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cheapshrimpysheep · 9 months ago

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My Heaven's Light

SUMMARY: Rollo managed to kidnap you before sending the NRC students to Fleur City's Waterways, believing he was saving you. Malleus and the others reach the tower, ring the Bell of Solace and rescue you. Malleus expresses his protective side and Rollo apologizes for kidnapping you.

CHARACTERS: Rollo Flamme VS Malleus Draconia (x Reader)

TAGS: GN Reader; Angst to Comfort; Jealousy

WARNING: Spoilers from Glorious Masquerade; Kidnapping

WORD COUNT: 4.220 Words

COMMENTS: Thinking about the fact that Rollo is the twisted version of Frollo and thinking of MC as Esmeralda, it is inevitable to imagine Rollo kidnapping MC. But not for the same reasons!

Rollo is a really complex character, but one I've wanted to write about for some time now. I plan to try writing more with him in the future.

Until then, I hope you enjoy this one. 🐲🦐🔔

By the way, do you have ANY idea how many times I've looked up synonyms for common words just to get as close as possible to Rollo's way of speaking? One thing is for sure: I am greatly expanding my English vocabulary with this.

Amidst the panic that the firelotuses were causing, both your colleagues and Professor Trein end up paying more attention to the flowers than to you.

As you move away from the flowers, you end up approaching one of the pillars. That's when you feel a hand covering your mouth and another holding your arm behind your back.

You are carried away through the shadows as you try to free yourself, but these attempts only make the hands hold you even tighter and run the risk of injuring your arm.

The person who is taking you leans over and whispers in your ear. “I beg you not do make this more complicated that it needs to be.” It's Rollo!

He takes you to a room adjacent to the hall and pushes you inside, making you fall into an armchair. Just before he closes the door to lock you inside you hear Grim's voice.

“[Y/N]? [Y/N]?! MY HENCH-HUMAN DISAPPEARED!”

No matter how loud you scream, or how much you bang on the door, the chaos outside is too loud for anyone to hear you. Eventually you realize something is going on, so you stop to listen to the conversation. Rollo had revealed himself and was talking to your NRC colleagues.

“My, my.” You hear Azul say. “That was quite a predictable villain line, you know.”

“Silence!” Rollo's voice echoed. “YOU'RE the villains here! And what's more, you flaunted your magic and mesmerized our good citizens with it... Just like you did with your prefect. You imprisoned them with you and poisoned their mind. The poor thing became numb to the absurdity after spending every day swimming in it. Mages use their magic to lead people astray and cloud the eyes of the virtuous public. It's sad state of affairs, but it's devastating when the victim is someone like [Y/N].”

“What have you done with [Y/N]?!” Malleus's powerful voice demands to know.

“For now, I am keeping them safe. But once I engulf the world in the fiery crimson of these flowers and strip every mage in Twisted Wonderland of their magic, then I will have saved them, and all those like them who suffer at your hands!”

“You have no idea of the atrocity you are insinuating, Flamme!” Not only does Malleus’s voice thunder, but the sky outside does too.

“And there he is, folks! The secret mastermind who was controlling the ‘final boss’ all along!” Idia says. “But what kind of mastermind jumps the gun and shows up this early? Dude has like, zero patience.”

“Could you not right now? You're ruining the moment.” Azul complains.

The discussion continues with Rollo revealing that his plan is already well underway. When the Bell of Solace rang for an unprecedented fourth time that night, it suffused the city with magic. The firelotuses aren't only in the school. They've spread throughout the city, and are sapping the energy from every mage living there. And after that, he opens the floor for everyone to fall into a pit.

“And those accursed mages, with Malleus Draconia foremost among them... They'll all be finished! Enjoy your time down below. Though I think you'll find it quite...draining. At long last... I shall finally mete out my justice.”

Some time later, the door opens and Rollo enters, extending his hand to you.

“Come. We must go to the Bell Tower. It is safer-”

What he didn't expect was for you to attack him with a tall candlestick. And you discover that in addition to being a promising mage, he also has excellent reflexes. He manages to dodge your attack and grab your wrists so you let go of the candlestick.

“I do not aim to harm you!” He says very seriously. “Please don't turn it into something I have to do.”

“Then what are you doing locking me here?”

“Preventing you from falling for the tricks of those magic-addled fools once again.” He comes closer, still grabbing you by the wrists. “You poor thing. Blinded by villains who wear an elusive mask of companions. But worry not, that tragic state of affairs shan't last much longer.” He brings his face even closer to yours. “Now, I will provide you with a choice. You will accompany me peacefully to the Bell Tower, where you will be safe by my side. Or you will make me forcefully assure your safety. Which one will be?”

If you choose to resist, Rollo will pin your arm behind your back again and place a handkerchief over your mouth and nose. Whatever is in that handkerchief, will render you unconscious. And you will wake up on the top floor of the Bell Tower, lying on a blanket.

You see Rollo with his back to you, looking down at the bright scarlet below. You stand up.

“For the Righteous Judge's sake, don't try to go against me again.” Rollo says, without turning to you. “Even without the use of my magic you will not be able to overpower me.” Still without taking his eyes off the outside he calms down to invite you. “Would you be so kind as to join me in gazing out over the city?”

If you choose to accompany him peacefully to the Bell Tower, Rollo will release your wrists with a smile and give you his arm for you to intertwine with yours.

“I'm glad my judgment of you is aligning with the truth.” He says calmly as he guides. “To remain so virtuous amidst the chaos of magic, you must surely be one of heaven's lights.” You see now a new smile, a peaceful one.

The climb up the tower was silent, as you needed to breathe to climb all those stairs. When you finally reach the top, Rollo extends his hand to you. If you give him yours, he will guide you like a gentleman to a point where you can both see the ominously lit city below.

After your choice:

“Ahh, the city's turned a marvelous shade of crimson... How cleansing it is. I've never felt so at peace before.”

“Why are you doing this, Rollo?”

“Once magic vanish from the world forever, no one will have to suffer with its consequences. Magic is not something to be lionized. It is an evil temptation that, behind its illusory wonders, only causes pain and suffering. If it wasn't dangerous, it wouldn't be like a toxin in your body... However... I wonder how much you actually know about it.”

You look at him as if to ask what he means by that.

“Are you even from this world [Y/N]?” He finally looks at you. “I don't know what it is, but there's something about you that's different from every non-magic user I've ever met. And the circumstances surrounding you are quite... abnormal.”

You choose not to respond.

“I see you have your secrets. I have mine owns as well." He takes his handkerchief to his face. "If you don't feel comfortable talking about your past, then allow me the right not to talk about mine either.”

He puts the handkerchief back in his pocket, and you observe the city in silence for a moment, until he speaks again.

“They will come here. I don't know which students will be strong enough to reach the tower, but Malleus Draconia will certainly be one of those who will be able to reach me. And when that happens, I will guarantee that he will be the first to fall.”

“Why all this obsession with Tsunotarou?”

“Obsession is a very strong word, I simply...” He stops to process what you just said. “I beg your pardon, but am I correct in assuming you were referring to Malleus Draconia just now?”

“Of course, he was who you were talking about just... Oh, I called him Tsunotarou didn't I? Sorry. But yes, I was talking about Malleus.”

“T-Tsunotarou?” He takes the handkerchief back to his face. “Is it some kind of mocking nickname?”

“No! I mean yes, it's a nickname, but no, it's not to mock him. It's a long story but that's what Grim and I call him.”

“Does he know about this... name?”

“Oh, yes. He even likes me calling him by that, he thinks it's funny. Or at least that's what it seams. He smiles every time he hears me say that name.” Just like you were smiling talking about him. “He calls me Child of Man.”

“You have a playful nickname for each other.” Rollo whispers with the handkerchief covering his angry (jealous) expression. “Soon enough you'll feel disgusted by it.”

“Sorry, I didn't understand.”

“No, nothing. Pay me no mind.” He takes the handkerchief away from his mouth. “Ah... I hear the firelotuses rustling... Those wretched Night Raven College mages are making their way up the tower, aren't they? Villains are always so stubborn.” Before you could complain about his words, he puts his hand on your arm and continues. “I must get you in a safer place. Those monsters won't give up without a fight.”

“Who do you think we’re calling-”

He ignores your reprimand and takes you by the arm to a small room that they will not have access to without first going through Rollo.

“I am deeply sorry for what I'm about to do, but I need to make sure you do not alert them to your location.” With his magic, he makes ropes appear to tie you up and a piece of cloth to silence you. “See how despicable magic is? An atrocity like trapping you is completed in seconds. But I will release you as soon as the danger has passed.” And he closes the door.

“Here we are.” You hear Malleus’s voice. “The very top floor of the bell tower.”

“The Bell of Solace stands out even at night.” Azul comments. “Look how it glints in the moonlight.”

“Now to ring it, wipe out the flowers, rescue [Y/N] and finish this stupid pop-up quest for good.” Idia points out.

“But to do that...” Malleus returns. “We must first pay our respects to the host of the party.”

This was Rollo's cue to reveal himself. Which he does.

“At long last, you've arrived. The greater the villains, the more they insist on stopping around. Deplorable.”

“Where are they Flamme?” Malleus demands to know.

“Safe, of course, away from you and your wicked lies.”

“Okay, I really need to ask.” Idia says. “What does our magic-less Prefect have to do with this flower plan and ending magic thing? Why kidnap them? They have no power to stop you. Unless you kidnapped them to keep them for yourself. Good taste tho. But you only met them literally today! That’s like the ultimate desperate creep move.”

“My actions involving your Prefect have nothing to do with personal motives. Innocent victims must be rescued from your evil hands! And that is exactly what I did.”

“I don't know if you would use the word ‘Innocent’ like that if you actually knew them.” Azul comments with a smirk.

“If this is true, it will be proof of your corruption!”

The flowers reach the bell and the exchange of words follows a course that ends with the three fighting Rollo after Malleus said:

“Regardless of your reasons, you will not have your way. I shall stop you for all the fallen in this city... For the wonderful person you kidnapped... For the people awaiting us at school... For Briar Valley... And for myself. You see, I harbor a particularly potent animus toward you. A feeling aggravated by the disrespectful actions you had towards who is dearest to me. I shall eradicate the firelotuses and put all to rights. With the Bell of Solace itself!”

They lose the first fight against Rollo. And it's after that that Idia reveals what they read in Rollo's diary that they found in the fireplace. About his brother. About him not being able to do anything to save him... And you hear Idia going down a not so empathetic path, to which you would react with a facepalm if your hands weren't tied.

You hear Rollo getting angry and starting to lose his composure, Azul attacking him with Deuce's signature spell, with whom he had made a deal, the astonished reaction when seeing that Rollo is still standing, and finally, you hear Rollo use his signature spell and the sound of flames bursting forth.

A new fight, even more violent, until the sound of the flames died away and...

“Rollo collapsed, and his flames went out...” Azul says. “That means Malleus won, right?”

“Dude, Malleus is out of breath.” Idia says “I can see why he wanted us clear. We could've easily been collateral damage.”

Rollo says he accepted his defeat, but only to try to attack Malleus one last time when he turned his back on him. He failed, and Malleus rang the Bell of Solace, making all the flowers wither.

“The firelotuses...” Rollo was sobbing. “My flowers, my salvation, they're all withering away... You VILLAINS. What have you done?!”

“More important than that.” Malleus approached, his figure towering over Rollo's on the ground. “What have YOU done to [Y/N]?”

“Why do you show yourself so worried? A being like you would never truly care for someone like them. Admit your true intentions! You want to see them suffer on the long term.”

You finally manage to get your feet close to the door. You hear the worried voices of Azul and Idia telling Malleus not to succumb to Rollo's provocations. And you knock on the door with your feet so they can hear you.

You hear hurried footsteps coming your way, see Malleus opening the door, and look down in horror.

“[Y/N]!” He quickly reaches down to free you, breaking the ropes with his own hands and untying the piece of cloth around your mouth. He would have preferred to use magic to ensure he didn't hurt you, but he was relatively weak in that regard. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

You say you're fine, but that doesn't stop Malleus from picking you up in his arms.

“Is [Y/N] hurt?!” Azul asked, worried.

“They say they're fine. But just in case.”

“Something tells me that Malleus just really wanted to live the scene of the hero who picks up the princess in their arms after saving her from the clutches of the villain who kidnapped her.” Idia comments, just between him and Azul. “Hey, no judgments. This is what I call sense of opportunity.”

Rollo was furious, but he would never admit how jealous he was. Not even to himself.

You watched the shows that your NRC colleagues prepared. The music was beautiful and they sang so well! Especially Malleus. After that, you all talked for a bit in a group before Malleus disappeared. Only for you to see him dance with Rollo. Seriously? All that and he's still going to dance with Rollo before he dances with you?!

You dance with the others, until Malleus appears to bow to you and invite you to dance with him. However, to his surprise, you look sullen.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks you. “Did I do something that displeased you?”

You answer yes, that after everything, the first person he danced with was Rollo. He chuckles, and you get even more sulky.

“Forgive me, but I could not resist provoking Flamme one last time. That, and warn him never to even come near you again.” He says with a smile, which makes it a little scary. “I jest. Well, partially. I did threaten him if he did anything to you again.” He pauses to see if you would cheer up a bit, but you still didn't seem completely satisfied. He smirks. “I must admit, a little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Other people wanted to dance with Malleus, but he asked them all to, please, wait a little longer.

“You are creating a quite long waiting line you know? I will not dance with anyone else until I have my desired dance with my beloved.” He smiles smugly when he sees your reaction.

You give him your hand, he kisses the back of it and brings your body closer to his, placing his other hand on your waist. And you dance together.

“Please be careful.” He says as you dance. You look down at your feet, confused. “Fufu. No my dear, I wasn't referring to your dancing.” The sweet smile becomes more serious. “I was referring to Rollo Flamme. I have reason to believe that, after just one day, he has already recognized your charm. He does not convince me that he did that to you just because he believed he was saving you. But worse than that...”

His expression turns sad and you feel his hand pull you closer.

“He still have hatred towards me and wants to get read of all the mages. Under different circumstances, I would not fear his attacks. I would even invite him to try. But with you... If he realizes how much you mean to me... Despite what happened, I don't believe he has that kind of character, but if he reaches a state of despair where his hatred for me is stronger than the attachment he might feel for you...”

There’s a pause. His expression becomes more peaceful.

“I learned an expression that the citizens here have. Heaven's Light. We don't know what this place called heaven is for sure, but according to some records from the past, it would have been such a wonderful place that it was not even located on land. It was somewhere above the clouds. I believe even the stories of the Lord of the Underworld spoke of a similar place. They say that the name ‘Heaven's Light’ was given by the Kindly Bell Ringer to the woman he fell in love with, for being such a caring and kind person to him.”

He caresses your cheek with one of his hands.

“I understand him perfectly. From the story I was told, I can only believe that I too was blessed with my own Heaven's Light. And just like the Kindly Bell Ringer, I will do whatever it takes to protect it.”

You didn't even realize that Malleus has led you to a more secluded place. Only when you saw that the two were hidden by the shadows and a pillar and he began to bring his face closer to yours. “My Heaven's Light.” He whispers before kissing you.

After your dance with Malleus, he went to dance with the other people who also wanted such an honor and you went to dance with some of your other colleagues.

You were finishing dancing with Sebek when Rollo approached you. Both you and he startled when Sebek quickly placed himself between the two of you.

“What are your intentions?” Sebek inquired with hostility.

“My intentions are not vile.” Rollo replies, hiding his displeasure at the way Sebek is talking to him with his composure. “I would only like to be able to invite [Y/N] to dance.”

“I cannot allow it! My orders are to keep this human safe and away from you.”

Rollo takes his handkerchief to his face, holding back the urge to respond to his audacity and insulting words. However, you tell Sebek that it's okay and that you would like to accept Rollo's invitation. Both he and Sebek are surprised.

“B-but...” He had those sad puppy eyes, eager to fulfil his duty. “My liege told me... he entrusted me to protect you.”

And you say he can still do it. He can watch you while you dance with Rollo. And if something really happens, he can intervene.

“But what if it's too late?”

You say that Rollo wouldn't do anything like that in front of all those people. And that Sebek could tell Malleus that it was your fault for telling him not to stop you.

“But... *sigh* Why are you humans so stubborn? Fine. But I won't take my eyes off you. Even if I have to stop myself from blinking!... Be careful.”

Rollo extends his hand to you and you place yours in his to accept his invitation to dance. He guides you very gently.

“I wanted to apologize for the way I treated you.” He tells you while dancing with you. “I never meant to be rude to you. And regardless of what the students of Night Raven College tell you, at no point did I intend to harm you.” Your expression shows your suspicion. “I don't intend to apologize for doing what I concluded was the best way to save you at the time. I only apologize for the... atrocious way in which I did it. I shouldn't have forced you to come with me. But I feared what those spiteful mages might do to you in a moment of desperation.”

“They wouldn't hurt me!” You say, with certainty in your voice.

“How could you be so sure of that?”

“Because, unlike you, I know them.”

He looks you intently in the eyes, and sighs. The music comes to an end, as does your dance. You bow to each other.

“I find it pitiful seeing someone magic-devoid like you stuck in that villains' lair.” He tells you when you both straighten up. “I am inclined to make my utmost efforts to have you reside in Nobel Bell College instead, however I've already come to the sorrowful realization that it is your heart that keeps you hostage in that island. But before we part, I insist that you know that if you ever find yourself overwhelmed by those circumstances that involve magic, do let me know.” He gives you that subtle smile of his. “I will be glad to provide you with my support and assistance at any moment.”

You give him a smile back, accepting his offer.

“But, just to guarantee that you don't forget my heartfelt offering...” He reaches into his pocket, takes out his handkerchief and extends it to you. “Here it is said that handkerchiefs are powerful guardians of the memories of a loved one. It is common to offer them when we don't want to be forgotten by someone. Despite my mistakes, I would still like you to have the most pleasant memory of me possible." You accept his gift. "I confess that my biggest wish at the moment was to have one of yours too.” Without his handkerchief, he covers his mouth with his hand. “But that is just a mere whim of mine.” He takes his hand away from his face and smiles again “Not even in my wildest dreams did I think I would have so much pleasure in meeting someone from Night Raven College.” He gives you one last bow. “May the Bell of Solace allow our paths to cross again.”

He turned to walk away, but you wanted to do one last thing. You had also bought a handkerchief just like his when you were doing your tour of the city, and you wouldn't need two. You ask him to wait and he turns back to you.

“It doesn't have to be a mere whim.” You say, handing him the handkerchief you had kept with you. Perhaps the sign of a second chance.

He receives your handkerchief and looked at it with his natural smile, but his eyes were different, they had a small, almost imperceptible sparkle.

“I will keep it as one of my most cherished possessions. Thank you, [Y/N].”

“Should I assume this was some sort of revenge?” You hear Malleus's voice say suddenly as you step away from the dancing crowd.

You didn't know he was there, and so close. You look at him and he's smiling wryly.

“I didn't give him any gifts, though. Should I have bought a souvenir too? Perhaps make a bouquet of those crimson flowers he is so fond of.”

“It seems you were right, Tsunotarou.” You say with a sly smile. “A little jealousy can actually be charming and cute.”

Malleus makes that cute pout.

“I told you to be careful.” He says, not as a scolding, but as a concerned request.

You tell him that nothing bad happened, that Rollo wanted to apologize for what he did to you and for him not to blame Sebek because you were the one who accepted Rollo's invitation.

“Don't worry, I know Sebek is a loyal guard. And that you are the one with a kind heart. I told Sebek that I believed him when he told me that it was of your own free will that you were dancing with Flamme. It is in your character to give others the opportunity to explain and apologize. I know this well because it's one of the things I love most about you.” His pout comes back. “However...” He smiles smugly. “I would be more reassured if you spend the rest of the ball close to me. Just in case.”

“Just in case of what, exactly?” You ask.

“Just in case someone else becomes so captivated by you that they want to lock you up in a tower. Which reminds me that in some tales the kidnapper arrange a dragoon to guard the kidnapped.” His smile becomes even more smug and slightly threatening. “Fu fu fu. I would like to see them trying.”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #Twst #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #Twst x Reader #Twst Imagines #Malleus Draconia #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Rollo Flamme #Rollo Flamme x Reader #Glorious Masquerade #Twst Glorious Masquerade #Twisted Wonderland Glorious Masquerade #Twst Halloween

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shapelytimber · 10 months ago

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Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.

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cup-o-stars · 10 months ago

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Relativity Falls Lore Concept- The Oracle and Bill

The Oracle:

I was initially inspired by the Twitter user @SUwu159's depiction of the Oracle in their take on Relativity Falls, and made my own adaptation as I learned about her in canon.

(Assume she can change colors because I couldn't pick what I liked most)

This version of The Oracle isn't malicious per se, and does not desire the same conquest or chaos sought out by Bill. But she likes universes to be organized and quaint (or answers to another high power that demands it), and finds fulfillment in achieving these goals through any means necessary.

The Oracle and Dipper:

(Sorry if this dialogue tastes like a corndog in your mouth. I just needed to write a semi-resolution to Dipper's side of the relationship, ha.)

Getting into the real struggle with the Pines family. Dipper and Mabel don't fight and hold grudges like the Stans (that we've seen of), so my opinion is that they drifted apart in their late teens and twenties, both feeling pressured to be less attached at the hip. My current belief (though I'm very willing to rewrite this section) is that Mabel and Dipper both poured a lot of energy into pretty niche fields, and being very busy meant very short and rare windows to reach out. Both assumed the other was doing bigger and better things and felt self conscious / childish for wanting eachother's company.

I'm still considering Mabel's backstory, since I think she probably hit lower points than Dipper. You know. Starving artist, lol. But Dipper entered into paranormal investigation, pest control, etc. before his ghost + monster catching went far enough for his name to gain some notoriety. Hell, maybe Pacifica's family reached out to him to take care of "rats" that were actually ghosts, cementing his interest in Gravity Falls and giving him a window inter supernatural work.

Dipper was taken on as something of an apprentice to the Oracle 30ish years before canon as word of his good and dangerous deeds spread. However, what was at first a personal dream come true (saving lives with nerd magic) soon became a personal hell as the Oracle began to overwhelm Dipper with knowledge of various futures and universes where everything he cared about could be destroyed. He's always been over prepared and incredibly paranoid, and became obsessed with protecting the world by acting as a partner to the Oracle.

He ends up doing- or not doing- a lot of morally ambiguous things and gaining a lot of enemies. He is too ashamed to face his family- especially Mabel- with what he's done and burden them, giving the Oracle more to use against him to keep him working for her. Basically "you've already done all this and risked it all, there's nowhere to go if you stop now." Eventually this ends in her seeing him fit for her work and convincing him to hide out in and save other universes, which he gets trapped doing for the next three decades.

Little throw away idea: Pacifica could have been an investor or partner, but left as they uncovered secrets about the Northwest family. Maybe she wanted to undo something (debating making any of the Oracle's powers time related just because I hate time travel) or stop a current show of corruption, but Dipper had to stop her for the "greater good."

In the main universe, Mabel goes to Gravity Falls upon news of her brother's disappearance, searching for any loose end to trace back to him.

I love that in canon, Dipper is willing to do anything for Mabel, and Mabel gives it back. Dipper here spends all of his life keeping as many versions of her as safe as he can, and she spends all her life trying go seek him out- maybe even dropping a larger opportunity outside of Gravity Falls for her art and settling on business at the shack. Dipper wants Mabel alive, Mabel wants them both happy. I like the idea that it's Dipper and Mable vs. The Future but the future is a demon, alien thing.

Which leads me to...

Bill Cipher:

I'm actually gonna cover a couple versions of Bill I think are fitting for this AU, because I initially wasn't sure if I wanted him here at all.

Child Bill:

Pretty straight forward. Bill as a baby, child thing is tempting and this is the au where he'd exist. Personally though, I think Ford's friendship with Fidds would be more enriching to his growth, and Bill's personality is so close to Stan's they would likely be competing to fill very similiar roles. (If Bill behaves differenty as kid, I don't know about it.) Honestly, Bill is super similiar to Ford and Stan, and works better as a kind of foil or antagonist because of that (imo). I do find the mental image of Ford carrying Bill around funny. I do not enjoy human bill like, conceptually, so I'm probably never gonna design one as an adult or child, lol.

It would be cool to see a world where Bill didn't accidentally kill his parents though.

Bill - Reincarnated Original

Technically I guess they could all be reincarneted (especially baby Bill), but this version of Bill experienced and holds memories of the original canon events in GF. Beings like Bill and the Oracle can remember recent/soon approaching lives, and catch glimpses of more distant cycles as well.

What I like about Bill's recent role as an antagonist to Ford and Stan is that he constantly describes them in the terms of their worst traits, and sees them through the lens of the roles the world placed on them. In this AU, Bill is the epitome of the past (in this case a past life) coming back to bite the twins. He rattles their progress in communication as well as their sense of inner peace by bringing old Glass Shard Beach issues into Gravity Falls.

(Depicted here-> moments after Ford summons Bill using the same ritual as Gideon.)

The drawback to this is that it feels a lot like covering old ground.

Simply Bill:

This is pretty much just regular old Bill with the same fresh perspective as everyone else, and also the one I'm going with. He tried and failed to get Dipper's trust in the past and had to lay low at the arrival of the Oracle. Once they left, Bill targeted Mabel. I think it could be very interesting for Mabel and Bill to either have a fresh relationship wherein Bill is actively taking advantage of her desperation to find Dipper, or for Bill to be an old betrayal (not romantic, but not dissimilar to the opportunistic exes Stan and Ford have to be wary of and beat back under the rug regardless).

Either he shows himself to Mable early on, or decides that Gravity Falls is both Oracle-free and worth the time after either Ford or Mable summon him. Afterall, 30 years isn't much to him.

Maybe he exists in the background like he's always done, or the kids (being snoopy and disrespectful of Mabel's secrets) discover what Mabel's doing and run into him on their own.

Whether Bill is aware of the original series or not, I think he could be neat to stick in between Stan and Ford again for conflict. My favorite aspect about Relativity Falls is the prospects of the Stans having a larger support system and better tools to help themselves with. Beating Bill faster and better would be the ultimate testament to Mabel and Dipper's skills as functioning role models, even if Mabel is currently blinded by her focus on Dipper.

Stan and Ford will fight and they will make up, but this time maybe they can overcome it on their own.

I also think a good idea is having Ford and Stan's issues be completely Bill free (outside of like an episode or two's worth of relevance, unless he put them into a particularly stinging situation). It would feel fresher and also streamline the plot, lol.

Overview:

- Dipper is stuck travelling the multiverse with the Oracle and keeps himself sane by thinking of Mabel and protecting various versions of her.

- Mabel is investigating his disappearance in Gravity Falls and is working on a portal/portal equivalent with Bill to bring him back.

- The kids may or may not be aware of this.

Looking at the main series of events, I think it'd be neat go back to the apprenticeship conflict, where Ford could be approached by the Oracle (or something else that makes sense) with the promise of being a "hero," but knows better now because of Dipper and his experiences with Bill. It's kind of a more convoluted version of Ford's proposal to Dipper in canon, and they basically learn the same thing, lol. You can hang out with ghosts if you want, but demons are gonna get you. Maybe being a child with siblings is all you need.

(Stan could also be offered this, given the Oracle already knew he- or at least someone with his face- would beat Bill, but I think it's well established he isn't very interested in doing anything without family.)

All in all, things might be a bit crowded with two antagonists. But I do like the concept of Bill's arrival and subsequent chaos triggering Dipper and the Oracle's return to Mabel's dimension. I also love the idea of Bill, the Oracle, and some secret third thing all trying to pull the Pines family apart, and it's like a Man vs. God turned into a Family vs. Destiny thing, idk. Just trying to make it feel bigger.

Thank you for reading all this. It was a lot to draw. Next time I do anything for Relativity Falls, I'm gonna go back to the smaller things like Mabel bonding with the kids and stuff like that.

#fanart #drawing #gravity falls #relativity falls #relativity au #bill cipher #the oracle #oracle #dipper pines #mabel pines #stanford pines #stanley pines #i'm tired #long post #you don't have to read it #but pretty please look at the shitty drawings #they took my a long time collectively

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randomness-is-my-order · 5 months ago

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you know, there’s this idea sometimes when talking about wei wuxian’s displays of violence in the novels as if they were indiscriminate, unmeasured and excessive when in truth, that was never the case. every single time wei wuxian employed more drastic methods to deal with an opponent—be it at an individual or collective level—there was a buildup and reason behind it. this includes his torture and killing of wen chao, which was literally just payback for the months of prolonged torture he had suffered at wen chao’s hands. using every trick up his sleeve during a war is fair game—it is not criminal to practice ghostly cultivation, however dubious it may seem for some, because the alternative is potentially losing against the wen clan who had already slaughtered countless people on their side before the war ever began.

similarly, wei wuxian defending himself against the assembly of cultivators during the nightless city massacre is not excessive violence. why should it be his prerogative to exercise restraint when the ones attacking him are coming at him with the intent to kill? i maintain the same position about the ambush. it’s very important and a deliberate detail that in these two instances, wei wuxian is NOT the one who instigates the violence, since these take place in a non-war setting and as such, the culpability of the losses suffered is actually on the party that initiates the full-fledged fight!

again, these were extenuating circumstances and wei wuxian had been pushed and pushed and pushed till he finally decided—not to go HAM and rage without sense—but to dish out fully deserved tit-for-tat consequences on the ones who first chose to harm him. this is not indiscriminate violence (and no, even jin zixuan’s death isn’t an argument for the contrary; momentary loss of control in extremely harrowing conditions ≠ a needlessly bloodthirsty, violence-for-violence’s-sake situation).

want an example from canon of indiscriminate violence? look no further than the lotus pier massacre or the wen genocide during the first siege. look no further than jin guangyao’s various murder plots. look no further than jiang cheng’s torture and murder of numerous cultivators who had done nothing to harm him. it’s just, when the text provides so many different instances of violence enacted, and makes a bifurcation between those scenes where a mutual battle takes place and wei wuxian just happens to have the upperhand vs scenes where defenceless and/or innocent parties are subjected to harm and are victimized, we’ve got no excuse to conflate the two and try to portray wei wuxian’s actions as something they are decidedly not.

#and for the love of god wei wuxian cannot and should NOT be called a “mass murderer” for being a wartime combatant!!!#is this not common sense anymore?? “wei wuxian committed war crimes” tf he did not?? do y'all even understand how armed conflicts work???#morally and ethically questionable modes of violence is NOT the same as indiscriminate killing #it’s truly funny just how much bullshit wei wuxian is accused of committing just like in canon #the morality of these characters is a GRADIENT do not flatten it out by trying to portray wwx as “just as bad” as the antagonists pls #wei wuxian meta #wei wuixan #mdzs #canon jiang cheng #jin guangyao

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whimsicallywiddershins · 6 months ago

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One of my favorite moments in Arcane was the Jinx and Ekko vs Ambessa war balloon fight in the last episode. For multiple reasons! But I loved how Ambessa was not prepared for Jinx and her chaos AT ALL.

Ambessa is a general with a lot of experience, and we can see her confidence and experience in every scene. She is almost always calm and in control. She expects almost every attack, and even if suprised, she overcomes the challenge and wins. She is never desperate, and takes on a teaching role in almost every scene, even battle and fight scenes. (Ex: lecturing Caitlyn even as they are fighting and before she orders her to be killed.)

Then Jinx and Ekko come in. And Ambessa, for pretty much the first time in the show, is caught off-guard. She doesn't panic, but its pretty close.

Look at her face, when she is ordering her men to face Jinx.

This is not the face of a controlled general who is prepared to fight. This is the face of a woman who is faced with an unknown threat and is trying to figure out what to do, but it coming up short.

Then, she ordered her men to fire on the Firelights.

There is a lot of movement in this moment. She is almost flailing. And it doesn't work. Her strategy completely fails in the face of Jinx and the Firelights adaptability.

Those bolts were big and heavy, designed to punch through armor, not shoot at small, fast-moving targets. The Firelights are used to flying through firefights and it shows.

In a matter of seconds, the Undercity completely routs Ambessa's soldiers. Like it's easy. The Firelights were perfect because they are fast and maneuverable.

And then Jinx almost kills Ambessa. Its a blink-and-you-miss-it scene. She fires at her with the mini gun, and Ambessa didn't even notice. A soldier sacrifices his life to save her, and you can tell by her face she had no idea that attack was coming, and is confused and shocked by it all.

I mean, look at her face. That is shocked fear. She almost died right there, to some random girl she's never even met.

Its the first time we ever see Ambessa afraid or off-balance, and I love that Jinx was the one to make that happen.

#arcane #arcane season 3 #arcane spoilers #jinx #ambessa #ekko #final battle #yeah she duped everyone with Viktor but still #jinx almost killed her #arcane analysis #fandom #analysis

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sunandflame · 2 months ago

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Analysis: Doflamingo as a Lover

Warnings: none

Word Count: 686

Pairing: Doflamingo x GN!Reader

crossposted on AO3

Psychological Core: Trauma, Power, and Control

To understand Doflamingo as a lover, you have to understand his trauma:

Born as a Celestial Dragon, stripped of that power, and thrown into a world that despised him.

Watched his mother die, his father murdered, and endured torture and starvation with his brother.

Returned to the underworld and rebuilt his empire by force.

He emerged with a worldview shaped by this belief:

“The world is cruel. Power is the only truth. Family is earned through absolute loyalty.”

This fundamental distrust of the world shapes every relationship he forms—including romantic ones.

Love = Loyalty

Doflamingo doesn’t love the way most people do. He’s not emotionally available, nor vulnerable. But he does have the capacity to form devoted, obsessive, and protective bonds—just look at his crew.

His idea of love would be:

Fierce protection (like how he shields Baby 5 and defends Trebol).

Possessive loyalty (like his obsession with his brother, Corazon, and the violent betrayal he felt).

Dominance and control (he treats his crew as subordinates and family simultaneously—you love him on his terms).

So, as a lover:

He would not tolerate betrayal—even emotional distance might trigger him.

He would expect complete devotion, absolute discretion, and loyalty to his vision.

You would be part of his world, not the other way around.

Dangerous Love

Doflamingo is canonically a sadist and manipulator—he kills without hesitation, uses people as pawns, and only trusts those he molds himself.

So, in romance:

He may test you constantly—emotionally, mentally, even physically—to gauge your loyalty.

He may gaslight or punish you for disobedience, not because he’s insecure, but because he believes in control over chaos.

He might call it love, but it’s closer to ownership unless you’ve earned a deeper place in his psyche.

But—if you do? You become his.

Jealousy & Possessiveness

Doflamingo doesn’t get “insecure,” but he does get possessive.

He sees you as part of his kingdom—his partner, his property, his pride.

Anyone who tries to flirt with you, touch you, or even speak to you in a way he doesn’t like? Eliminated.

You won’t always know he’s watching, but his influence is always there—a nod from a waiter, a glance from a subordinate. Everyone knows you’re his.

Private vs. Public

In public, he treats you with controlled distance.

He's not openly affectionate—but the way people fear stepping too close to you makes it clear who you belong to.

He may smirk when you’re standing by his side like a queen—but he rarely touches in front of others.

However, if someone disrespects you? All hell breaks loose.

In private:

He may lower the façade. Slightly.

He’ll allow physical closeness: your hand on his chest, your fingers in his hair, your lips at his throat.

But even in intimacy, he’s dominant—sex is a power play, and tenderness is earned.

Comparison: Crew = Prototype

Doflamingo treats his crew as a found family—Trebol, Diamante, Pica, Baby 5, and others all serve under him with almost cult-like loyalty. He feeds them, protects them, controls them, but also rewards them for loyalty.

Your relationship would follow a similar structure:

He gives you power (status, protection, luxury) if you serve his world.

He punishes betrayal with no hesitation.

He values loyalty above all else, and views emotional connection through that lens—not empathy, not understanding, but fealty.

Can He Love? Truly?

Yes—in his own way.

Doflamingo can form attachments. His hatred for his brother’s betrayal shows he’s capable of emotional hurt.

His twisted affection for his crew shows he can care.

But his love is corrupted by control. He doesn’t just want to be loved—he wants to be obeyed, feared, and needed.

You wouldn’t be in a “normal” relationship. You’d be in a kingdom—his kingdom—with you on a leash unless you rise high enough to share his throne.

In Summary:

Loving Doflamingo is like loving fire. It warms you, burns you, consumes you—and if you can’t control it, it destroys you.

You would be protected, but never free.

Cherished, but never equal—unless you prove yourself more than a pretty pawn.

You would either be his queen/king or his possession—there’s nothing in between.

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nanamineedstherapy · 3 months ago

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Corporate Jester vs. Himbo Accountant: A Love Story

Or Gojo & Nanami Cosplay Each other F!Pregnant Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3] A/N: When your husbands swap personalities like cursed techniques and you're just trying to read the Wall Street Journal in peace. Enjoy this descent into psychological warfare (ft. Gojo’s accidental competence kink and Nanami’s latent himbo era). No spoilers, but someone does get called 'snickerdoodle' against their will.

It began—like most domestic war crimes—with Gojo talking mid-chew.

“I suffer the most in this marriage.”

Nanami didn’t even look up from his new maternity book. He exhaled through his nose like a man reading GDP collapse stats. “That is the dumbest thing I’ve heard all week.”

Gojo squinted. Powdered sugar clung to his lips. He wiped it off with the sleeve of your hoodie—stretched criminally tight over his shoulders—and pointed at Nanami like a man wronged by both fate and God.

“You don’t understand, Kento. She ignores me for her stupid little video games. She looks at me like I’m a stray dog in heat when I flirt. She sends me TikToks instead of saying, ‘I love you, Toru.’ She doesn’t even call me ‘baby’ unless she’s threatening me.”

Nanami didn’t blink. “That’s because you are a stray dog in heat.”

Gojo gasped. “Take it back.”

“I will not.”

You were curled up on the couch with an English financial newspaper, posture aggressive, eyes fixed. You hadn’t looked up once.

Gojo flailed. “Look at me! I am neglected. Emotionally starved. Withering!”

“I am begging you to never speak again,” Nanami muttered, flipping a page.

Gojo’s voice cracked. “Do you know how many times I’ve tried to cuddle her, only to be met with ‘not now, I’m fighting the final boss.’”

Nanami hummed, unmoved. “You’re exhausting.”

Gojo planted his hands on his hips. “What do you even contribute to this marriage? Huh? Stock tips? Budget spreadsheets? Is that your idea of romance?”

Nanami took a deliberate sip of his nitro brew. “Yes.”

“You monster,” Gojo whispered, clutching his chest like a grief-stricken Victorian widow. “You dismiss my pain. My torment.”

Nanami calmly folded his book and set it aside. “You suffer only from a chronic lack of impulse control.”

Gojo’s eye twitched. “That’s rich. You rage-clean the whole house because your sock drawer isn’t sorted by tax bracket.”

“That’s called being productive.”

“No, that’s called being emotionally constipated.”

Nanami continued to sip his coffee. “And again—what do you contribute, Satoru? Besides decibel levels and credit card debt?”

Gojo threw his arms wide. “Excuse me for bringing excitement! Laughter! Chaos!”

“Oh yes,” Nanami drawled. “A glorified court jester.”

“I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN A JESTER.”

“Are you?”

Gojo narrowed his eyes. Then pivoted to you. “Sweetheart. Who suffers more—me or Nanami?”

You didn’t glance up. Voice flat. “Don’t know. Don’t care. But if you keep talking during market open, you’ll both suffer.”

Gojo turned to Nanami, aghast. “She’s toxic.”

Still sipping, Nanami deadpanned, “that is common knowledge.”

Some time passed.

You eventually got up for coffee and walked into what could only be described as a threat to national security.

Gojo stood in the kitchen. Wearing Nanami’s three-piece suit. The charcoal one. With the tie tied correctly and the glasses perched halfway down his nose like he was about to call HR on someone.

His arms were folded. His spine straight. And his expression—god help you—was blank. Corporate. IRS-core.

“You look… responsible,” you whispered.

“I know,” Gojo replied, voice an octave lower, chest oddly still. “I feel like I should be disappointed in someone named Ethan.”

Then Nanami walked in.

Wearing Gojo’s insufferable bomber jacket. White shirt untucked. Collarbones exposed. Sunglasses pushed up like an exhausted DJ rolling into his 4 p.m. set. His smirk was pure tequila-era.

He leaned in. Whispered in your ear, “I woke up and chose to be your problem today, baby.”

You stepped back like he’d pulled a weapon. “What the actual fuck.”

Gojo adjusted his tie. “I am Nanami Kento.”

“Oh my god.”

“I believe in discipline. Silent judgment. Dying slowly in business casual. My hobbies include complaining about Gojo, making perfect omelets, and pretending I’m not obsessed with my wife.”

“This is offensive,” you muttered.

Gojo-as-Nanami stole your coffee and took a slow sip. “It’s also correct.”

Meanwhile, Nanami dragged out a kitchen chair. Sat in it backwards. Backwards. Like a middle-school PE teacher with a secret past. Smirked. “Morning, sweetheart.”

You choked on air.

Gojo staggered. “No. No, no, no, no—you don’t get to be hot while doing this.”

Nanami tilted his head. “What’s wrong, babe?”

Gojo was close to spiraling. “‘Babe’? Don’t you dare—”

But Nanami was undeterred. “Am I flustering you?”

You sighed, “Kento, I swear to god—”

“My little snickerdoodle.”

You backed away. “Absolutely not.”

“Let me spoil you. Take you out. Buy you a Birkin.”

Gojo was on the floor. Emotionally.

Nanami nudged his sunglasses down. “Let’s be real. I am the superior husband. Ridiculously good-looking. Genius-level talented. And I am so good at sex it’s actually ridiculous."

Gojo whimpered.

You stared, full deadpan. “I have made terrible life decisions.”

Nanami winked. “I know.”

Gojo’s glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them up with a single finger. “My love, are you really wearing those pajamas at this hour? Did you eat? When’s the last time you touched grass?”

You rolled your eyes. “I make more in a second than the GDP of three nations. I don’t need to touch grass.”

Gojo straightened his tie. “But as Nanami Kento, I say things like ‘I am a simple man’ while being the most complicated bitch alive.”

“I’m leaving.”

“My love language is passive aggression,” Gojo added.

“I will kill you.”

“And yet you married me.”

“That line doesn’t even land coming from you.”

Gojo sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose in perfect imitation. “This is my burden, Satoru. Carrying this marriage while my wife refuses to make responsible life choices.”

Nanami pointed at him. “You’re dressed as me and not even whining about lumbar support. Be honest—how’s the herniated disc?”

Gojo squared his shoulders like a TED Talk had just concluded. “My spine is flawless. Unlike your emotional regulation.”

Nanami barked a laugh—full teeth, head thrown back like he wasn’t made of spreadsheets and sex appeal. “You’re standing like a divorced gym teacher in a bar.”

Gojo waved it off. “I am a divorced gym teacher in a bar, except I day-trade.”

Nanami was breaking character because his jaw had already clenched—twice. “Kento,” he said, tone flat. “Answer this honestly.”

“No.”

“Are you capable of admitting I’m your best friend?”

Gojo paused. His hand twitched toward his glasses.

With a funereal solemnity: “I’d rather be shot in the throat by a Nerf gun dipped in cyanide.”

Nanami tilted his head. “Jealous I’m the main character.”

“You’re an emotionally repressed side quest at best.”

Then Nanami kissed your hand.

Gojo straightened his tie. The smirk dropped. “I need to file my taxes or yell at a teenager about not having a 4O1k already. This outfit is cursing me with responsibility.”

Nanami pushed his sunglasses up. “I feel the urge to make an irresponsible purchase and lose IQ points.”

You pulled out your phone. “I need a divorce.”

“No,” they both said. In perfect, synchronized, nightmare harmony.

You stared. “God’s already left. I’m next.”

---

A/N: If you cackled, gasped, or now fear Nanami’s ability to weaponize a backwards chair, yell at me in the comments. (Gojo’s ego needs the engagement. Your wife sanity is already forfeit.)

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter - Vogue Living: The Strongest's Nemesis Has Fur, a Therapist, & No Chill - [Tumblr/Ao3]

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

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kittenan · 3 months ago

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Professor's Pet [Pt. II]

Pairing: Professor!Namjoon x Ex-Wife!Reader Genre: University AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff Word Count: ~5k Warnings: Explicit smut (detailed dom/sub dynamics, brainy dom!Namjoon, strict punishments, praise + degradation, orgasm control, fingering, oral [f and m receiving], desk sex, throat grabbing, spanking, unprotected sex [wrap it up!]), bickering, emotional angst (divorce due to emotional neglect and career conflicts), post-divorce academic struggles, 18+ only. Vibe: Brainy, strict, chaotic, emotional, filthy, tender, unhinged, layered with unresolved pain and desire. A/N: This story follows the thrilling love story of Namjoon and the Reader, from their sparking student-professor romance during her bachelor’s to their passionate marriage, painful divorce, and tangled reunion in her Ph.D. program. Her struggles in university come from heartache and dodging Namjoon’s classes, not because she’s not smart. Get ready for a heartfelt, steamy, and hopeful journey!

You were a junior in Namjoon’s Introduction to Psychology class, a bright-eyed 21-year-old with a knack for debate and a habit of lingering after lectures to challenge his theories. He was 28, a prodigy professor fresh off his Ph.D., already turning heads with his sharp intellect and commanding presence. His lectures were electric—dense with ideas, delivered with a passion that made Freud and Skinner feel alive. You’d sit in the front row, scribbling notes, your heart racing when his eyes met yours during a particularly heated discussion on cognitive dissonance.

One evening, after a debate on nature vs. nurture, you stayed late, your textbook open. The lecture hall was empty, the air thick with chalk dust and the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and ink. He leaned against the desk, glasses perched on his nose, and asked, “Why do you always argue with me?”

“Because you’re wrong sometimes,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “And someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “Bold. Most students just nod and move on.”

“I’m not most students,” you said, stepping closer, your confidence masking the flutter in your chest.

That was the spark. Late-night discussions turned into coffee runs, then dinners at small restaurants where you’d talk until closing. He was brilliant, intense, and saw you in a way no one else did—like your mind was a puzzle he wanted to solve. You were drawn to his discipline, his ambition, the way he could unravel a concept or you with equal precision. By semester’s end, you were sneaking kisses in his office, your hands tangled in his hair, his glasses fogging from the heat of your breath.

It wasn’t reckless, not really. You were careful—never in public, never on campus grounds. He was strict about boundaries, always the professor first. But the thrill of those secret moments—his hands pinning you against a bookshelf, his voice a low growl as he whispered your name—made you feel alive. Your senior year was a whirlwind of stolen glances and hidden rendezvous, your love growing in the shadows of academia.

After graduating with your bachelor’s, you started your master’s at the same university, and Namjoon proposed a year later, during a rainy evening in a quiet park near campus. He knelt in the mud, his suit soaked, holding a ring that caught the streetlights. “Marry me,” he said, voice steady despite the downpour. “I want you in every chapter of my life.” You said yes, heart soaring, believing you’d cracked the code to forever.

Your wedding was intimate, in a small garden blooming with wildflowers, your dress simple, his suit sharp. His vows were poetry: “You’re my question and my answer, my chaos and my order.” You laughed through tears, danced under fairy lights, and believed you’d conquer the world. You were in your master’s program, he was an associate professor, and your apartment was a cozy mess of books and coffee stains. Mornings were tangled in bed, his lips soft on your neck, whispering, “Stay here forever, babygirl,” as his hands roamed, igniting sparks. Evenings were spent debating theories over wine, his glasses slipping as he laughed at your mimicry of his lecture style, pulling you into his lap with a playful growl.

But his ambition was a growing shadow. Namjoon lived for his work—research, lectures, grants. You’d find him at 4 a.m., glasses fogged, typing furiously, oblivious to you. You’d bring him coffee, kiss his temple, but he’d mutter, “One more page,” and you’d eat alone, the silence heavier than any fight. You completed your master’s and took a break to plan your Ph.D., inspired by him, but your research faltered, overshadowed by his unyielding ambition. You’d beg for a night off, a weekend away, but he’d promise and fail, his office his true home.

One precious weekend, you whisked him away to a secluded cabin, no Wi-Fi, just the two of you. He was irritable, yearning for his laptop, but you slipped into his shirt, bare beneath, and climbed onto his lap by the crackling fire, playfully chiding his work-obsessed ways. “You’re married to your desk, not me. For now, focus on me, Professor.” you murmured, teasingly nudging his chest. His gaze softened, then ignited, a slow smirk spreading as his inner intensity stirred. “Oh, babygirl, you’re begging for trouble,” he growled, flipping you onto the rug with a swift, controlled motion, the roughness of the wool biting your skin. His hand delivered a sharp spank to your bare ass, the sting blooming into a heat that made you gasp, your arousal immediate and undeniable.

“Count,” he ordered, voice strict, his Ph.D.-honed precision in every word, spanking you again, harder, the sound cracking through the quiet cabin. “One,” you whimpered, and he leaned close, his breath hot against your ear, degrading you with a purr—“Such a sweet little thing, so eager for my touch,” he murmured, delivering another spank, his hand lingering to caress the sensitive skin, soothing the warmth he’d created. “Two,” you moaned, slickness coating your thighs, and he let out a low, warm chuckle, his fingers gliding along your drenched folds, teasing with a gentle, maddening touch, not yet giving you what you craved. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice rich with desire, “so beautifully desperate, practically trembling for me.”

He pinned your wrists above your head, his grip iron, his gaze intense. “You want me? Earn it,” he commanded, his free hand sliding two fingers inside you, curling with devastating accuracy to hit that spot that made your vision blur. His pace was relentless, but he enforced orgasm control, pulling back just as you clenched, teetering on the edge. “Not yet,” he said, voice a velvet blade, “you come when I say, or not at all.” You whined, bickering—“You’re such a fucking Control freak—but he silenced you with a throat grab, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips brushing yours. “Keep talking, and I’ll gag you with my cock,” he warned, and you shivered, craving his dominance, the emotional angst of his absence fueling your need.

He released your throat, pushing you to your knees, his erection straining against his jeans. “Show me you deserve it,” he said, and you fumbled with his zipper, freeing him—thick, heavy, pulsing. You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of him. His hand gripped your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his groans vibrating through you. “Good girl,” he praised, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate.” You moaned, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulled out, denying himself release, his control absolute.

He lifted you, bending you over the nearby table, the wood cold against your flushed skin. “Spread your legs,” he growled, and you did, trembling, as he spanked you again, three sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a filthy thing, dripping for me.” He slid into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that felt like home, his thrusts deep and punishing, the table creaking under the force. His hand grabbed your throat again, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear. “You’re mine,” he snarled, voice thick with possession.

You moaned, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“And you’re stupid, Joon.” He laughed, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his fingers finding your clit, circling with precision that made you see stars. “Keep talking,” he said, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until I say.” He edged you mercilessly, slowing when you tightened, his control a torturous dance of pleasure and denial. “Beg,” he demanded, and you broke, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours.” He rewarded you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” He came with a groan, his release hot inside you, and collapsed over you, panting.

Later, he held you by the fire, tender now, kissing your temple, his voice soft with regret. “I’m here, babygirl,” he whispered “I love you.” You curled into him, believing this Namjoon would stay, but Monday came, and he was back in his office, leaving you aching with loneliness.

The fights grew vicious. “I’m fading, Namjoon!” you screamed one night, throwing a cold dinner plate into the sink, the crash echoing your heartbreak. “You’re never here!” He yelled back, “I’m building our future! Why can’t you wait?” You waited, but you were invisible, a ghost in your own marriage. The third anniversary broke you—you cooked his favorite bulgogi, lit candles, wore the dress he loved. He didn’t show. His text at 9 p.m.: Stuck at a conference. Sorry. You sat there, wax dripping, tears falling, the silence a knife. You packed a bag, left for a friend’s, and filed for divorce, your heart shattered.

The divorce was a quiet devastation. You moved to a university dorm, threw yourself into your Ph.D., but campus was a battlefield. Namjoon’s name was everywhere—on journals, posters, whispered in halls. You saw the silver frame on his desk during a department meeting, your wedding photo untouched, and it felt like a blade. Why did he keep it? To punish himself? To cling to you?

You tried dating, but no one matched his intensity, his mind, his touch. You heard he didn’t date, just worked, his office light burning past midnight. Colleagues said he was colder, sharper, like he’d locked his heart away. You hated that it hurt, hated that you still dreamed of him.

One stormy night, you passed by his office, the door ajar. He was slumped over his desk, glasses off, staring at the frame, a whiskey bottle half-empty. You heard a choked sob, and your chest tightened—you wanted to run to him, to hold him, but you couldn’t. You weren’t his wife anymore. You walked away, tears mixing with the rain, the ache of what could’ve been a living thing.

Now in your Ph.D. program, you’re falling apart. Namjoon’s advanced psychology seminar is required, but his lecture hall is a torture chamber. His voice, his cologne—sandalwood, cedar, ink—drag you back to stolen kisses, broken vows. You skip half his lectures, unable to face him. When you do attend, you’re a wreck, his words blurring as you remember his hands, his anger, your loneliness. Your assignments are late, your exams a disaster, and now you’re failing.

Desperate, you begged for extra credit, leading to that night in his office—desk sex, raw fury, and a "B" that felt like a taunt. It wasn’t just about grades; it was about the pain, the love, the unresolved mess of you two. Tonight, you’re back, ready to confront it all.

You stride into his office at 8:15, late to test him, wearing a tight black dress, no panties, heels clicking defiantly. He’s at his desk, pen paused, glasses glinting under the lamp. The frame sits behind a book, a ghost of your past. His eyes rake over you, dark and heavy, but there’s pain there, a crack in his professor’s mask.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low, but it trembles, betraying him.

“By fifteen minutes,” you retort, shutting the door with a soft click, your voice sharp with years of hurt. “You’ve kept me waiting years, Namjoon. You don’t get to complain.”

He stands, towering over you, his cologne a trap. “Careful, babygirl,” he warns, but his fingers brush your arm, lingering, warm and hesitant. “You’re here for a reason. Say it.”

You step closer, chin up, bickering to mask the pain. “I’m failing because of you, you asshole. I can’t sit in your class without seeing us—every fight, every night you left me alone. I skip lectures because looking at you hurts, Namjoon. But you keep that photo.” You point to the frame, its silver edge glinting like a blade. “Why? Why hold onto something you destroyed?”

He flinches, like your words are a lash, and turns away, hand raking through his hair. The frame sits there, your smiling faces a mockery. “Because I’m a fucking fool,” he says, voice raw, barely above a whisper. He turns back, eyes red, and steps closer, his hands hovering over your shoulders, not quite touching. “Because I wake up every day wishing I’d seen you, really seen you, when I had you. I keep it because it’s the only proof I didn’t dream you. I broke us, Y/N, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

Tears spill, your throat tight, but his words crack something open—anger, yes, but also longing. “You don’t get to say that,” you choke, shoving his chest, but he catches your wrists, his grip gentle, grounding, his thumbs brushing your pulse points. “You left me alone, Namjoon. Cold dinners, empty beds, me begging for scraps of your time. I was your wife, not your student, but you treated me like I was nothing!”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking, pulling you closer until you’re inches apart, his breath warm on your face. “I was blind, obsessed with work, thinking it was for us. I’m still a workaholic—I’ll always be in this office too long—but I see you now. I see what I lost.” His voice drops, a plea, his fingers tightening just enough to remind you of his control. “Give me a chance, Y/N. Let me prove I can be the man you deserve.”

You laugh, bitter and shaky, tears falling, but your body betrays you, leaning into him, your hands fisting his shirt. “You think one night of fucking me fixes it?” you whisper, voice trembling, bickering to keep the pain at bay. “You think a B makes up for years of feeling invisible?”

“No,” he says, releasing your wrists to cup your face, thumbs brushing your tears, his touch tender but heavy with regret. “Nothing fixes it. But I’m begging for a shot to try. I’ll set alarms, I’ll cancel meetings, I’ll burn my fucking books if you ask. I can’t lose you again.”

The air crackles, pain and desire colliding. You pull back, defiant, and hop onto his desk, spreading your thighs, the dress riding up to reveal bare skin. “Prove it now, Professor,” you challenge, voice low, a dare born of anger and need, your eyes flashing with the same fire you had in his lecture hall years ago. Namjoon’s gaze drops, and when he realizes you’re wearing no panties, his reaction is a overwhelming shift—raw, feral, yet tightly controlled, his eyes black with lust, his jaw clenching as he fights to maintain his dominance.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, voice thick with desire and disbelief, his hands gripping your thighs so hard the skin blooms red under his fingers. “No panties?” His breath hitches, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely, your slickness glistening under the lamplight. “You walked in here like this, bare, dripping, knowing it’d drive me fucking insane?” His tone shifts, brainy dom surfacing, strict and commanding, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat radiating between you. “You’re a filthy little tease, babygirl, and you’re going to pay for this.”

You smirk, bickering back, “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d even notice, you self-absorbed prick.” Your defiance ignites him, and his smirk is pure danger, his hand delivering a sharp spank to your inner thigh, the sting so intense it makes you yelp, arousal flooding you instantly. “Count,” he orders, spanking the other thigh, his palm leaving a burning imprint, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting. “One,” you gasp, and he spanks again, harder, the sound echoing in the quiet office. “Two,” you moan, your voice trembling, slickness dripping onto the desk, coating his fingers as they graze your folds.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs, his voice laced with that sharp, intellectual edge that makes your core clench. “Look at you, soaking my desk, aching for my touch. You think you can stroll in here, bare and bold, and take charge of me?” His fingers slide through your wetness, teasing your entrance but not entering, his control maddening. “You’re mine to ruin, and I’m going to make you beg for every fucking second of it.” Another spank, this one directly on your ass as he shifts you, bending you slightly over the desk, your dress hiked up to your waist. “Three,” you sob, the pain and pleasure blurring, your body trembling under his command.

His fingers finally plunge inside you, three at once, stretching you with a burn that makes you cry out, his pace brutal and precise, curling to hit that spot that sends shocks through your spine. “So fucking tight,” he growls, his thumb circling your clit with devastating accuracy, but he enforces orgasm control, pulling back just as you start to clench, teetering on the edge. ‘Not yet,’ he murmurs, his voice a smooth, cutting whisper, ‘you don’t get to come until you’ve earned it, my sweet little tease.’ You whine, bickering—‘You’re still such a control freak’—but he cups your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips grazing your ear. ‘Keep talking, and I’ll silence you with my kiss until you’re breathless,’ he warns, and you shiver, craving his dominance, the raw emotional weight of your shared past fueling the fire between you.

“You left me,” he says, voice raw, his fingers slowing, teasing you to the brink but denying release, his eyes searching yours, heavy with guilt and need. “You walked away, and I deserved it, but you’re here now, bare for me, and I’m not letting you go.” Tears prick your eyes, the pain of his neglect mingling with the pleasure of his touch. “You didn’t see me,” you whisper, voice breaking, but you push back against his hand, desperate for more. He kisses you hard, his tongue claiming you, his hand still on your throat, grounding you in the moment. “I see you now,” he murmurs, his fingers resuming their punishing pace, his thumb relentless on your clit, driving you to the edge but holding you there, a torturous dance of denial.

He pulls his fingers out, finally licking them clean with a smirk that makes your thighs clench, and orders, “On your knees, now.” You obey, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing his cock—thick, heavy, pulsing with need. You take him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of his pre-cum. His hand grips your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. “Good girl,” he praises, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate for your professor.” You moan, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulls out, denying himself release, his control absolute, his glasses fogging as he watches you.

“Up,” he commands, pulling you to your feet, bending you over the desk, papers scattering like fallen dreams, the wood cool against your flushed cheek. “Spread your legs wide,” he growls, and you do, trembling, as he spanks you again, five sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a needy girl, bare and dripping for me, ruining my desk.” You’re sobbing now, not from pain but from the overwhelming need, the emotional angst of wanting him, hating him, loving him. He slides into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that feels like everything, his thrusts deep and punishing, the desk creaking under the force, his hand grabbing your throat, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he snarls, voice thick with possession and regret, his thrusts slowing to a torturous grind, his fingers finding your clit again, circling with precision that makes you see stars. “I was too stupid to ignore you, but I’m here now, and you’re mine.” You moan, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“You’re still stupid if you think this fixes everything.” He laughs, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his hand tightening on your throat, his control a heady mix of punishment and worship. “Keep talking, sweetheart,” he says, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until you admit you’re mine.”

You resist, but he edges you mercilessly, slowing when you tighten, his fingers relentless but denying release, his lips brushing your ear. “Beg,” he demands, and you break, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours, always was.” He rewards you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his thrusts relentless, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” You come screaming, the orgasm shattering, your body convulsing, and he follows, groaning your name, his release hot inside you, his body collapsing over yours, panting.

He holds you after, pulling you into his lap, glasses askew, his touch tender now, kissing your forehead, the emotional angst raw. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice soft but firm. “For every cold dinner, every empty bed. Come home with me, Y/N. We’ll cook, we’ll talk, and I’ll be there. I promise.” You nod, shaky, tears falling, the anger fading into hope. He helps you fix your dress, his fingers lingering, gentle, and you leave together, his hand in yours, the campus dark but the path bright. The frame stays on his desk, a vow, not a keepsake.

A week later, you submit a revised paper, pouring your pain into a brilliant analysis of grief’s impact on memory. Namjoon grades it, leaving a note: A+. Your mind is as fierce as ever. I’m proud of you. You text him: Earned that A, not begged. He replies: Always knew you could, babygirl. Dinner tonight? You smile, the firecracker from your junior year sparking again, ready to fight—for your degree, for him, for you.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts #bts namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon #rm #bts rm #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #rm smut

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vynxwave · 8 months ago

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tf skybound issue 14 thoughts / analysis / connections n whatnot. spoilers for the issue 15 preview too.

absolutely gorgeous art

VERY G1 starscream vibes in some places xD... i could practically hear his voice

more of starscream's origin and a bit more of megatron! i like megatron's characterization in skybound so far plus the decepticon cause's. i think skybound's decepticon ideology's gotta be my favorite, it just meshes their violence with their believed righteousness in such a great way.

this issue gives starscream quite a different initial approach to morality than seen in previous continuities (iirc) where here in #14 he is against killing prisoners of war while being a decepticon (often he's with loose morals even before becoming a decepticon).

megatron has the ability to mentally coerce the one wielding him to bend to his will (painfully), which i think is a really cool concept.

this makes starscream's evil directly caused by megatron from prolonged exposure to his influence conditioning/corrupting him. as seen in the mini background panels, over time blasting many Autobots to scrap, starscream grows to enjoy it

i've personally always loved starscream's evil to be completely independent of megatron('s) (as it has been) so i'm a bit conflicted on this aspect of skybound starscream... but i do understand its purpose/role in the story though.

issues #13/#14 run a parallel between then starscream & megatron and present starscream & those humans: both purport to Starscream they want to help him, but in reality they just want to use him for their own benefit. with that then story running parallel to the present one, starscream's dialogue about those humans also reflects upon how he felt under megatron's control

megatron forcing starscream to wield him definitely felt like it was expounding upon a question one might have had watching G1 — "why would megatron let someone who openly covets his position wield him?" of course, skybound isn't g1 and takes the idea and angle quite differently than the show did. with this it also supplies the reason of why starscream resents megatron and wants to overthrow and kill him.

and of G1, the Decepticons siding with starscream are ones who have sided with him once in the cartoon — the Combaticons in Starscream's Brigade and Astrotrain in Triple Takeover (and of course, Astrotrain was also the one to crown Starscream in the 1986 movie).

with Soundwave having the Constructicons and Starscream the Combaticons, a cool fight between Devastator and Bruticus is sure to ensue (vol 3 [collects #13-#18 + the story from the 2024 special] is called "Combiner Chaos" anyway)

i will be delighted to see soundwave and his decepticons vs starscream and his decepticons.

soundwave looks to be a megatron loyalist in this continuity and shares a bit of his sentiments (a bit below).

neat how then starscream and present thundercracker both had objections to the treatment of prisoners of war.

not the first time there's been a similarity between them, here's panels (#1 & #8) that parallel each other:

and how they differ:

not 1:1, but megatron's words to starscream reminded me of soundwave's to thundercracker — a subordinate's objection met with a reminder of their place and that their objection is irrelevant to their superior.

also worth noting, soundwave keeps thundercracker by his side despite his continual disagreements with how things are going, which is similar to megatron keeping starscream (who resents him) by his side.

i'd guess these similarities serve to build up to thundercracker possibly eventually actively opposing soundwave (as opposed to just going along with it) — here in the #15 preview he gives the humans warning to flee before blasting the building

now, knowing megatron's gunmode has the ability to mentally coerce the wielder to bend to his will... looks like this is what's happening with optimus wearing megatron's cannon arm!! xD. "megatron's cannon arm is influencing prime" has been built up and noticed, but it's nice to have megatron's ability now explicitly shown.

In #5 Starscream comments on Optimus having Megatron's cannon arm, and Optimus has a bit to say to him before blasting him with it.

Many noticed the parallel between Megatron & Optimus's fight in the Energon Universe Special 2024 and Optimus & Shockwave's in #12 as well as his tinged eye color.

Now with #14 we can also see a a similar thing that happened to Optimus happen to Starscream — Megatron's influence practically forcing their hand, going against what they wanted. Note the green-yellow background gradient suggesting Megatron's mental coercion in Starscream's panels, and in Optimus's panels (above) when his eyes are tinged there's yellow or yellow-green used in the background.

#vynx.analysis #starscream #optimus prime #megatron #thundercracker #analysis #skybound spoilers #transformers skybound spoilers #skybound transformers spoilers #skybound transformers #transformers skybound #i could probably say more but i'll just post this for now #maccadam

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maxxifer · 11 days ago

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one of my favourite things about having a teen wolf shaped brainworm in the year of our lord 2025 is thinking about how I felt about certain characters/dynamics back when i was like 12-15 vs. now bc I find it endlessly entertaining.

for example I was lowkey examining why the young impressionable weirdo that I was liked sterek way back when (it was the most popular pairing at the time and I was still fairly new to fandom so I just kind of went along w/ it, the inherently tragic vibes, the constant high stakes with the big baddies looming over them, I related to stiles and derek a lot separately and so ANY fanfic that centered around either was my jam, I hadn't realized I was acespec yet & overall just had a very unrealistic idea of how older teens acted when in relationships, was super into BBC Merlin at the time & read SO many modern AUs in THAT fandom so I got really into future Sterek AUs where they had dramatic slow burn romance arcs while simultaneously having weird ass jobs, etc.)

cut to today as an adult it's so funny to think about bc now I have this cool skill called ✨accurate character analysis✨, an actual understanding of why I'm drawn to certain characters, and overall having a more refined taste in platonic and romantic dynamics in fiction. And in regards to Sterek, seeing these boys free from the shackles of Beacon Hills' random chaos and enter their chill lil domestic sitcom era is so fucking funny to me. Like now they are not constantly mixed up in trouble, both Stiles and Derek have these little highlight reels of each other where they go - awe i couldn't process that emotion while dealing with the oozing bullet wound in front of me, but that's when we first became friends :D - All this to say that I just find it absolutely hysterical (and begrudgingly relatable) that it’s a fairly valid take to say that one of the best and honestly most realistic depictions of Stiles and/or Derek figuring out that they have feelings for the other person is probably that either one of these complete morons - both known to be incredibly intelligent and emotionally complex characters who both are super observant of those around them - could be seen waking up alone in a cold sweat several years after the series finale completely shellshocked from suddenly remembering a vague interaction they had with each other while in the middle of fighting for their lives and in their head going - "omfg - WAS HE FLIRTING WITH ME?!"

Like what do u mean when I was a freshman in high school I completely ignored this old fic bc the plot was something as simple as these two 25-30 somethings are just kind of hanging out and failing at being “normal people” for a single goddamn minute?! It’s funny as fuck bitch these two freaks are just as (if not more) entertaining even if their days of saving the other from actively bleeding out are over! Like yeah - Stiles and Derek experiencing the horrors that is the main plot is fun to read about and all, but I’d argue the real canonical horror for these guys would be that even after finally cancelling their subscriptions to whatever monthly trauma delivery service they unknowingly signed up for, this clinically depressed dog man and the danger magnet disguised as a jester who by some miracle has somehow kept them both tethered to this mortal coil with nothing but poor impulse control and weaponized neurodivergence, having to LARP as well adjusted tax paying citizens turns out to be the most harrowing part of their journeys. Oh, the werewolves are doing blood-sport again? Been there done that I wanna see Derek fuck up a social interaction at Starbucks.

Because sometimes peak character development means making them a total loser, and the reward is getting to watch the battle-damaged goliath try to make small talk with a woodland creature in a sweater-vest while stranded on the animal crossing island you put him in.

TL;DR - something something as you get older you learn that moments highlighting the mundane ≠ uninteresting, and the feeling of getting to see ur favourite characters go through the same strange adult bullshit that you’ve also been cursed with is akin to reaching the point in ur life where u start getting excited about a new dish sponge or getting socks for Christmas bc growing up is acknowledging the comedic value in those very human experiences. And also u get to lovingly laugh at the loser blorbos that stumble through life while being as dense as a lead brick.

#maxxifer yaps #is this a particular unique or even interesting take? no but when it gets written down it has been exorcised from my psyche #long post jesus christ dude leave some words for the rest of us #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sterek

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reflectionspace · 3 months ago

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Let's talk about this.

“It’s Just a Game” Isn’t a Shield from Critique—Especially in a Series Like Dragon Age

The idea that Veilguard should be immune to political critique because it’s a “video game” is historically inaccurate—and intellectually lazy. The Dragon Age series has always used fantasy to explore sociopolitical dynamics: Chantry control, class divides between mages and templars, Qunari imperialism, elven diaspora, Tevinter slavery, and more. So when Veilguard invites players into a world supposedly about revolution, anti-slavery, and queer identity, it should be expected to have something meaningful to say about power.

And if it doesn’t? That’s a legitimate—and necessary—critique.

More to the point: many games, even those from large publishers, handle sociopolitics more carefully than Veilguard does.

Cyberpunk 2077 gives us a protagonist who becomes a living legend and can kill Adam Smasher—but is still structurally powerless in the face of corpo systems. Even the elites are trapped by the machine.

Cyberpunk 2077 really deserves its own post, because hot damn, it's the Schwartzwald cake of embedded sociopolitics and careful writing with intention, amidst a sea of cupcakes.

No, seriously. Cyberpunk 2077 is so good. Writing-wise, it was good on release - all it really needed was technical polish.

Skyrim, for all its fantasy tropes, embeds debates about religious freedom, colonization, and nationalism—conversations so compelling that people still argue Stormcloaks vs. Empire over a decade later.

The Witcher 3 examines war, poverty, racial violence, pogroms, and political manipulation. Geralt is “neutral,” but the world is not, and the player is always brushing up against the consequences of that.

Dishonored is about restoring monarchy—but it’s also about class, state violence, surveillance, political power, and systemic rot. Even its mechanics reflect power: the more violence you unleash as Corvo, Emily, or Daud, the more chaos the world spirals into. And in Death of the Outsider, Billie Lurk—the least privileged of them all—breaks the system without causing Chaos, because she lacks the same embedded power.

Deathloop continues that thread by parodying elite escapism. The AEON techbros and scientists, ahem, "Visionaries", try to create a sealed world of permanent consequence-free comfort, looping the same day endlessly so they never have to face history. Sound familiar?

In contrast, Veilguard offers a post-apocalyptic world where the party still has book clubs and picnics, coffee beans are miraculously stocked, and revolutionary, world-ending struggles are background noise to the main cast’s personal growth arcs.

And finally, let’s talk about Baldur’s Gate 3.

It’s not even trying to be a political manifesto. Its setting is rooted in high-fantasy adventuring, not grounded political struggle. The actual politics of Faerûn are often laughably simple—good guys, bad cults, ancient gods, mind flayers.

And yet, despite (mostly) sidelining overt sociopolitical commentary in favor of focusing on trauma and cycles of abuse, BG3 still manages to say more about power, identity, and morality than Veilguard does.

Why? Because it invests deeply in character writing, layered interpersonal conflict, and meaningful player choice. Its companions have rich internal contradictions, complex loyalties, and personal histories that don’t always align with tidy messaging. It doesn’t flatten queerness or trauma into checkbox representation. It lets you screw up. It lets people be angry. And where socioplitical questions come up, it shows that the writers have thought about it.

And crucially, it respects the player’s ability to make difficult, morally complicated decisions—including decisions that affect systems, people, and outcomes. Including evil decisions. It doesn't accidentally sprinkle misogyny all over itself. It's not perfect (where's that Gortash kiss Larian, where's more Wyll content), but compared to Veilguard, it's chef's kiss.

Baldur’s Gate 3 succeeds where Veilguard fails not because it’s more radical or politically correct—but because it’s better written. It doesn’t posture. It just tells a story worth engaging with, with intention and awareness.

No one’s saying Veilguard needed to be Disco Elysium—but it positioned itself as a political, inclusive, transformative game, and in doing so, invited political analysis. That’s not “whining,” and it’s not clicktivism. It’s critical literacy. It’s what thoughtful fans do.

#veilguard critical #dragon age the veilguard #bioware critical #da:tv critical #veilguard spoilers #a lot of thoughts on veilguard #better games #cyberpunk 2077 #the witcher #deathloop #dishonored #baldur's gate 3

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dckweed · 2 months ago

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Idk if it’s been done yet. For the TikTok made me do it series can you do the boys reaction to giving them a full plate of food and the reader has a small portion and just says that’s all that she could make. It was a TikTok trend a while back.

PS I love your writing

this is actually a good idea omg !

TIKTOK MADE ME DO IT GF VS TF141 BF

in which you do the trend where you give your husband a massive plate of food but then only give yourself a teeny tiny serving to see their reaction, and they do NOT disappoint!

long time no see pookies :)

series masterlist here!

John Price — “What do you mean..”

The kitchen’s calm. Cozy. Domestic. A rare break in the storm.

You slide a plate in front of John with all the casual flair of a 1950s housewife. Hot food. Golden-brown. Perfectly seasoned. It smells like heaven and a military retirement dream.

He blinks. “Bloody hell, love. You’ve outdone yourself.”

Then you sit down across from him with your own plate.

A piece of toast. One sad little egg. A cherry tomato. Cut in half.

He looks at your plate.

Then back at his.

Then at you.

You smile sweetly, sip your water like nothing’s wrong, and chirp, “That's all I could make, need to go to the grocery store!”

Silence.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

“...What d’you mean, that’s all you could make?”

You're take a little nibble of the tomato, trying not to laugh. “Mhm. Just a little something for you. I wasn’t really hungry anyways.”

He sets his fork down with slow, measured control. Like he’s about to interrogate a war criminal.

“You’re telling me I’ve got a full English over here and you’re working with the prison sampler? That’s what you’re telling me?”

You nod, swinging your legs like a proud toddler.

“Darling,” he says, voice tight, “do you think I’d eat a single bloody bite knowing that’s all you’ve got?”

You start giggling.

He leans back in his chair. “Oh, I see. It’s one of your little tests, isn’t it?”

You're halfway to snorting in laughter at this point. “I don’t know what you mean.” You quirk an eyebrow, try so hard not to look at the camera you've set up on the counter, half hidden on the bowl of fruit.

He stands. Scoops half his plate onto yours. Makes sure you’ve got the biggest sausage and the best-looking piece of toast.

Then sits. Folds his arms. Smirks.

“Eat up, sweetheart. You’ve got five seconds before I feed it to you myself.”

You take a dramatic bite and wink, giggling at him, cheeks flushed and thats when he realizes it was a set up. "You're a brat!" He looks around wildly, spots your phone with narrow eyes. “Do you even love me?” You cackle, grinning from ear to ear as you spear the sausage he gave you. “You gave me the crispy edge. I might marry you again.” He gave it to you purposely, remembering that your love your sausage a bit crispy. You loved it when he remembered the small things like that.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick — “Eat with me or we're throwing hands!”

You hand Kyle his plate while he’s scrolling on his phone, all comfy on the couch with a hoodie slouched over his head. He glances up, grinning.

“Damn, babe. This smells fire.”

Then he looks at your plate.

Correction: your napkin-sized sadness sampler. Two bites max.

“…your tummy upset or somethin'?” He freezes. “Where’s your food?”

You smile. “That’s all I could make!”

Immediate chaos.

He sits up SO FAST he almost launches his plate into orbit.

“HUH??”

You jump back, surprised. “Just had enough ingredients for yours, I didn’t want to waste anything—”

“NOPE. Nope nope nope.” He puts his plate down like it personally offended him. “That’s not food. That’s a snack for a rabbit. What do you mean that’s all you could make??”

You giggle, picking at your egg like it’s a feast. “It’s fine! You eat, baby.”

He stands. Hands on hips. Jaw locked. “No. You’re not about to starve yourself while I sit here eating like a king. You crazy?”

He’s already in the kitchen.

You follow, giggling into your phone that you had hidden on the mantle, filming his reaction. “Kyle, it’s okay—”

“I’m throwing something in the pan RIGHT NOW. You’re gonna eat with me or we’re throwing hands.”

You're leaning against the doorway, full blown laughing. “It was a prank, dummy.”

He peeks around the corner of the fridge, where he's digging around for something to make you. Eyes narrowed.

“…You made more food, didn’t you?”

You hold up the real plate from under the towel on the counter. “Obviously.”

He exhales like he just survived a hostage negotiation.

“You’re evil.”

Simon “Ghost” Riley — " one egg and a prayer.”

He’s already suspicious when you start plating in silence.

Simon watches from the kitchen table as you slide a plate in front of him stacked high with food. Then you sit across from him with your… crime scene portion.

He stares at it. "What's that?" Points his fork at it like he's afraid to touch it, like it's a bomb that could go off.

“That’s all I could make!” You sit across from him, dancing in your seat like you normally do when you're about to chow down.

His head tilts. Slowly. Dangerously.

“…You serious?”

You blink. “Mhm!”

He sets his fork down. Leans forward, forearms on the table.

“You trying to make me mad?”

You start to giggle.

“Oh, it’s funny to you. It’s funny?” he says, pointing at your little bite-sized depression lunch. “That’s all you made for yourself? While you gave me enough to feed a bloody bear?”

You shrug. “You’re the big strong man, I just wanted you to have enough!”

Simon gasps, as if he's actually offended. “That’s not sweet. That’s a hate crime.”

You roll your eyes, glance discreetly over to your phone recording on the stove. “You’re overreacting.”

“You’re gonna sit there and eat one egg and a prayer, and I’m just supposed to be okay with that?” He's absolutely flabbergasted by you, insulted, even!

You laugh until he pushes half his plate onto yours and takes your fork.

“You eat, or I’m putting you in a high chair.”

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish — “YOU ATE ONE SINGLE TOMATO???”

You hand him a plate that would bring tears to Gordon Ramsay’s eyes.

He gasps. “Babe! This looks AMAZING—” His fork is already lifted and ready to dig in, his position shifted to the one he does when he's about to demolish some food.

Then he sees yours.

A spoonful of rice. Half a chicken nugget. A single grape.

He blinks. “Wait. Wait wait wait. What’s that?”

You smile, sit down across from him. “That’s all I could make!”

He stands up. So fast the chair SCREECHES.

“YOU ATE ONE GRAPE??”

“I’m fine!”

“YOU’RE NOT. I CAN SEE YOUR WHOLE SOUL. YOU’RE TRANSLUCENT.” His hand clutches his chest, dramatically as if you're hurting his heart. You glance subtly to the camera recording him, wishing that you could say he's not usually this dramatic, but, you knew it'd be a lie.

“I just wanted you to have enough, babe!”

Johnny's lip quivers at your words, and you swear to god there's tears in his eyes. “I’D RATHER STARVE THAN SEE YOU EAT LIKE A DAMN PIXIE.”

He storms into the kitchen like a man possessed. Pulls out a pan. Grabs eggs. Slams a banana on the counter like a weapon.

You’re howling.

“It was a joke!! There’s more food!! I plated yours first for the bit!!”

He stomps back, throws a new plate in your lap. “Eat.”

You grin devilishly. "I'm sorry baby, do you still love me?”

“I’m feeding you, aren't i?" He sighs, rubbing a massive hand down his face. "im gonna divroce you if you don't stop saying things that make me cry, love."

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