#but god my heart HURTS just thinking about her

[witchesverse]

house wife

pairing: dark!50swanda x fem!reader

summary: after wanda meets you in her hex, she decides that she wants to keep you as her own.

content: noncon, heavy manipulation, degradation, mention of murder, crying, cheating (kinda??), nipple touching, fingering, clit rubbing, spitting, face slapping, mention of training.

a/n: half way writing this i realised wanda didn't have her children in the 50s so just pretend she did so i don't need to rewrite it :(

masterlist

The moment she met you, she was hooked. Everything about you drew her in. It made her heart flutter at how you genuinely cared for others and that beautiful, shy smile that would spread across your face at one of her compliments.

And it made her stomach flip at how utterly perfect your body was.

When she created the hex, it was out of grief and the yearning for a family with her dead husband, Vision. But once she met you, that idea was disregarded, and then her children and Vision disappeared.

She didn't care for her family's disappearance. She was too focused on the fact that she could finally have you.

The real you.

"Oh, hiya, Wanda!" Your cheerful voice brought a smile to her face.

You stood at your front door, holding a cookie tray with an apron wrapped around your waist. Wanda thought you looked adorable.

"Oh no, I hope I'm not intruding on your baking time, sweetheart." Wanda's voice was laced with faux concern.

You immediately shook your head, seemingly baffled by the question Wanda had asked. "Of course not! Your presence would never intrude on my time. In fact, why don't you come and sit whilst I finish baking?"

"Are you sure? I don't-"

"I insist."

Wanda bit her tongue, holding herself back from snapping at you and spanking your arse over her thigh. How dare you cut her off.

You stepped back, letting Wanda enter your house.

Your house was big for one person; it makes Wanda think someone else lived here before the hex.

"Make yourself at home!" You gestured to the living room, "I'll just pop these in the oven."

Instead of sitting on the couch, Wanda followed you to the kitchen and watched you. She held back a moan at how perfect your arse looked as you bent down to place the cookies in the oven.

She wanted to be slow and give you time to warm up to her, but you looked too perfect to resist, especially with how your dress revealed your panties to her.

"Come here," Wanda spoke with such authority that you immediately obeyed.

She softly grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to look at her. She smiled at how easily you complied.

Such a dumb, pretty thing.

She dragged her thumb over your lips and your mouth dropped slightly. Her chuckle brought you back into 'reality'.

"Um," You cleared your throat and stepped away from her. Wanda hid the anger in her face.

She stepped forward, sandwiching you between herself and the kitchen counter. She placed one hand on the counter and the other on your temple.

She lifted the spell.

Your eyes widened and your sweet, soft look was replaced by pure fear. You tried to run, but Wanda prepared for that and her magic kept you in place.

"Y-You did this," You whimpered "Please, let me go. I'll do anything, please."

Wanda smiled innocently, "Anything?"

"My wife-" You gasped, "Is she here? God, I haven't seen her in weeks. Please let her go if she's here. I promise-"

Wanda covered your mouth with her hand. She didn't want to hear about your wife. She wished she trapped your stupid wife in her hex so she could kill her.

"If you comply, I promise I won't hurt her." It was a simple lie, but you believed it.

She used her thumb to wipe your tears away. She couldn't have you crying already.

"Strip for me."

She watched with an amused grin as your brain struggled to process her request, but when it did, heat rose to your cheeks. With shaky hands, you removed your clothing until you were bare and on complete display for Wanda.

Wanda's fingers brushed against your erect nipples and her other hand wrapped around your throat, pushing you onto the counter. You whimpered as your back hit the cold counter.

"So perfect," Wanda muttered, more to herself than you.

Her fingers dragged down your stomach, goosebumps rising, until she stopped at your cunt. She lightly circled your clit and you whimpered in response.

Then, her fingers went lower. She tsked, shaking her head and brought her fingers up. They were drenched.

“I’m not…” You swallowed, unable to finish your sentence.

“You’re not what? Enjoying this?” Wanda rolled her eyes “Don’t give me that bullshit because you’re drenched.”

You looked away, tears filling your eyes. You were embarrassed.

Wanda sighed. She had a lot of behavioural corrections to do.

She grabbed your chin, turning you to face her. You watched with teary eyes as Wanda spat on your cunt, spreading her spit with her fingers.

One of her fingers slowly entered, curling upwards and pulling out. She kept a steady pace, figuring out what made you scream. It was understimulating.

"More,"

Your demand was whispered and weak, but Wanda heard it.

"Say it with manners."

"Please, can I have more?"

You nearly cried. The guilt of begging another woman to fuck you ate you up, yet you couldn't stop yourself.

Wanda rewarded you with another finger, stretching you out. Your hips desperately rutted into her palm, chasing the pleasure. It was brain-numbing how good her fingers felt.

She slipped a third finger inside. It was embarrassing how drenched you were. You could feel your slick dripping down your ass and were positive it was dripping down Wanda's arm.

Your orgasm hit you suddenly. Your back was arched and your toes curled. Your eyes fluttered closed and your mouth dropped open, letting out the sluttiest moan.

Wanda captured your lips with hers, muffling your moans.

"Can't have people knowing what a whore you are." She mumbled.

You shuddered, wanting to say something snarky in reply but words fell dumb on your tongue.

"My wife-"

Wanda pulled back, anger evident on her face and her palm met your cheek. It wasn't a hard slap, but it made your heart drop and tears fill your eyes.

"So much training is needed."

Her fingers touched your temples and you were put under her spell again. She stepped back and sucked her fingers clean, watching your reaction intently.

You cleared your throat and looked around, confusion written on your face. You ran your hands over your naked body and jumped when you noticed Wanda standing there.

"My goodness!" You picked your clothes off the floor, shielding yourself from Wanda. "Sorry, Wanda. I-I don't remember getting naked but give me three seconds to tidy myself up and I'll meet you in the living room!"

Wanda grinned as she watched you walk away.

Brainless little plaything.

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Not Dead Yet | Part 01

-> Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x Medium-Fem!Reader

-> Sypnosis: After a strange encounter, Jeonghan wakes up outside of his body. The only person who can see him is Y/N, a woman with a gift (or curse as she would call it) who is able to see and communicate with the deceased. But Jeonghan isn't dead... not yet anyway.

-> Warnings: Supernatural au. There is a mention of God's and collapsing. Jeonghan is a bit of a heart breaker/player. Only mentioned once that reader has dark hair. This was going to be just a prologue but it ended up a chapter.

-> Word Count: 1,605

-> Taglist: open. Leave a comment on the masterlist post, send an ask or fill out the Tag List Form.

Not Dead Yet Masterlist | SEVENTEEN M.List

As Jeonghan walks with Ji-Ah, the woman he’s been seeing for the last three weeks, alongside the Han River, he takes this moment to do what he’s been trying to do all night. He drops her hand as he stops walking and turns to face the river, his arms resting on the railing. Ji-Ah notices the shift in the atmosphere as soon as Jeonghan lets go of her hand. The warmth of his touch is replaced by a sudden chill in the air. With concern, she turns to face him but before she could say anything, he starts to speak.  

“Ji-Ah,” he begins, his voice feigning regret. “I’m sorry, this just isn't working for me.”   

“What do you mean?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ve only just started getting to know each other.”  

He can hear the hurt in her voice but he feels no sympathy. “Listen, Ji-Ah,” he continues, starting his well-rehearsed go-to break up speech, “You’re an incredible woman. It’s just that I don’t think we’re a good match. I’m sure there’s someone wonderful out there for you. I just don’t think I’m that person.” 

“But it’s my birthday,” she whispers, her voice trembling as she fights back tears. 

"Aish," he mutters under his breath, recalling the reason they had gone out for dinner in the first place. For a fleeting moment, he feels a pang of guilt but quickly suppresses it. 

“I thought we had something special,” she sobs, unable to contain her tears any longer.  

"It's only been three weeks," he blurts out, not realizing the words had escaped him until he sees her expression, a mix of hurt and disbelief with tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“Do you even care?” Ji-Ah’s voice is barely above a whisper as it cuts through her cries.  

“Of course I care,” he says looking at her with faux sympathy and feeling slightly awkward that this wasn’t ending as quickly as he hoped. After all, they’d only been on four dates in the span of three weeks. According to him, that wasn’t a long enough time to get attached to someone. “I’m doing this because I care about you. I don’t want to waste your time on something that’s never going to work out. This way, you can find someone who truly deserves you and is worth your time.” 

“So, this is it?” she asks wiping her tears away. 

“I’m afraid so,” he nods.  

“Okay,” she says trying to put on a brave face and forget the embarrassment and hurt that’s coursing through her. “Thank you for making my birthday awful. I hope I never see you again.” 

“I hope so too,” he says, his words once again slipping out before he could stop them.  

“Maybe you’re right,” she concedes, her expression taking on one of offence. “This wouldn’t have worked out because you’re an asshole. I feel sorry for your next girlfriend.” With that she walks away deliberately bumping her shoulder against him as she passes. 

He grumbles to himself about how that could have gone a lot quicker and pulls out his phone, finding the number of the woman he met the day before and quickly sends her a text 'plans fell through. Do you want to meet up in 30 minutes?'.  

With a smile on his face, he makes his way back towards where his car is parked occasionally checking his phone for a reply. As he reaches his car, he finds a strange man wearing a black top hat, a bright orange suede jacket and horrendous green pants leaning against the tailgate. His expression is blank, not giving Jeonghan any indication of what his motives could be, but his deep brown eyes are fixed intently on him making Jeonghan feel like he was looking right into his soul. 

"Can I help you?" he asks the man with a hint of annoyance.  

"When are you going to stop breaking these lovely ladies' hearts?" the man replies, his voice calm and steady. "Yoon Jeonghan.” 

"Do I know you?" He asks, his eyes widening slightly. He’s 99% sure he’s never seen this man before this moment. 

“You don’t, but I’ve been watching you,” he replies, moving away from the car and steps closer to him. The man’s gaze remains steady, and Jeonghan feels a shiver run down his spine. There’s something unsettling about the way this stranger seems to know him. It’s as if he’s been examined under a microscope.  

Jeonghan shifts his weight, attempting to shake off the sudden wave of vulnerability that washes over him. "Look, I don’t know who you are or how you think you know me, but I’m not interested in whatever you have to say." 

The stranger chuckles softly, a sound that feels oddly out of place given the tension in the air. "Oh, but you should be, Yoon Jeonghan. I’m not here to lecture you on your romantic escapades. In fact, I’m here to give you a warning." 

“A warning?” Jeonghan furrows his brow, trying to make sense of the cryptic words. The man’s presence is unsettling, and the way he speaks feels almost as if he’s reciting lines from a play or a movie. “What warning? And how can I trust you? I don’t even know your name.”  

“You don’t need to know my name right now,” the man tells him. “The only person who will be able to see you will know my name and that’s when you’ll learn it.” 

"I really don’t have time for this," Jeonghan sighs, shaking his head as he goes to take a step past him to get into his car. "I have plans that I need to get to.” 

"Plans, you say?” The man says, tilting his head slightly, as if considering Jeonghan’s words. “I’m afraid the only plans you have are with the Gods.” 

Caught by surprise, Jeonghan turns back to the man, confusion written on his face. “The Gods? I don-” 

“Oops,” the man winces as he clicks his fingers and Jeonghan collapses to the ground unconscious. “Probably should have given him a heads-up first,” he says and then shrugs before walking away. “I did try to warn him.” 

When jeonghan finally regains awareness, he sits up and finds himself in a hospital room. The faint beeping of machines that monitor his vitals, rings loudly in his ears, the smell of antiseptic fills his nostrils and the fluorescent lights are harsh against his eyes. Before he could panic about how he ended up in hospital, the man from earlier enters his mind. The stranger’s words echo inside his head, a haunting reminder of the bizarre encounter they had and the warning he tried to give him. 

Wanting to find a nurse or doctor so he could get discharged knowing there can't be anything wrong with him, he gets out of bed and makes his way to the door.  

As he exits the room, a nurse walks by. He tries to get her attention by calling to her but she continues as if she doesn't hear him. Thinking she was being rude. He tries again as another nurse walks past him but she too ignores him. 

"Excuse me!" Jeonghan raises his voice, desperation slowly sinking into his tone. "Can someone please help me? I want to go home."  

But the nurses and other hospital staff continue past him, their expressions blank. It's as if he’s nothing more than a ghost haunting the halls of the hospital.  

Frustration bubbles within him, and he takes a step forward, determined to find someone who will acknowledge his presence. The fluorescent lights hum overhead and his heart races as he wanders down the corridor. He glances into the rooms he passes, catching glimpses of patients lying in beds, some asleep, some having visits with family members and others staring blankly at the ceiling with nothing else to do. 

Finally, he spots a doctor in a white coat, clipboard in hand, walking briskly toward him. Jeonghan rushes to intercept him. "Excuse me! Can you help me? I need to know what happened to me," he pleads, his voice tinged with urgency. But just like the nurses, the doctor brushes past him as if he were invisible.  

Feeling confused and overwhelmed, Jeonghan sinks into a chair meant for waiting families. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, mumbling to himself.  

Eventually he lifts his head, glancing around the waiting area. The chairs are filled with families, most of their faces etched with worry or relief, some with boredom, but none of them seem to notice him. The weight of everything that’s happening starts to get to him, and he fights back the urge to scream and demand for someone to see him. 

Taking a deep breath, he stands up, a spark of determination igniting within him. Just as he prepares to approach the doctor at the nurse's station, the elevator doors across from him slide open. His heart races as he sees a figure step out, exuding a warmth and confidence that draws him in. Her dark hair is slightly tousled, as if she just rolled out of bed, and her outfit—a black faux leather jacket, a white shirt, ripped jeans, and white sneakers—makes him think she’s not part of the hospital staff. 

Before he can make another move, she looks up, their eyes connecting, and for the first time since waking up, he feels truly seen and is reminded of what the odd man from earlier said. 

“The only person who will be able to see you will know my name.” 

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

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[blindmagdalena]

The Undone and the Divine

18+ 2k lady homelander x f!reader. pwp, wlw, loss of virginity, fingering, cunnilingus, dirty talk, pet names. written for an anonymous requester. 🖤

To kiss, to taste, to devour. Homelander is as close as the world will ever come to knowing what it's like to walk among gods. She's powerful, petulant, all consuming, and she knows exactly how to show you the pearly white gates of heaven.

Touching Homelander is akin to holding fire in your palms. It’s something that should be impossible, and yet time and time again she returns to you, her every muscle thrumming with the barely contained power of a god. There’s a ceaseless wonder to it. 

Even so, nothing could have prepared you for this. For seeing all of her. She’s radiant in her beauty, her body lithe and free of blemish. The light behind her head gives her blonde hair an angel-like glow, and the press of her lips on yours is nothing short of divine.

You’re both stripped bare on her bed, your respective clothes shed in a trail from the bedroom to her couch, where kissing became heavy petting.

The mirrors surrounding you make this feel like a shrine dedicated to the woman over you, and you whisper her name like a prayer between kisses.

“Your heart’s pounding like a drum,” she murmurs, kissing the salty-sweet sheen of sweat from your neck. “You’re all full of adrenaline. Don’t tell me you’re scared,” she says, her voice a feline purr.

“A little,” you admit breathlessly. “I’m not good with pain.”

She knows you’re inexperienced, though you’ve been purposefully vague on how inexperienced. Just thinking the word “virgin” is enough to make you cringe inwardly.

Lifting herself up to meet your gaze, she tilts her head, flaxen hair falling over her shoulder. “It’s not supposed to hurt,” she tells you, touching your lips with the pad of her thumb. “That’s a stupid lie told by stupider men. I won’t hurt you.”

You press a kiss to her thumb. “Maybe not every time, but… What about the first time?”

Understanding dawns in her eyes. You flush, averting your gaze.

“Is that how it is? Well, I’ll be damned. My sweet, pretty girl,” she croons, somehow both warm and wicked in the way she nuzzles at you, laughing softly. “My little virgin.”

“Stop,” you groan, covering your face with both hands.

“Ah, ah, there’s no hiding from me.” Homelander easily pries your hands away. She dives in to kiss you, coaxing your lips until they move with hers. 

“No shame. No fear. No pain,” she says, her palms sliding slowly down the length of your body. She settles herself between your legs, your knees hiked up over her hips. 

“Well… Unless it turns out you like a little pain.”

You bite your lip, watching her with a mix of thrill and apprehension.

“Here’s the thing, sweetheart.” Her middle finger drags a slow line down between your breasts, over your stomach, her lips softly parted in focus.

“Your hymen? It’s not a seal. It’s a liiiittle arc of tissue,” she says, voice too light and casual for the way her fingers are now traipsing down between your legs. 

“It doesn’t need to tear. It doesn’t need to bleed. Not if we take our time,” she says, eyes flickering up to your face. Her lips curl into a devious smile. “Not if we get you nice and wet.”

Your breath catches as she slides two fingers down either side of your clit, rubbing so close to where you want her to touch you most.

“It’s not just about the clit. Not about what you can stuff inside it. No one without a pussy is going to understand, but all of this”—she follows the outer curves of you, skirting your quivering cunt—“is part of the show.”

She swallows up your shuddering breath with a hungry kiss. For as long as you’ve known the taste of her lips, Homelander has been hungry. She’s a devouring force, always eager to envelope you. To hoard you for herself. 

What’s new to you now is the urgency behind her fervor, how she moves with jagged impatience even as her fingers stroke with maddening slowness.

The juxtaposition of the two is enough to have you writhing under her.

She slips her tongue into your mouth, beckons yours to move with hers.

“Touch me,” she urges, words hot and quiet between your mouths.

Your hands move to obey before you even process her words. You cup her face, push your hands into her hair, nails scraping her scalp for the way it makes her sigh in pleasure. You let your hands roam without rhyme or reason, stroking and learning every part of her.

Though her skin is satiny, the flexing muscles beneath are as coiled steel under your hands.

There’s nothing as thrilling as so viscerally feeling the strength of her in her every movement, and knowing through that just how unbelievably gently she’s handling you.

It makes your clit throb even harder, aching to be touched.

She leans over you, bracing her hand on the headboard, and you seize the opportunity to kiss her neck as she had yours, peppering kisses down her throat to her clavicle. She hums sweetly, cupping the back of your head, encouraging you with the scrape of her nails.

You suck her petal-soft skin gently at first, and then harder. You’d leave a mark on any other, but not her.

“That’s it, baby,” she sighs. “Use your teeth.”

You bite. Hard. For as gentle as she needs to be with you, you must be rougher for her to really feel you. You imagine it must be little more than a tickle for the sweet way it makes her laugh, the sound of it throaty and full of need.

“Atta girl,” she moans, tracing circles, teasing you terribly. 

You feel yourself clench around nothing, hyper aware of how empty you feel. How much you want those fingers inside you. That pulse between your legs is radiating throughout your entire body, turning every inch of you into a live wire.

“Please,” you keen, shifting, trying to angle your hips so that you might feel her where you want her most. “I’m ready, please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart. You beg pretty,” she says, leaning back. 

Her cheeks are flushed a pretty shade of pink, her hair disheveled by your hands. A lance of pride moves through you; it’s not every day a mere mortal debauches a god.

With a wicked curve to her kiss-bitten lips, she presses her thumb to your sensitive clit.

“Do it again.”

“Please!” You gasp, bucking under her touch. “Please, please, it’s so–I’m so sensitive.” 

By the time just the tip of her middle finger presses into you, the wet squelch of it is audible, even with your shuddering gasps. However, much to your dismay, she lifts her hand away.

You make a confused, indignant noise, but any further protests die on your lips as you watch her suck her two first fingers into her mouth, her scorching blue eyes dark with thirst.

She wets them thoroughly before returning her hand between your thighs, dropping back over you to kiss the faint trace of your own tangy flavor into your mouth.

“Even better than I imagined,” she says between kisses. You wrap your arms around her neck, so taken by the press of her lips that the slip of her finger catches you by surprise.

You gasp, but she hushes you.

“Don’t tense up on me now, pretty girl,” she says, her voice little more than a rasp. “Let me in.”

You nod, letting out a calming breath, fighting to let go of the tension in your body.

She focuses her attention on your neck, kissing her way down to the swell of your breasts. She nips playfully at your left nipple before taking it properly into the heat of her mouth. She gives a pleasant hum, the vibrations of her voice making you shiver with pleasure.

You push your hands into her hair, down her neck, cupping the back of her head to cradle her there, squirming between the skill of her fingers and her tongue. Her first finger slips into you with such ease, the curve of her finger pressing on your inner walls actually surprises you.

She was right. There’s no pain, just the sweet fill of her inside you.

“More,” you gasp, grinding down on her finger. “I want more.”

Though she doesn’t succumb immediately to your demand, she does distract you with the faintest scrape of teeth over your nipple. She sucks, swirls her tongue and pulls off with a wet pop only to descend upon your other breast. 

Goosebumps erupt across your body at the sudden temperature shift. You’re focused on that when she does slip a second finger in, and this time you do feel a slight ache for the stretch of it. Still, it’s nothing compared to what you had built it up to be in your mind.

It feels amazing.

“You smell so fucking good,” she all but growls, kissing and nipping her way down your torso. “I need to taste your pussy.”

She manhandles you effortlessly into position, shouldering between your legs and sinking down onto the bed. It all happens so fast that you barely have a chance to process before that same hot, velvet plush tongue is pressing against your clit.

Your whole body jerks, but she holds you in place with just one hand. Her fingers rock in and out, curling in on every deep plunge. Her mouth had felt good elsewhere, but it’s unreal between your thighs.

She laps and sucks at you, swirling her tongue in nonsensical patterns, drinking you down with abandon. The sound of it is obscene, easily heard even as you moan aloud your pleasure.

“Oh god, oh my god, god, please, I’m–” you bite your tongue, pushing and pulling at her hair before you settle on pulling her closer, losing yourself to the building crescendo of pleasure overtaking your mind and your body.

The pressure of it is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, an ache so intense that the pressure of it crawls all the way up your spine.

Your vision goes white. Your body locks up and your voice disappears somewhere far away, leaving you aware of nothing but the overwhelming release that crashes against you like the ocean against the shore.

The pleasure isn’t centralized to your clit the way it has been in the past: this orgasm spreads to the tips of your toes, your fingers, your scalp.

Homelander soothes you through it, her hand sliding up and down your inner thigh, her fingers fucking you slow and steady. She laps lazily at your clit while it throbs and throbs, nuzzling in with a pleased noise.

When you regain use of your fingers, you detangle them from her hair so that you can pet her head, the world around you still spinning.

“Oh my god,” you echo softly, the words slurred around the edge. “S’never… been like that.”

“That’s because you’ve never been fucked by me,” she says, head turned to kiss your inner thigh, her fingers motionless inside you as she savors the fading tremors of your orgasm. As if reticent to feel the loss of your warmth, she leaves her fingers where they are even as she settles next to you, slipping her other arm underneath you to pull you close.

When she kisses you now, there’s nothing faint about your flavor. It’s heady and salty-sweet, made all the better by how languidly she licks it into your mouth.

The two of you spend a long while tangled up like that, taking your time coming down from the high. When her fingers do slip free, you feel the loss of them as keenly as any other.

“Aren’t you lucky I got to you first?” She asks, smiling against your lips. “To think you could’ve had your virginity fumbled by some jackass jabbing your taint with his dry, sad–”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pressing your palm over her mouth. “Yes, yes, you’re right. And crude. Thank you.”

She takes hold of your hand and kisses your palm, nipping playfully at the meaty part just below your thumb. She nuzzles into your hand and sighs, looking every bit the proverbial cat that got the cream, her eyes falling shut.

A little sting of insecurity bites at you.

“I didn’t take care of you.”

Homelander’s eyes crack open, one of her arched brows lifting. “You want to?”

You nod eagerly.

She grins.

“Roll over.”

[viiscontis]

what’s good gang i have come back on this acc to share my thoughts

since till’s cover of all-in just came out, it got me thinking about how AMAZING the cover choices have been so far. the thing i love the most about them is the fact that the meaning of the songs get completely re-contextualized depending on who gets to sing them. the most obvious example is sua’s cover of ruler of my heart - where luka’s version is meant to mock mizi’s idea of love (repeatedly using religious imagery such as “my god” “my savior”, which are words that mizi associated with sua), sua’s version was a genuine profession of love. in another example, ivan’s version of black sorrow is meant to express the pain of unrequited love, whereas mizi’s version is grieving the loss of sua.

the cover choices also have symbolic meanings directly attached to their characters. luka’s cover of sweet dream highlights the fact that just like all the other contestants, he too his a victim of their cruel system. till’s cover of all-in is meant to be the perfect irony: the guy who willingly chose to stay in alien stage for the girl he loves is singing about being free and living for himself.

anyways, i’m rambling here

what i originally was trying to get at is that i hope that luka will get to cover cure in the future. lyrically, the song PERFECTLY describes his love for hyuna. he loves her even if it hurts her. even if it hurts himself. i feel like the lyrics of cure perfectly encapsulate luka’s feelings for her

[waaayoutofline]

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1492

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda, darling, come here, please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Darling, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most of these were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show these? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

[the-letterbox-archives]

is there a muse or inspiration you draw from when it comes to your stories? you just have so many and i’m wondering what fountain of immortal writing youth you drank from, dawg LMAO

last ask before signing off! but this is such a fun one to think about!

i don't have one surefire source of inspiration (other than my chronically silly brain), each story has a different landing pad that usually consists of a random thing that i've taken inspiration from, and a question to drive the work (some are very edgy or philosophical haha). they come from incredibly random sources, but i can list the ones i remember!

tales from a dying heart

where it came from: i wanted to write an anthology as a break from my old novella structure, and i was thinking about love. obviously i had to fuck it up because god forbid anything on the archives is happy. fun fact: that was originally the only story the archives was meant to hold! it was the first and only story, and the blog used to be themed after tales from a dying heart entirely (that's why my current pfp is still the heart itself)!

driving question: "why does love hurt people?"

the rockdove promise

where it came from: originally a group project that i had the idea for (i was itching to write something with mythology and more classic fantasy if that makes sense). when the others couldn't continue it, i had already fallen in love with the world and gods, so i added more to the worldbuilding, and added characters i was passionate about (and found my first ever character punching bag, laszlo).

driving question: "how can we save what we care about from oppressive control?"

insincere.

where it came from: i had one of my worst days where i couldn't get out of bed. i had the idea to channel the feelings into a story, so i got out of bed, and wrote insincere., then decided i wanted to keep it going after my initial bad day.

driving question: "how can we feel happy?"

on kingston alley

where it came from: someone, i think it was @noxxytocin, added me in a tag game that involved writing a scene with the provided line. i was a young, growing archivist back then and didn't understand the concept, so i wrote a short screenplay, giving it a fun mystery hook (because i felt like it) and some repressed sapphics, then decided to continue it because the format was so freeing!

driving question: "why do we forget the victims?"

school rules

where it came from: a novel i abandoned because the format wasn't clicking. i axed the mc, replaced them with sunny and remade the old mc to be what is now darcy spencer, and changed the format to my first ever first person story since my first novella!

driving question: "how does academic pressure hurt us?"

the dumaresq poems

where it came from: i was getting overwhelmed with my own expectations for uploads from the rest of volume 1, so i dug up some old poems of mine, rewrote them a bit, and put a cute woodsy aesthetic over it!

driving question: "how can poetry tell us emotional stories?"

the hunt is a dance

where it came from: another project with a friend that fell through, it didn't change much from then. i took the friends desired ideals of religious and folk horror and intertwined it with my own narratives of power, hatred, and misguided justice.

driving question: "why do we bend to corruption, and how can we stop?"

TITANSPINE

where it came from: @ominous-feychild and i were discussing some of her lore, and we both bonded over our love of telepaths/prophets in stories. i had always been fascinated by urban fantasy and had a vague desire to make it, but magic systems are so hard for me. that conversation sparked a drive to actually make it. i named it red velvet, then barlowe told me to change the it (thanks for that btw), and i created the protagonist that shaped the whole story and it's themes.

driving question: "how can we fight social and police corruption?"

n3xt y3ar

where it came from: scandal after scandal, feud after feud about the existence of generative ai and it snubbing real creatives tipped me over the edge, so i wrote n3xt y3ar out of spite, imbuing it with a main character near and dear to my heart due to our similarities, and a world i both loathe and fear. let's see a robot make a story with that motivation. fuckers.

driving question: "how do us creatives find hope in a world of generative ai?"

soleil éteint

where it came from: i wanted to write another fiction podcast style story (school rules technically being the first), and i was on a magnus archives high. i'm fascinated by fear in the real world, and dreams in writing, so with the motivation of some great fiction podcasts, i began writing soleil éteint, which flowed very quickly since screenplays and podcasts are quite easy for me to write as it turns out!

driving question: "how can we stop running away from fear?"

shatter the shield

where it came from: i realised i was long overdue for some tragic gays, and i wanted to experiment with a more distinct narrator without writing a fully discursive piece like a podcast or screenplay. as i was writing the prologue, i knew the narrator, kåre, wasn't the main character. but the love i gave him for the main character, roshan, was so palpable, it made me want to continue the story. i knew by how i wrote it that kåre was going to die, and soon, but i think that added an extra level to the themes of the story.

driving question: "why can't we accept love, and why can't we process grief?"

and of course, volumes 3 and 4 come from even more random places lmao- hope this explained my random writing process!

[boywifesammy]

imagine repressed & closeted transfem dean who never figures it out. imagine the sheer amount of guilt, fear, self-hatred and disgust he’d feel at what he is. big, clunky, dangerous. he takes comfort in his power, but it makes him feel sick. when he looks into the mirror and sees his hard edges, his body feels like it’s trying to rip open from the inside, yet he has no idea why.

dean plays his father’s wife until he dies. he takes care of sam and raises him as if he’s his own son. he’s a housewife in everything but reality. he desperately wants family, desperately wants to nurture, but his body isn’t built for that.

he’s taught by john and the world that he has to be strong. he has to be a man. he can never show emotion, because it’ll only be a weakness, and weakness is deadly. dean can never have a family because his body is wrong and he can never love like a woman because he cannot be weak.

so dean holds tight to those little moments of female connection with sam and his father like a dirty secret. he lays in bed at night and pretends he doesn’t think about being softer and lovelier. he stares at himself in motel mirrors until it makes him sick. he builds muscle and crops his hair short because this thing inside of him terrifies the hell out of him and he has to do anything to keep it at bay.

women comment on his looks a lot. when he’s young, they call him pretty, beautiful, gorgeous. they compliment his soft green eyes and plush lips and spattering of freckles. secretly, dean loves it. it makes that thing inside of him flare up in joy, which is why he knows that this is dangerous, and not something to be indulged. he stays up at night obsessing. shaves every morning and runs his fingers over his soft cheeks, flutters his long eye lashes, tries to find the soft edges of his cheekbones.

this thing is slowly eating away at him. the closer he gets to it the more volatile he feels. he jerks off under the blankets with a hand over his mouth to stifle the gasping, whimpery sounds he makes. the sound of his own voice scares him. his throat chokes up when a guy hits on him and john gives him a glare. one time he puts a finger up his ass and comes so hard that he sees stars, not because of the stimulation, but just from the idea of being wet and slick and pliant between his legs.

dean loves women and it makes him feel sick to the very core. he wishes that he loved women in a normal way. instead, he sees their curvy bodies and an awful, disgusting mixture of greed-lust-jealousy rocks through him. it’s all a strange, roundabout way of wrecking himself, because it’s extremely easy to play the role they want him to play, but god if it doesn’t hurt like hell.

dean loves fucking women. he’s desperate in bed but he’s always sure to be gentle with his thrusts. it makes him feel less disgusting. he likes shoving his face into a chick’s pussy, eating her out until she’s dripping, or nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he fucks her wet cunt. he likes listening to their gasping whines and moans. the feeling of it all makes his teeth clench with guilt; her cunt on his dick, his strong thighs, the way she keeps moaning his name. but it’s so easy to pretend in moments like these.

dean puts his face into her hair, and smells her citrus shampoo as she wails out cries. he doesn’t imagine being her, but he focuses on her noises, on the softness of her body and the wetness of her pussy. he always cums silently, his entire body quivering and shaking, because he’s too scared of the noise that’d come out of his mouth if he opened it.

when rhonda hurley makes him wear her panties, he nearly throws up on her carpet from how hard his heart is beating. they’re silky on his dick. rhonda calls him pretty, beautiful, she strokes at his flaccid penis through the panties and kisses messy lines up his belly. dean is hard and shivering by the end of her teasing, leaking through the panties and flushed from head to toe.

rhonda is both the best fuck that dean ever has and his worst fears coming to life. she calls him good girl as he fucks her. it ends embarrassingly early. when dean cums, it’s with a gasping cry of her name and a girly little keen that haunts his nightmares. he doesn’t remember ever cumming so hard in his life. he shook with aftershocks for minutes after, dazed and disgusted with himself.

rhonda gives dean her number. he never calls her back. after dean leaves that town, he burns the panties and stops shaving his stubble so short. memories of rhonda make him angry. he sinks into hunting and drinks until he’s cross-eyed. dean takes solace in the horror of violence. he bathes himself in that disgust and he feels right at home in the middle of it.

sometimes, dean can’t sleep at night from how sick he feels. he tries to figure out why, but he can’t place the reason. it eats him up inside. makes him feel like a monster. he thinks that he may just be a disgusting freak of a man.

as dean gets older the comments about him getting pretty melt away. he knows he’s objectively extremely attractive, in a male model sort of way, but it doesn’t match up with the images in his head.

the thoughts get more and more humiliating as time goes on. he’s not a twink anymore and he can’t be fantasizing about being fem, but he can’t stop it. he stays up at night itching in his own skin, brutally aware that he’d look hideous and disgusting in anything girly. his body is too big and bulky. he’s a freak for being into that sort of thing.

dean eventually admits to himself that he might be a little gay. he keeps it on the dl, visits gay bars when they hit more liberal cities, and doesn’t ever repeat the same place. he likes being dressed up and bent over. he chalks it all up to a crossdressing fetish, and while that’s humiliating and sickening, it’s easier than having to deal with whatever it is that’s going on with him.

dean aches inside perpetually because he is flawed. he wants to hold his child in his arms and wear dresses and flirt shamelessly with men. he knows he’s a freak for it but he’s accepted that he’s going to perpetually live with this pain.

he gets older and older and the dysphoria gets so fucking bad that he can’t even look in the mirror anymore, but it doesn’t matter at this point. he’s completely disconnected himself from his body. he’s a sick, perverted freak in the body of a man and none of it feels right. he uses his body like a tool, a weapon, and he purposefully keeps it masculine and well-toned to push back any illusions that he’s anything but a man.

and sometimes, he’ll go to gay bars and let himself get railed to incoherence. he’ll drive three towns over while sam’s asleep and put on his makeup in an alleyway nearby. he always looks for men bigger than him. men who’ll call him pretty and beautiful and treat his ass like a cunt.

and if he’s lucky, maybe they’ll let some other words slip. maybe they’ll call him babygirl or darling or play with his pecs like tits as they pound him deep. and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, he’ll get to wear something pink and lacy. sheer panties. a bralet. stockings or a necklace.

he always cums in the first few minutes on those nights. he doesn’t mind being fucked until the other guy finishes, as long as he keeps calling him a good girl for taking it.

dean always throws up in the club bathroom afterwards. he spends hours wiping off all the makeup from his face and sleeps in the impala for the night. he gives himself another wipe the morning after and tells sam that he was out with a one night stand. it technically isn’t a lie.

one time, sam makes a joke about dean being a woman. he pushes. he calls him a pretty lady, and dean is horrified when his eyes wet a bit at it. he can’t take it. he starts the fight, but sam wins it. he pins dean down and starts to yell at him. then he sees that dean is crying. he isn’t making any noise or shaking, but his cheeks are wet.

don’t, is all he says. it hurts like hell to get out. sam seems confused, but he doesn’t question it. he doesn’t make the joke again. dean forgets about the whole thing and pretends he doesn’t feel the weird looks sam sends him sometimes.

dean dies like that, alone and angry, in a body that’s all hard edges and grief and hatred.

he’s the same in heaven. he can’t imagine being any other way. he doesn’t even know what he wants, what would make him happy. most days, he’s happy with driving his impala aimlessly, drinking while watching sunsets and tuning into the world around him. thinking, and thinking, and thinking. about rhonda hurley and her satin panties and his father and the soft, warm thing buried inside of him.

dean doesn’t know why he feels sick inside when he looks at himself, but he’s too broken to ever figure it out. the only thing that he knows is that he doesn’t feel guilt the same in heaven. that means that when he has those strange dreams of warm kisses, strong arms around his tiny waist, and the warm, beating heat of his child’s heart against his own pillowed chest, he can spend some time in bed in the morning trying to recollect the memories without hating himself for it.

[shepscapades]

Hey! i’m really into the dbch story and i was wondering if doc and xisuma ever tell bdubs the specifics of why etho lost his memories, cause if they do that is prime self blaming angst for bdubs

I’m inclined to believe they don’t. Actually (and maybe I should do a small comic for this so more people see it) I imagine, once a month or a few pass and they finally return etho to bdubs as reset, I imagine they are VERY serious about warning bdubs not to try to force Etho to re-deviate— they don’t go into specifics, but they probably tell bdubs that whatever happened had to do with something that was emotionally overwhelming, and that forcing him to redeviate/not letting it happen naturally could trigger the same error. They have no idea what could happen so bdubs needs to be very careful and let Etho find himself again on his own.

Whether or not bdubs gets impatient or can only go so long before he doubts it would be that bad if he tried pushing Etho in the right direction is another story.

But yeah. I don’t think Xisuma or Doc really… tell anyone that this happened. Etho’s error seemed like a very specific one-off scenario, so it’s not something the other hermits should be trying to avoid or be careful about happening to their own android friends, and the only thing telling people would do is make them worried about the situation. All they need to know is that etho was broken and that they need to be careful with him. I don’t agree with their decision to keep what happened to themselves but I understand it I think. Xisuma “i don’t want to worry the hermits” Void and Docm “eh this isn’t the first time I’ve replaced this arm, people won’t question it” 77

[mother-of-houseplants-2]

fiona gallagher // the angry man in the house

[girlrindou]

I GOT SHOT I GOT SHOT I GOT SHOT NO ONE TALK TO ME IM SHANINH IMNGUP

unf tTO DIE IM GONMA DIW THEY KILLED ME MY GIRLFRIMVVF DDDFRVBEGTNNYTHTJ

[chernobyl2]

Darla was acting weird and not eating much the last 2 days and it turns out she had advanced kidney failure and the most humane thing to do is to put her down and it's so fucking unfair she was the sweetest baby ever... at least she's not suffering anymore but it just sucks so fucking bad. She was acting normal a few days ago but apparently even if we brought her in immediately it still would've been too late. I didn't go with my sister to the vet cuz I was gonna stay home and do some chores that idk if I'm gonna be able to get done now cuz I just keep crying :( rest in peace big darla you were an angel :(((

[blindmagdalena]

Ok so binge read anon here again. My last ask got me thinking….. in Gilded Cage he’s already memorized her heartbeat. So I’m just imagining he’s out one day (rally, patrolling,something where he’s in front of a crowd) and senses Y/N’s heart rate increases dramatically. At first he’s likes like “oh? I wonder if she’s thinking about me 😌”. At this point I imagine he’s already told her his really name so he’s feeling giddy. However he can tell there’s a sense of fear with her heartbeat so he immediately worries.

Context is maybe Madelyn or someone came into the apartment uninvited and came across Y/N. Madelyn isn’t impressed with Y/N and tells her she’s not good enough and threatens to get rid of her. Idk maybe things get violent, Y/N gets put in a headlock so she’s like “John,John please come back, I need your help”. He hears and immediately flies home and sees what’s going on. Angry, he handles everything however he sees just. Y/N is visibly shaking upset and bruised, so he tries to calm her down with a nice warm bath that involves lots of protective cuddling and hair washing 🥰 and then she falls asleep against John in the bath who is of course ELATED

okay. first of all... i need you to know i'm genuinely in REAL TEARS from laughing so hard at the mental image of madelyn putting anyone in a headlock. chasing the reader around like a WWE cage match.

“OHHH MY GOD INCOMING MADELYN! MADELYN WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!!!”

i'm not even kidding my stomach hurts i'm sobbing. this is the best thing i've ever been sent. this sounds like a dream homelander would have after he felt like he fucked up telling madelyn about the reader.

THAT aside, i do very much fuck with the idea of Something Scary happening that causes the reader to be freaked out and require much love and attention. especially because it means homelander finally gets to be the hero he sees himself as in their eyes.

i freaking LOVE the comforting bath. i think i've ended at least 3 fics with a bath. there's just something so supremely intimate about bathing with your lover!!! washing their hair and soothing their frayed nerves. aaahhh, this fic just keeps getting longer the more ideas i get. i've already bumped it up from 6 chapters to 8... might be 10 at this rate!

[future-island-egghead]

Muse of Violence, Warrior of Science.

To the ordinary, everyday genius scientist-for-hire with a heart too big for her own good, we raise our sake cups.

You gave us food. You tried to protect us. You gave your life to ensure we'd all live on. Just lending a hand.

You knew it would end like this. We all knew it would end like this, and yet you still did it. And you did it to protect the friends you had made and the family you had left. And you did it all on your own terms, smiling all the way to the afterlife, knowing your will would be inherited by those you saved.

Clone or Machine or Satellite or Daughter. It matters not what you were. Because you went out like a true member of those who carry the will of D.

Thanks for everything, Atlas. For a satellite representing rage and violence, you had the biggest heart of any of them.

[shima-draws]

Actually genuinely started crying when Luffy almost said he wanted Usopp off the ship and then Sanji interrupted and yelled at him. What the hell. This shit is so sad what the FUCK bro

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[wickmitz]

How do you think about Frepper? I'm neutral about this ship, but the fans Frepper attitude towards confuses me, Ivy and Freckle have only been dating for a week and know each other superficially, but everyone already thinks that by the end of the comic they will get married, I think differently, I think that in the end they will break up with each other because they are too different personalities, I literally can't imagine that both of them will be happy with each other in marriage, Ivy is assertive and active, on the other hand Freckle is passive and just agrees with Ivy, this is not a guarantee of a healthy relationship where a partner completely dominates the other, plus to all that, I will not forget how their relationship started, Ivy just decided that they were dating, and without asking Freckle's permission, she just KISSED him, again without his permission, Frepper fans think that it's cute, but when I saw it, I thought "what the hell did I just see?", in general, it's strange for me that Frepper fans are okay with such things, of course later Freckle shows attraction to Ivy, showing that he likes her in some way too, but I still won't forget how their relationship started and how Freckle used to try to escape from Ivy when she squeezed his hand tightly and forced him to her …

I'm not against Frepper, but I don't understand his fans who don't see these issues and who treat other points of view on their relationship (like mine) as … um, as nonconformity? Fans from reddit are just obsessed with Frepper, I don't know about other networks but that's how it is on reddit, I think there are people who have my opinion but are afraid to say it because of fans, of course, I met Frepper fans there who normally accept such an opinion, but still there is a feeling that such a opinion cannot be told

Simply put, Ivy and Freckle are a couple that will eventually break up with each other unless there's an event between them in the comic that changes my opinion of this couple, but that's how I feel about Freckle for now. I didn't plan to express my opinion, but it happened that way, I hope you don't mind it

first and foremost, i don’t mind seeing someone express their opinion in my inbox! you and anyone else are free to do so, even if i may disagree. this blog’s entire existence was made for me to share my opinions ( and love! ) for lackadaisy, as well as engaging with other fans, because what else is the point of a fandom blog? and as far as i’m aware, this is unpopular opinion central! most of my thoughts aren’t exactly the ones with the most voice behind them i’ve found, so i welcome all manner of different views. every fan is entitled to their own perspectives and opinions, and should be allowed to share them as they please! but with that disclaimer out of the way, i’m more than willing to discuss frepper in its entirety.

for me, there’s little confusion i carry where it concerns this ship’s popularity amongst the fandom. freckle and ivy, if we are to strip them down to their bare essentials, are a rather stereotypically ‘cute’ relationship : people enjoy opposites ( see zibwick or vikdecai for example ) and there’s an endearing quality found in puppy love dynamics. seeing ivy wear the pants and drag a shy freckle around by his ankle makes for quality content in a way! think the ‘excuse me, but he asked for no pickles!’ meme … ivy and freckle very much fit that sort of mold, and it helps that most fans are too scared to ship them with other characters in the cast too, due to what they perceive to be a lack of options. thus, frepper is an extremely ‘safe’ ship! you cannot get in trouble for enjoying something that is not only canon, but is relatively adorable ; and so i don’t believe a lot of the fans are actually thinking too deeply about the likely endgame of it all. most don’t! it’s fun to ship, and that’s all they really need i think. it’s also very easy to dismiss ivy’s forwardness as a quirk of being a young girl who’s of her temperament, recklessly boycrazy although still carrying sweet intent. this behavior is easier to hand wave when neither ivy or freckle are experienced at the dating scene as well … freckle due to his extremely religious upbringing and hermit nature, and ivy because of viktor’s constant meddling, which would hold her back more than you’d think. with that said, i don’t think any of this is excessively complicated. some shippers are rather simple minded and do not care for details and characterization all too deeply. enjoying dynamics is, at its core, supposed to be fun -- which makes simple ships like frepper prime targets for a very vocal and tight knit fanbase. there are other things i could speculate about why these two may hit so pleasantly for others, like how there’s an underlying queer theme to it ( what with ivy being the pursuer and freckle the shy, blushing flower ) or that it’s tropey enough to hit the right spots for others … though it all boils back to mere speculation. perhaps they still have time to escape this gangster lifestyle and live happily ever after? and that appeals to the lackadaisy fans who still want some sort of happy ending? it’s all a combination of frepper being easy, i think, and containing two young cats who still haven’t done anything particularly ‘unforgivable’ yet action wise. this is a ship you can root for without an ounce of worry in your heart, and so on and so forth.

but although i understand why others are so vocal about them, i don’t exactly agree with fanon’s views either! while i heavily enjoy frepper, i enjoy them as they are, and that includes their looming flaws and inevitable tragedy. they are bound to break each other’s hearts a lot on their current path ; even if they were entirely perfect for one another, this lifestyle isn’t kind to anyone, meaning if they don’t separate, they could always be forced apart via bullets and such anyway. they are young and woefully inexperienced in a manner of things, the last thing they need is the stress of a rumrunner life driving their every action, you know? i know people see them getting out together, and that is likely on the table! i do see that in many ways, but i’m also of the opinion that ivy and freckle will diverge onto different paths at some point and temporarily call it quits. from where the comic currently stands and given my view on ivy’s arc, i see her growing disillusioned with where she is and the honor and fun she saw within it as a royal spectator will fade ; she will become wary, fearful, and her resilience will die … meanwhile freckle will embrace it, similar to his cousin, fully understanding what it is and what he’s getting into ( like rocky, again ) but being unable to leave his refuge. i know lots of people think freckle will leave the lackadaisy first, but given his old concepts and former title as one of mitzi’s ‘trouble boys’, i think he will become lost in the sauce for a myriad of reasons. frankly i enjoy that twist on their relationship! since i believe ivy’s character development will revolve around maturing, changing as time stretches forward, because her character is ever growing, what with her entire schtick being the fact she’s everything a 1920s girl was during those times. she embodies that unladylike youth and manipulative sweetness, so i’d imagine a lot of her path is falling from such naive thrill seeking and stumbling upon a harsh reality. she will mature, and the very thing that should make their relationship stronger will be what divides them indefinitely. everything they have is founded on this bloody, varnished soaked ground after all … they are young adults who are experiencing what closeness feels like outside of family or platonic friends for the first time, so naturally they will overindulge in their own amateur games ; find respite in the boogie and kiss like couples do on the silver screen, laugh about it, talk about everything and nothing at all … relish in each other’s warmth and stupidly loyal protection. i’m sure frepper will grow closer before any falling out, because as it stands, it’s one of the few things they have in such a scary situation that feels comforting and kind. they will impact each other in the fundamental ways first relationships do and, to move towards your biggest gripe, do things they’ll regret or allow things to happen to them that they’re not entirely okay with.

ivy is very forceful with freckle initially, albeit in her typical saturated way ; and i can see why that would be hard to parse! especially when freckle spends a majority of their first scenes together squirming away and hiding, trying to duck her affections and bolt for it. there is a lot of boundary crossing between them! but not in a necessarily malicious way … like most things with frepper, this circles back to their mutual inexperience and how, in a lot of ways, this is their first ‘serious’ romantic relationship ever. and it’s rather common for such firsts to involve gray areas, since neither party is entirely sure of what their own boundaries are just yet! while freckle did appear frightened by ivy at first, it’s important to note that tracy’s mentioned him having a flight response whenever girls flirt with him … he is prone to run away instinctively, which if you consider his extremely religious upbringing, isn’t exactly a surprise. nina would no doubt look down upon freckle engaging with girls his age due to what most girls his age are currently doing in the roaring 20s they’re living in. sneaking out and engaging in illegal activities, dancing in a way that would disgust most of the more traditional and older generation, casually engaging in any manner of sexual activity before marriage, etc etc. and this isn’t even listing freckle’s cagey nature due to an incident we know was bad enough to send rocky packing for years, and fundamentally changed freckle himself at such a young and impressionable age. he is … very troubled! and rather scared of himself and the world around him … at this stage in life, freckle is perpetually unable to make any progress towards anything he may want, and so i have little problem myself with ivy mostly taking the lead. when left to his own devices and allowed to choose outside of influence, freckle did in fact sneak out of his mother’s house to go to the lackadaisy, surely well aware that ivy’s intention had been romantically inclined. so, to me, he has always liked her ; perhaps found her cute, in a shallow way, saw her eccentric behavior as endearing and frightening in equal measure, and while he’s still wading into this whirlwind pool unsteady and shaken, he -- wouldn’t mind it if ivy pushed a little more, or moved him around to her ( and what she perceives to be, their ) liking. perhaps this dynamic is familiar enough to him that it becomes comforting, since rocky was very much the same way in their adolescence. tugging freckle around and pulling his tail for whatever rocky wanted them to do, with little care for whatever his baby cousin desired at the time, ignoring his protests and chasing him ; nobody’s at fault here either, kids are extremely self absorbed and this is a flaw they’ll usually mature past, and while ivy and freckle are adults during the comic, i don’t think ivy’s outgrown this linear view on things just yet. she is extremely entitled! she is used to being the apple of everyone’s eye at the speakeasy due to her jazz baby status as atlas may’s goddaughter, and this gangster connection excites and awes the ladies she attends classes with at her university too. ivy pepper is used to getting her way and this has only fueled her determined attitude, her ‘pull it up by the bootstraps’ mindset, and in many ways, this is something of a flaw for her. it’s not bad to be confident and headstrong, although when you add that into a dangerous mix of rumrunning and gunslinging, it may become a problem rather quickly. but i digress! point is, ivy and freckle are hardly at fault for the awkward way they handled the start of their relationship, when it’s so new and fresh to them both.

neither of them have boundaries at this moment, as they either have no clue what those are or simply haven’t realized they should set them. so, in turn, there are things that the other may do that could cause their partner discomfort … and it’s mostly done out of obliviousness and good intentions and your classic dose of intense affection. doesn’t mean it isn’t messed up to a degree, but i think it’s rather realistic, and is a hard truth that comes with many first relationships of that sort. sometimes you don’t know how to say ‘no,’ or you agree and regret agreeing later, or perhaps you simply don’t understand there’s certain things you aren’t ready for or genuinely just don’t like. again, it’s a very muddied area, and the two of them are vaguely navigating what is mostly foreign to them. they’re bound to mess up! so i ivy some slack here, and applaud tracy on the realistic writing more than anything usually. young love also happens to be a great device to use for inexperienced characters finding themselves, through the good and bad of their relationship, and frepper is all about that. maybe freckle will inevitably bring up how he feels like he would’ve preferred it had ivy asked him out properly, or gave him time to court her in a traditional fashion … and she will be surprised ( and a little wounded ) by this, since she had never considered it before … too used to her way of things to realize there’s another path they could take. i think this aspect of the relationship is important, and i can understand wishing that more frepper shippers would view it as such, or comment on it's morally gray nature without just calling it ‘cute’ and leaving it at that.

tldr : they will most certainly break up at some point, maybe even multiple times! tracy has said before that they both have some serious maturing to do if their relationship is to be long lasting, and i doubt that maturing will happen to them both at once … since they have different things to work on emotionally. but they will probably strongarm some major personal development within each other, as well as love one another with a fierceless abandon that most kids do. i could see them getting married, i could see them not, but i agree that if they were to be wed happily, they’d have significant hurdles to overcome. but personally, frepper is something i adore mostly due to the impact they’re bound to cause each other, and even if they are to separate and find someone new and more fitting, they’ll always remember one another -- perhaps fondly, and sadly, and with some anger. a time they’d like to forget, but a person they’d like to remember … which is my cup of tea overall! they much more interest me as they presently are anyway, where i can fiddle around with their budding romance and friendship bonding. and as lackadaisy grows in popularity, i do hope there’s more frepper fans who see their complexity and flaws and explore them with all of it in mind.

anyway! i hope this was coherent, and that it was obvious that i agreed with you for the most part. i haven’t really talked about frepper before with anyone so many of these thoughts sort of burst out of me! and i feel like i have more to elaborate upon, but for the sake of simplicity i kept this short. oh well! surely this is enjoyable and informative regardless.