionally. You found it hard to keep your eyes open as you were entranced by what you felt. 

Your hands moved to cart through his hair. When you tugged at the strands, Commodus groaned. It appeared he was particularly sensitive there and you made a note to remember that in the future. He retaliated by latching his lips on one of your nipples, causing your back to arch. You felt one of his fingers slip into you at the same time while his thumb circled your bud. The fire that coursed through your veins was overwhelming and your breathing became erratic. He slipped another finger into you and upped the pace, dragging in and out with the rhythm of your hips moving. 

His name tumbled from your lips over and over again like you were reciting a prayer. His mouth left marks across your chest and neck, some of which you knew would not be able to cover. You had a feeling it was deliberate. In your haze of pleasure, you could feel your body pull taught. The point of no return was met. 

“Com… Commodus, I–” Your voice hitched as his thumb rolled over your bud once more. 

Against the heat of your skin, his voice murmured, “I know, darling. Let go.” It was as if that was the final straw you needed. 

The tense string of your body snapped and you found yourself shattering. He continued his movements, helping you ride out your high. Your head lolled to the side as you shut your eyes. His fingers moved out of you and you suddenly felt sad at the loss of contact. You craved more and wished to spend the rest of your time living in this bed with Commodus. 

“Open your eyes for me,” Commodus’ hands cradled your face. You slowly opened your eyes, staring right into his. His lips turned up, “There’s my girl.” He leaned in to kiss you and groaned at the feeling. Your body was still sensitive and recovering from your orgasm, but you craved more of him. 

“Commodus… please.” There were no other words that needed to be said. His movements were eager, but not rushed. He shifted up so he was on his knees and grabbed his cock that was slick with precum. Slowly, almost painfully, he dragged the tip along your folds. You whimpered at the feeling and lifted your hips to feel more friction. 

The haze of your previous peak was still heavy. You understood then why some people were so provocative in their transgressions. If you could stay like this with him forever you would stake your life to the ground and take that deal in a heartbeat. 

You bit your lip to keep yourself from moaning too much at just the feel of his cock against your folds. He collected your slick on his skin, trailing up again until the head got caught right at your entrance. Gradually, he pushed forward until he bottomed out. You saw his eyebrows furrow and noise leave his mouth that was a mix of a sigh and a groan. He muttered a few curses. 

Commodus did not rush as he was content at the pace he was going because it made you come undone and desperate for anything more. The feeling of being so full made you squirm. You wanted friction or anything to bring back the feeling of ecstasy you had. Your heart felt like it was going to pump out of your chest. Being connected like this with him was the best feeling in the world and you cursed your past self for believing it was a silly fantasy. This was real; real and raw and so good.

He slowly pulled out, dragging until the last moment to make you feel empty. You whined at the loss of his warmth but quickly shut up when he pushed back in, burying himself to the hilt. He repeated that action a few times, each getting faster until he set a steady pace. Your hips matched his movements. His face was buried in your neck with his lips brushing the shell of your ear. You could hear his moans and grunts which only spurred you on further. 

You scratched the planes of his back, digging deeper with each thrust. Even when so deeply connected it did not feel like it was enough. Nothing could ever feel enough to be connected with him. Your scratching made Commodus move faster, picking up the pace. 

The change of speed caused you to release your hold on him, finding little energy to lift your arms. It was like you were under a spell and completely under his influence. 

“That’s it, gods, good girl,” Commodus murmured into your ear. You moaned back with small babbles of his name as your brain was unable to form a single thought other than him; his presence, his feel, him, him, him. It consumed your mind and left you a squirming mess. 

He took your hands that had fallen, grabbed your wrists, and pinned them above your head. Your legs wrapped around his waist and it changed the angle at which he was thrusting into you. The tip of his cock hit a soft spot in you that had you chasing stars at the back of your eyes. The stretch that he gave you was a good ache, one that spread out from your core and burned through your body.  

Commodus began to mutter words with each thrust, “Mine. My girl. My Venus.” He went on and on. Your chest rose against his, pushing for a bit more contact. You wanted to reach out and touch him, but his grip on your wrist was tight. His breath hit the shell of your ear, tickling it slightly. 

The familiar feeling of your build-up hit you and Commodus could tell. He continued the steady rhythm but changed the angle to reach deeper. You nearly shouted at the difference. While he was relentless, his posture changed slightly, becoming less composed as he chased the same high you were experiencing. Both of you could feel the bed moving under you, its sturdy build taking the movement. 

You were wound up again and pulled taught, but this time it felt more intense than the previous. Commodus lost his movement and fucked you with reckless abandon. All manner of control was lost and his perfect posture faltered. It seemed, like you, he had become just as mindless and broken down – doing everything possible to chase pleasure. Despite it all, you could still feel the care that he had for you in the way he muttered sweet nothings into your ear. You squeezed around his length as the build-up in your stomach started to increase. 

“Let go, love. Let me hear you.” Commodus instructed. 

Suddenly, like the waves that crashed against the shores of the home of your childhood, a flood of ecstasy came over you as you reached your peak and descended off of it. Your wanton moans filled the room, matching the sounds the two of you had been making for a while. Commodus visibly relished in it, nipping at your earlobe and kissing your neck. The feeling of your orgasm caused your walls to squeeze and made his movements falter. 

He pulled out suddenly, right as he came. The hot strings of cum coated your lower abdomen. He moved to rest his forehead on yours, eyes closed and face scrunched in the heat of his pleasure. Your legs felt numb. Commodus almost collapsed on top of you. He released his hold on your wrists and held himself up by his forearms on either side of your head. 

The two of you joined in a kiss. This one was a sharp contrast to the quick pace you had. It was slow and passionate, full of trust and care. His hands tangled in your hair, pushing it back with a gentleness unseen. Your hands rested on his broad shoulders, feeling the perspiration that gathered there. Both of your bodies came down from the high, chests rising and falling. 

You thought back to just a few short weeks ago when you were invited into his room. You were incredibly glad he only wanted company then. If not for that, you would have never been able to build this relationship with him. Moreso, you were incredibly thankful your younger self decided to sing at that festival and caught his attention. It seemed that little actions in life led to big changes. 

It still felt absurd now with your change of position. You were no longer a servant, no longer expected to fulfill the duties that had your body aching and mind hurting at the end of the day. 

It was so ridiculous to you, that you could not help but let out a chuckle. Commodus moved his forehead from yours and opened his eyes. You wished to get lost in those eyes. 

“And what do you find so amusing, hm?” He spoke. 

You looked at him with adoration, “Is it wrong to be happy?” 

“No,” Commodus moved to rest beside you, taking a spare cloth from the wash basin placed beside the bed and wiping your stomach down. There was something in his movements that felt almost… domestic. It was not something you ever thought of an emperor doing. “I’m glad you are happy.” 

A beat of silence passed as he laid down next to you on his back and used an arm to pull you flush against him. Your head rested on his pec, hearing the thumping of his heart. 

“Are you happy?” You asked. He squeezed you closer and kissed your temple.

“You made me happy long before all of this.” He answered. Your face scrunched up with wonder. 

“What do you mean?” You lifted your head to look into his eyes, fingers tracing patterns onto his chest. 

“Your singing. It followed me everywhere since that festival. From my mind,” He placed one hand over yours and guided it right above where his heart would be, “to here.” 

There were no words you could think of to respond with. The poetics of his words hit you. You wanted to drown in him, to stay there in that moment for a lifetime. You reached out to trace his jaw, thumb massaging the top of his cheekbone. He leaned into your touch and kissed the pulse point of your wrist. 

“I don’t know how I could ever thank you, for everything,” You could barely imagine what it would be like back in your old life, under the constant fear of your old master, “I may not know what I can do to repay you but–”

“Stay with me.” He interrupted you. There was a shine in his eyes, “You want to repay me? Stay. That is all I need.” 

You stared at him and nodded your head, “I’ll always stay.”

The two of you understood the depths of the promise. It was your own declaration of love, without the words being spoken. A mutual understanding and a promise of forever. It was not traditional to other couples, but again you knew this relationship already did not fit within the bounds of traditionality. It did not matter. 

You kissed him again, sealing the words upon both of your lips. There, you were content to start a new life; a better life.

This was incredibly fun to write! I am 100% open to writing more fics for any characters in the Gladiator films and plan to open up requests. So, if that's something ya'll are interested in, let me know.

Thank you all for the support! <3

taglist: @scrumptiousloser @juliusceasersblog @po1sonddol @cheesecakeluver @oscarisdaddy69

[agent99galanzo]

What are you hiding?

The sound of Y/N’s boots echoed down the pristine hallways of the Avengers compound as she strode towards her room, eager to unwind after a grueling training session. Little did she know, a storm of playful chaos was brewing just around the corner.

Maria Hill stood outside Y/N’s room, twirling a small USB between her fingers, a smirk playing on her lips. She had stumbled upon it during a routine security sweep of the compound’s servers. Curiosity got the better of her, and she accessed its contents. What she found? Pictures of Y/N. Hundreds of them. Modeling. Striking poses in elegant dresses, swimsuits, and avant-garde outfits that screamed high fashion. It was a side of Y/N Hill never would have guessed existed.

When Y/N turned the corner and spotted Maria, her eyes immediately locked on the USB. A pit formed in her stomach as she realized what her friend was holding.

“Maria,” Y/N said, her voice sharp and warning. “What are you doing with that?”

Maria raised an eyebrow, the smirk on her face growing wider. “Oh, just taking a walk down memory lane. You didn’t tell me you were a supermodel before you became a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red, her jaw tightening. “Maria. Give. It. Back.”

“Oh, come on,” Maria teased, stepping back as Y/N advanced. “Why are you hiding this? You look amazing in these photos. I mean, seriously, you could’ve been on the cover of Vogue every month!”

“Maria, I swear—”

Before Y/N could finish, Maria bolted.

“Damn it, Maria!” Y/N shouted, taking off after her.

The chase began.

Maria darted through the hallways, laughing as Y/N sprinted after her. Agents and Avengers alike stopped in their tracks, watching the spectacle unfold. Some even cheered or laughed, enjoying the rare sight of two of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s most composed operatives acting like kids.

Maria slid into the common room, skidding to a stop right in front of Natasha Romanoff, who was lounging on the couch, cleaning her pistols. Natasha’s sharp green eyes flicked between Maria and the USB in her hand, then to Y/N storming in after her.

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked, setting the pistol down and leaning forward, her curiosity piqued.

“Nothing!” Y/N snapped, lunging at Maria.

Maria dodged, holding the USB high above her head. “Oh, it’s something,” Maria sang. “And it’s golden.”

Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. She turned to Natasha, who was now standing, her arms crossed, looking amused.

“Nat Baby… please, can you tell her to give it back?” Y/N pleaded.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Not until I know what’s on it.”

“It’s not important,” Y/N insisted, her voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

Maria chuckled. “Oh, it’s very important. Did you know our dear Y/N used to be a supermodel? I bet you’d love to see—”

“Maria, I will end you!” Y/N shouted, finally tackling Maria and snatching the USB out of her hand.

Maria rolled onto her back, laughing breathlessly. “You’re no fun.”

Y/N turned to leave, clutching the USB tightly, but Natasha’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrist gently but firmly.

“Wait a second,” Natasha said, her voice low and persuasive. “Is that true? Were you a model?”

Y/N hesitated, her resolve wavering under Natasha’s gaze. “It’s… it’s not a big deal.”

Natasha smirked, stepping closer, her eyes locking with Y/N’s. “I think it’s a big deal. And now I have to see it.”

"No!" Y/N blurted, her face flushing.

Natasha raised an eyebrow, amused. "Now I’m really curious."

Over the Next Few Weeks

Natasha didn’t let it go. She brought up the USB at every opportunity, her teasing relentless.

"So, what’s on it?" she’d ask over breakfast, leaning on the counter with a sly grin.

"Nothing important," Y/N would reply, focusing intently on her coffee.

"Really? Because you seemed pretty desperate to get it back."

At night, when they were alone, Natasha would try a different approach.

"You know you can trust me, right?" she’d say softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s face.

"I know," Y/N replied, her resolve wavering.

"Then tell me," Natasha whispered, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear.

But Y/N held firm, refusing to give in.

-----

Weeks later, Y/N prepared for a solo mission in Prague. The briefing had been intense, and she knew it would be a long assignment with uncertain outcomes.

As she packed her gear, she thought about Natasha and the USB, which had somehow become a running joke between them. Y/N sighed, pulling the drive from her drawer. She held it for a moment before slipping it into a small envelope.

Later that evening, as she prepared to leave, Y/N found Natasha in the training room, her sharp movements graceful and precise.

"Hey," Y/N said, interrupting her.

Natasha turned, her expression softening when she saw Y/N. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Y/N replied, holding out the envelope. "This is for you."

Natasha took it, her brow furrowing. "What’s this?"

"You’ll see," Y/N said with a smirk, leaning in to kiss her.

When Natasha opened the envelope later, she found the USB inside, along with a note that read: Fine, you win. Just don’t laugh too hard.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she plugged the USB into her laptop.

The screen filled with images and videos of Y/N in her modeling days—walking runways, posing for shoots, and even a behind-the-scenes clip where she was laughing with the crew. Natasha’s lips curled into a smile as she watched.

When Y/N returned from her mission weeks later, she found Natasha waiting for her with a mischievous grin.

"You were incredible," Natasha said, pulling her into a hug.

Y/N groaned. "You’re never going to let this go, are you?"

"Never," Natasha replied, her laughter echoing through the room.

[bibliophilicstranger]

I investigated the TV trope page and noted something you may have missed: there are numerous examples of the same trope far predating the Harry Potter series. The idea of turning a good character bad for one reason or another, including for shipping, is not a new one. It wasn't started by Harmony fans. Someone could easily have named the same trope The Roman's Odysseus, Zeus the Rapist, or Raoul the Alcoholic. The trope may have been used by Harmony fans, and the existence of those fics may have given the name to the trope, but frankly that says more about the media preferences of the people writing the article. If I had to guess, it was created during the heyday of Harry Potter, as that coincides with when TV Tropes was getting popular (there are approximately 24 pages with Harry Potter-related titles, three of which, including "Ron the Death Eater," are fanon terms). Based on the current Trope-naming guidelines, were the same page created today it might well not mention a character at all but be named "Good Guys Go Bad."

I'm going to have to ask you to provide some kind of credible article on Harmony shippers sending death threats as unfortunately Rowling gets so many of them that my searches are turning up more recent events. Were that to be true it would be unfortunate. Disappointment is warranted, and the expression of that disappointment is allowed, but one should not send death threats, especially not over this.

I can't comment on "classist body shaming and look shaming comments" as I've never seen those particular attacks made. Unless you're referring to the bit from canon where he's got dirt on his nose? Ron is canonically tall and thin-- who on earth is body shaming him for that? And in comparison to whom? Harry is also skinny, with knobby knees.

Attacking Harmony shippers for their reading comprehension is another ad hominem attack and I must request that you desist on that front. For one, it's inaccurate to say that someone who ships Harmony lacks reading comprehension. Reading comprehension is simply the ability to read a text, process it, and understand its meaning. Two people can have equally good reading comprehension but reach a different understanding of the text by focusing on different aspects or bringing different theories to bear.

You seem to adhere to the opposites-attract, pigtail-pulling-is-cute, antagonistic-bickering-is-a-sign-of-attraction school. I concede that is a common enough trope of its own. You focus on the expressions of jealousy toward other romantic interests, the virulence of their squabbles and the explicit details provided. The very things you seem to favor, the "love-hate relationship" are the same things which concern Harmony fans, who worry that such a relationship would ultimately be unhealthy and devolve into domestic violence. If the 'hate' part of love-hate got significantly better over time, then it wouldn't be as much of an issue, but as late as book six Hermione has escalated from trading insults with Ron to sending birds to attack him. In book seven, when Ron returns Hermione punches him, yells at him, and wants her wand to curse him. We don't see them practicing a lot of healthy conflict resolution-- Hermione rightfully bears a grudge that doesn't seem to be resolved until after they visit the Lovegoods, and we don't see them have a discussion where they talk it out as much as they just go through another particularly dangerous event and it makes them ignore and forget any previous conflict-- just like books one and three. Once they're no longer fighting trolls, death eaters, and Voldemort, can Hermione and Ron actually resolve their disagreements?

In contrast, I, and many other Harmony fans, look for exchanges of support and comfort, understanding one another, prioritizing one another. I look at details such as Hermione's words to Harry in the Potions Challenge in book one, her bringing him toast the morning after the Triwizard champions are selected in book four, and his trust in her and prioritization of her desires in book five. There are also the details in book six of Harry comforting Hermione and talking her up to Slughorn and her comforting him in book seven when they visit the Potters' grave or when they learn about Dumbledore. There are a variety of times where they display compatibility by knowing what one another is thinking, or how they're likely to act. While Harry and Hermione do argue, they still treat each other with respect and even while at odds Harry usually acknowledges that Hermione's position is well-meaning. There are other examples where he expresses anger around her, but acknowledges he's not angry at her, but the situation or other people.

Before the explicit introduction of romance in book six, there were only hints in either direction. Even after book six, there was a chance that any romance or attraction wouldn't last. There are many couples who make it through all of high school only to break up as they get older. A first attraction between Ron and Hermione could have flared and burnt out, and Harry and Hermione could have gotten together in the end. Neither Harry's attraction to Cho nor Ron's to Lavender lasted, after all.

Now for the Ginny "fanfic" you mentioned. Are you talking about the forum post of that name from twenty years ago? The one that's not a fanfic, but a conception of ways that Ginny could be removed in book seven? That only actually has only 196 ways? I'll grant you they're not the most tasteful, but this has been done for many characters over the years, including Hermione, Draco, and Edward Cullen.

I'd disagree about who the most toxic people in the fandom are. You yourself reblogged a post acknowledging the toxicity of the Romione fans. In addition to having seen numerous attacks on Harmony fans by Romione fans (including yourself), I've often seen incredibly toxic behavior from Marauders era fans (ex: 1 2 3), especially the ones who ignore most of canon. I think there has been a decent amount of hatred towards Tonks and Remadora (ex: 1, 2, 3) but it's also easy for most Wolfstar shippers to ignore her existence, considering most Wolfstar occurs before the Remadora relationship is even remotely possible. I can't be bothered to expose myself to HarryxDeathEater ships to find examples of them being abusive to Ginny-- I have most of those tags blocked-- but I'm fairly certain Drarry fans have engaged in just as much Ginny bashing and the use of that love-potion trope you don't like.

Accusing someone of "playing the victim card" is a common form of gaslighting and I suggest you remove it from your vocabulary before your erroneous use causes harm. You're also applying it in a situation where it's false. To play the victim card, one must be fabricating or exaggerating victimhood. To see two asks where someone called me a bitch, look here and here. I've deleted others. Here's an out of the blue attack on Lily and here and here are some against Hermione. In your above response you validated what I said about attacks on reading comprehension, but here's another example. And here's the call for negativity against Harmony shippers. As you can see, these are neither fabrications, nor exaggerations and therefore your accusation is false.

Further, you would really rather preach that all Harmony shippers should accept being victims of cruelty, simply because some may have engaged in negative behavior in the past (and a past that in some cases is twenty years and a whole generation of fans ago)? That seems a rather slippery slope, don't you think? It's thinking like that which has synagogues in Canada and Australia firebombed, when those with particular views on Israel/Palestine attack all Jews over their disagreement with the Israeli government, even when those Jews have no say in what the Israeli government does. It's one thing to disagree with a particular person holding views you don't like, it's another to call for an attack on all shippers. Such an attitude only perpetuates toxicity in fandom.

Defend your ship if you like, but if you want a less toxic fandom, constrain yourself to arguing over the text. After all, don't you want to sow positivity for yourself, lest you dislike what you reap?

There is one thing in common with the PeterMJ (Spider-Man/Marvel) and Romione (Harry Potter) shippers; both of their pairings are 'canon' and have everything going for them thanks to favoritism by the author (J.K. Rowling)/ comic writers (Marvel). Despite all that, these

'canon' shippers aren't satisfied with having an already huge following and seek/continue to tear down on other ships (Harmione & PeterGwen) just to push their pairings to front and center. People like these are why we hate fandoms.

I can't comment on the Marvel portion of this ask as my knowledge of that universe is limited in scope and I'm not an active member of its fandom.

As for the Harry Potter part...

I think Romione fans have the issue that while their pairing is canon, it's not well developed in the text (very few pairings in Harry Potter are). We're told that they get together, marry, and have children, yet we don't actually see a lot of development of the relationship blocks that would support the longevity of their marriage. Yes, they went through the war together (although Ron abandoned them for a good portion of that) and yes they were friends, but their friendship was highly contentious and they spent significant portions of each year not speaking to one another or not hanging out (first year before they were friends, second year when she was petrified, most of third year, part of fourth where Hermione was more with Harry, part of sixth year, and part of seventh). Now, technically, first and second year don't count, but honestly, the only year they spend the entirety of together where they don't have a major fight is their fifth year. We know they like each other from Hermione's actions in book six and Ron's in seven, but we don't really see why they do, why that would turn into love rather than a teenage crush, or why they'd make it as adults.

Supposedly Hermione likes Ron because he's funny. Supposedly Hermione's maturity makes up for Ron's lack and he gets her to open up. While there's something to her liking someone who can lighten things up, if that's all then she could just as easily have liked one of the Weasley Twins instead. As a Hermione-type myself, I've often liked guys who were funny, but them being funny isn't enough. The guy I dated when I was 17 was funny, but he also lacked drive and dedication and in the end that made us incompatible in the long-run. Yeah, it's nice to have friends that can make you laugh, but in a partner for life you want someone you don't have to nag all the time when you need them to do something.

We also know that JKR admitted that Romione was her personal wish-fulfilment, clinging to her original idea of the plot, whatever that was, rather than a natural outcome of what she actually wrote. She also said they'd have needed counseling and their relationship was further questioned in the Cursed Child.

This puts Romione shippers on a weaker footing than most canon-pair shippers in other fandoms, making them defensive. Yes, they have the benefit of canon, but not the textual support, other than 'well, our people got married.' They can be threatened by Harmony supporters, who have fairly well crafted arguments grounded in the text for why Harry and Hermione make sense as a pairing. This makes Harmony a greater threat than pairings which are more loosely grounded in the books: Dramione, for instance, is never going to happen in a close-to-canon universe, but it takes very few tweaks to make Harmony work. Additionally, many of the arguments used in favor of Romione are equally as powerful for Harmony, such as the length of their friendship. Indeed, many of the arguments regarding Hermione's feelings for Harry specifically are a lot stronger, because we do see instances where she chooses Harry over Ron, such as in the seventh book.

It is unfortunate that these tend to become rather nasty fights that devolve into personal attacks on the sanity, demeanor, or reading comprehension of the Harmony shipper. I've seen many people go after another Harmony shipper on here pretty nastily, and I've heard tiktok and instagram are worse. Some screenshots I've seen are basically Romione shippers vowing to spread negativity about Harmony just because they don't like some of the fanfic people have written. As if it weren't possible to just, you know, not read the fanfic you don't like.

It would be nice not to get people randomly calling me a bitch in my inbox, but you know, such is life. I don't know if they dislike me more for shipping Harmony or Jily at this point but I really don't care.

[whyarewecalledtheshipname]

rambled this before but MAN that riku is paralleled to terra who's dad was so extremely aligned with Light that he basically nearly fell to darkness/evil out of his /extreme/ intolerance of it??? Eraqus who totally doesn't remind me of MoM??? GUH RRAHH

[noctlas332]

day three,,,, i would have had liked to work a bit more on this but alas, that did not happen,,

[alaskan-wallflower]

how my parents feel after always reminding me how much better my older brother is than me

[s0fter-sin]

what up it's been 12 years and i'm still pissed there was no consequence to dean being in constant survival mode and fighting 24/7 in purgatory

what do you mean he didn't become a god at hand to hand combat? what do you mean he could still be jumped by random ass demons?

he was - at best - in a constant in-between state meaning he didn't get hungry or tired but that also means he didn’t sleep for a year and was constantly being hunted by hundreds of thousands of monsters that want to eat him specifically, while actively searching for cas

OR he was in a completely normal state meaning he was constantly fighting starvation and exhaustion while all of that was still happening!! it's not like there's much to scavenge in monster heaven!! he would’ve been on the verge of dying for a year!!!

then he comes back and he's just exactly the same? the same level of fighting skill he's always had? if not slightly worse for some reason?? what do you mean he couldn't kill anything he came across with his eyes closed when it's what he's been doing EVERY DAY FOR A YEAR???

it's always been one of the flaws of a show running for so long that after like s6 they never seemed to be getting better? they still got the shit kicked out of them by demons and ghosts and what have you and instead of finding obscure rituals they just got A Better Gun™️

both sam and dean are the peak of what hunters can be; they've been trained to hunt and kill things bigger and stronger than them since they were children, so what do you mean they still get the shit kicked out of them so often? was it just to show how strong monsters are? that even with their level of experience and skill, they're still outmatched?

(or do you just need a way to keep up the tension cough cough what who said that)

but you can't have dean who's been trained to be an elite soldier Since He Was Four Years Old go into a 360 combat scenario for an entire year - a good chunk of which he was completely by himself - then say he didn't improve his combat skills At All

and not even just combat, his senses would've been off the charts!! there was nothing but ambient forest noise and growling, his hearing would've gotten so sharp, it was darker so his night vision would ve been insane and he should've been able to feel a monster coming a mile away after constantly being on guard

post purgatory dean had the opportunity to be a completely different beast to anything we'd ever seen before, to be a completely different kind of traumatised from all of his other trauma

hell broke him but purgatory should've broken and rebuilt him into something Terrifying

[immortalsins]

might have fucked up so its going on the blog

[icewindandboringhorror]

I’m always paranoid of my tumblr being deleted or malfunctioning or something like that someday, so here’s other places to find me/follow me, just in case lol

~ instagram - https://www.instagram.com/lucalicatte/

~ main youtube - https://www.youtube.com/c/LucaLiCatte

~ games/sims youtube - https://www.youtube.com/@cloudycatte

~ facebook page (I rarely use this because I hate facebook but.. it at least allows text posts better than instagram does, so idk maybe I’d use it more if tumblr went away? lol) - https://www.facebook.com/cloudycatteart/

~ Other Links (stuff I don’t use often/isn’t Main enough to list here, like twitter, neopets, other tumblr sideblogs, youtube channels, etc.) are here - http://icewindandboringhorror.tumblr.com/otherlinks )