#it's because echo is even less evil

[resetting37]

okay disclaimer I was a huge hunger games fan as a teenager (saying this in past tense is weird, the series still holds a special place in my heart, but you know what I mean. I was obsessed.) If you see some connections with my own world building to the series, then it's likely not coincidence, I take inspiration from post-apocalyptic settings for my own.

What IS coincidence is the fact that the new prequel book, the ballad of songbirds and snakes, is being adapted into a movie and the kooky-evil-genetic-scientist character is being portrayed with silver hair and heterochromia like my own kooky-evil-genetic-scientist character ??? I mean I get it's not *that* unique of a character design, but I just thought that was neat lol.

(I will say though if you've read the book, my oc dr. cloud ellocast is not as evil as dr. gaul. That woman is fucked up and I'm excited to see viola davis play her.)

[arolesbianism]

Sigh. It begins (being forced to see the worst aro hcs I've ever seen in my life because ppl have a talent for finding the absolute worst characters to be their token aro hc)

[pastorpresent]

part 2 to this, but it's not necessary reading to understand this:) tw for panic attacks

-

Logan is going to find every motherfucking TVA agent and rip them methodically into a hundred little chunks, which he's then going to serve to dogpool for her lunch.

He's just got to find Wade and get out of this stupid fucking warehouse first - and seriously, dingy old warehouse for an evil fucking lair? Get creative for once, jesus christ.

The thing was, this mission was supposed to be the definition of easy. The TVA just wanted them to catch some stupid deadpool variant, slap their cuffs on him and be done with it. Hell, Wade had even been looking up nearby lunch spots because they were so convinced they'd be done for then.

They weren't. The variant thing was a trap - which somehow completely went over the TVA's heads - and the place was actually an experimentation warehouse for mutants. They were baited there like fish to a hook, and Wade had been grabbed before either of them could fully grasp what was happening.

Wade was grabbed - and Logan was loosing his god damn mind, because he'd seen the uncharacteristic flicker of fear over the mercs face when they realised what this place was, watched Wade thumb through the paperwork with a tight expression, unsettlingly silent.

He understood. He'd been there, quite literally, but he had the small mercy of not remembering it so completely. His time spent chained to an experimentation table was mercifully shorter than Wades, and he only recalled brief flashes of it.

Wade had told him one night after a few too many drinks that he remembered his weeks in that warehouse vividly. Every second of it was etched into his brain like a branding, and if Logan had known that this mission would take them anywhere even slightly resembling that trauma he would've told the TVA to stick their mission so far up their ass they start choking on it.

He didn't, though, and now he was stuck hiding outside trying to figure out a way to get in there and grab Wade without getting caught himself. He needed back up, realistically.

It stung to call the X-Men. He hated doing it, because seeing them in this universe... it just reminded him of what he'd failed to protect. Of the team he'd essentially killed.

He'd gladly suck all of that up and toss his baggage aside if it meant helping Wade, though.

Even with their help (and their insistence on cuffing instead of murder) It still took a good half hour for them to clear the place.

Logan was growing antsy. He'd seen the sideways looks from Storm and Rogue as his murders grew more brash and violent, prioritising wiping the bastards out as rapidly as possible over doing so in a way which was... more composed and less bloody.

He'd killed about thirty. The team had cuffed and sedated the other lucky twenty, and had taken the... test subjects somewhere safe. Most of them were mutilated beyond looking like recognisable people, half alive, and honestly Logan thought they'd be better off just being put down and freed from their agony, but he didn't voice that. He didn't have time for a morals debate, not when the bastards have had Wade for almost a fucking hour.

"Wade!"

He was dipping in and out of every curtain, trying to find the idiot. His booming voice was echoing through the entire place, and so wherever he was he mustn't be conscious, or verbally able to respond.

Finally he pulled back a curtain and found him.

He was in a glass cylinder, strapped down with thick leather bindings, and was gasping for breath periodically as his skin burned.

An oxygen deprivation machine. The same type that gave Wade his mutation in the first place.

Those fucking sick bastards. He hoped that the team had gotten those men they cuffed the fuck out of here or Logan was going to chop off their fingers and make them eat them, then beat them to the point they were begging for death, and then he'd beat them some more and let them die from blunt force trauma, slowly and in agony on a dirty warehouse floor.

He surged forward, using his claws to bust holes in the machine, allowing immediate air flow while he figured out how to get the damn thing open.

He figured it out, the lid lifting, but something was wrong.

Wade was still gasping for air, his now free hands scratching at his neck desperately.

"Wade, breathe," Logan ordered a little harshly, grabbing the younger man's shoulders.

Big mistake apparently.

Wade was up in an instant, grabbing a nearby scalpel and driving it harshly into Logan's shoulder, his teeth bared and the air missing his usual cry of 'baby knife'.

"Wade, what the fuck are you-"

He was cut off by the medical scissors being thrown at his face, embedding deep into his cheek just below his eye, and fuck that hurt.

"Wade-" he grabbed him, trying to stop him from reaching for any more makeshift weapons, but Wade punched him hard in the face, driving the scissors deeper, and then proceeded to kick him in the balls.

Logan grunted at the impact, barely staying upright and releasing his grip in the momentary recovery.

Wade grabbed a gun from the side and started shooting recklessly, and Logan was painfully aware that some of the X-Men currently standing just a few flimsy curtains away were not as bullet proof as what he was.

He dove atop of Wade, tackling him to the floor, hissing with every bullet that the merc emptied into his torso.

"Wade, stop!"

"Get the fuck off me! Let me go!" Wade screamed, actually screamed at the top of his lungs, his breathing rapid and eyes hard but full of suffocating fear as he thrashed and struggled.

Logan felt horrible. He felt like the shittiest person on the planet, because Wade clearly had no idea what was happening in his panic, didn't recognise Logan or remember the circumstances, and he was terrified. Terrified of continued torture that was sure to come in his mind if Logan 'caught him', and he had no clue what to do.

"Wade it's me, alright? It's Logan. I'm trying to help you."

"I don't- get the fuck off me! Please! Just let me go!"

Wade was sobbing and begging, and from the grip Logan had of his lithe body he could feel his breathing growing shallower.

"I will, bub. I will, but I need you to put the gun down, alright?" Logan said carefully.

He wasn't going to let Wade come out of this having killed somebody he cared about accidently. He wasn't letting him be burdened by that guilt.

"I- I don't- please," Wade sobbed, and Logan swallowed thickly.

"Gun down, Wade," he repeated firmly, and this time he felt the barrel leave his torso and clatter onto the ground.

He continued to pin Wade down with just one arm as he grabbed the gun and tucked it into the back of his jeans.

"Good boy. That's good, thank you. I'm gonna let you up now, bub. Think you can stop trying to kill me for a second so we can talk?"

Wade whimpered softly, and nodded once in response.

Logan eased up on him gradually, rising to his feet and offering out a hand to help Wade do the same.

The younger man didn't take it, scrambling up by himself on shaky legs, taking a few stumbling steps backwards away from Logan.

That stung a little, but he understood. Wade clearly still didn't grasp who he was, and it was probably a very natural reaction to want distance between yourself and your conceived captor who had you pinned to the ground moments ago.

"Look at me, ok? You know me, bub. You know I'm not here to hurt you."

"I- I just want you to let me go. I just want to go home to Vanessa, please."

And maybe that one stung... a lot, more so than any of the sharp objects lodged into his body right now. He often worried about what his existence in this universe meant for Wade. He worried him being here, some sort of unnatural and inconvenient prescence, made it so Wade felt he couldn't truly go after what he wanted. A life with the girl, a few kids, a decent home.

Instead he got stuck with Logan, an alcoholic mess who could barely tolerate basic human interaction most days, and he knew Wade would argue that it was actually vice versa - that Logan was the one stuck with him - but it just wasn't true. Not when Wade was the one with a life he imposed on.

That day with Vanessa, when he'd just almost killed Wade from his own stupidity, rang clear in his head.

('You almost killed him, Logan! He could be dead right now because of you!' Vanessa screamed, voice thick with emotion.

Logan couldn't even bring himself to disagree, or defend himself.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it,' he stressed, staring at Wade's limp body on the couch, his torso wrapped with blood stained bandages.

She looked at him too, and for a painful few moments, there was just heavy silence. It felt like a boot hovering over them, waiting to drop.

'You know, ever since you... appeared here, bad shit has happened. Wade's not himself, because he spends so much of his time on you. He's always in danger trying to drag your sorry ass to safety. It's not fair.'

The boot dropped, and squished him whole.)

"We can. I'll take you to her, but you need to settle down first, bub. Look at me?" Logan said, taking the tiniest of steps closer.

Wade didn't move back, which he took as a win, and he did finally stop his rapid searching to look at him.

"Good. Good job, think you can try match my breathing?"

Another step forward, this one intentionally impossible to avoid noticing, just to gauge Wade's response.

He looked uneasy still but didn't move, and nodded minutely.

Logan breathed in and out slowly, intentionally exaggerated and verbally guiding Wade through it.

It took several minutes, but eventually after calming down considerably, the confusion seemed to evaporate alongside the panic.

"Good boy, again, ok? 1...2...3...4.... exhale-"

"Logan?"

He could've just about collapsed with fucking relief. For a minute or two, he was growing worried that the temporary confusion and amnesia was from more than just the panic attack and the torture chamber. That those bastards had done something to erase his memories just like Stryker had done to him.

"Yeah, it's me, bub," he sighed, shoulders deflating.

"What- what happened?! They hurt you?" Wade hissed, marching into his space and pulling out the scalpel. He reached for the scissors but Logan grabbed his wrist to stop him, opting to ease those out himself.

"Well, you could say that," Logan shrugged, and Wade's brows knotted together, until it seemed the events of the last ten minutes hit him and he gasped, stumbling back and away from him.

Logan didn't know exactly what came over him. Maybe he just couldn't stand the idea of Wade slipping away from him again so soon, even on the most basic physical level.

He filled the space between them, grabbing Wade by his shirt and yanking him forward into a tight hug.

"I hurt you, I fucking shot you-"

"Isn't the first time, won't be the last. Don't you fucking apologise to me, you idiot - you can shove your apologies into that smart ass mouth of yours and swallow 'em," Logan warned, and Wade laughed, but it quickly dissolved into a muffled sob, his hands coming up to fist the back of Logan's shirt desperately.

"They- they-"

"Are gone. It's done. You're safe, unlike those fuckers at the TVA the next time I see them," he growled, and Wade let out another watery laugh, hiding his face away in Logan's neck.

"Take me home?"

"Glady, bub."

[transform4u]

I’m about to start college in the fall and I’m staying in the dorms. The worst part is that I’m nerdy, gay, and really shy, but I just met my new roommate and he’s your typical Republican, football-playing fuckboy. I could already tell he’s judging me hard. What do I do?

As you tear open the envelope from your college, your anticipation is a swirl of excitement and dread. You were supposed to dive into the world of English literature and feminist theory, but instead, your eyes skim over the schedule and land on the absurdity of "American Exceptionalism 101" at noon on MWF. Your head throbs as if an invisible hand is squeezing your brain into a smaller, less enlightened shape. It's like someone has taken a red-hot poker and jabbed it straight into your heart, twisting it until every ounce of your academic enthusiasm and commitment to social justice evaporates.

In its place, a new, alien mindset begins to take root. You find your once-vibrant appetite for critical thinking dwindling into a blustery haze of national pride and simplistic notions of greatness. Your consciousness warps, and before you know it, you're morphing into the very embodiment of the obnoxious Republican frat bro—a brash caricature of entitlement and limited worldview. Your intellect, once sharp and inquisitive, dulls into a blunt instrument of cliché-ridden banter and boisterous bravado. You proudly declare that “common sense” is all you need, dismissing complex social issues with a cavalier shrug and an overstuffed ego that clings to traditional values with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.

Politically, you’re a crusader for conservative causes, but your arguments are as deep as a kiddie pool and just as uninspiring. You spout off right-wing rhetoric with the fervor of a zealot, your debates more about scoring rhetorical points than engaging in meaningful discussion. The broader implications of your views—what they mean for marginalized communities or for nuanced understanding—are beyond your narrowed gaze. Your new persona is an obnoxious testament to the virtues of self-importance, oversimplification, and a relentless need to project an image of success and superiority, all while reveling in a blissful ignorance of any perspective that might challenge your bubble of certainty.

As you scroll through social media, you can't help but notice how your humor has changed. It used to be sharp and insightful, cutting through the noise with wit and cleverness. Now, it relies on crude stereotypes and inside jokes that only a select few understand. You find yourself trapped in a self-congratulatory echo chamber where everyone laughs at the same things because they're "in" on the joke.

The right-wing rhetoric flows from your fingers like second nature now - it's all you know how to do anymore after spending so much time surrounded by it online. You see conspiracies everywhere and can easily spot "liberal bias" even when there isn't any present; everything is filtered through this lens which leaves little room for nuance or complexity in thought or discourse anymore for both sides of any debate whatsoever.. This simplistic worldview is not only limiting but also exhausting because everything boils down into binary oppositions: us vs them; good vs evil; right vs wrong.

As you pull out your phone and begin to type a tweet for your followers, crude and rude thoughts start swirling in your head. You think about how much better you are than everyone else because of your right-wing beliefs. You imagine all the liberals who disagree with you as stupid sheep who can't see the truth. You chuckle to yourself at how easy it is to troll them online with memes and insults.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard as these thoughts turn into words on screen: "Libtards are so triggered by facts! Keep crying snowflakes, we'll keep winning!" With a sense of satisfaction, you hit send and wait for the likes and retweets to roll in - proof that there are others out there who share your twisted worldview.

As you glance down at the absurdity of your new schedule, specifically the "Introduction to Sports Management and Fantasy Football" class, a strange, electrifying energy courses through you. It’s like a jolt of vitality has surged into every fiber of your being. Your once meek, unremarkable physique starts to react to this new direction, morphing into something sculpted and potent.

You can feel it in your abs first: the slight tremor as each muscle begins to tighten and firm up, evolving from a soft, unremarkable layer into a six-pack of steel. Each ripple of your abdominal muscles pulses with an almost tangible intensity, as if they are imbued with newfound power and purpose. Your biceps and triceps, once unassuming, now swell and harden, their contours more pronounced with each passing second, like sculpted marble coming to life. They burn with a satisfying ache, a reminder of the strength and endurance you are cultivating.

Your quads and pecs are not left out of this transformation. Your legs throb with a deep, primal energy as they grow more powerful, their definition sharpening into formidable muscle groups that flex with every movement. Your chest, once flat and average, now pushes forward with a proud, chiseled prominence, a tribute to countless hours of physical exertion and dedication.

Your reflection in the mirror reveals a new you—an embodiment of the ultimate football-playing bro. Your physique is now a masterpiece of athletic prowess: broad, powerful shoulders and a chest that speaks of relentless gym sessions. Your abs are a flawless six-pack, every flex a testament to your commitment. Your legs, strong and sculpted, support a presence that oozes both confidence and capability.

Your face, framed by a rugged jawline and a hint of stubble, reflects the charm and self-assurance of someone who is as comfortable on the field as he is off it. Your eyes, whether a sparkling blue or deep brown, are framed by meticulously groomed eyebrows and a tousled mop of hair—short on the sides, longer on top, and styled with effortless precision. Your smile is wide, dazzling, and exudes a blend of charm and cheekiness that suggests you’re not just about physical prowess but also a charismatic personality.

Your wardrobe shifts to match this new persona. You sport snug polo shirts in vibrant colors or classic athletic gear that accentuates your toned form. Distressed jeans fit like a second skin, paired with immaculate sneakers that declare your trendiness. On game days, you don a jersey or hoodie emblazoned with your team’s logo, completing the look with a relaxed, oversized hoodie that speaks to your allegiance and laid-back style. Whether you’re on the field or at a social gathering, your appearance radiates a potent mix of confidence, style, and effortless cool—a football-playing fuckboy who has truly embraced his new identity. As you glance down at your class schedule, your eyes immediately zero in on the last class of the semester: "Weekend Party Planning and Execution of the Woke Agenda." You can't help but feel a sense of dread wash over you. However, as you continue to stare at it, something strange happens. A cruel twisted grin forms on your face, and you suddenly feel an immense heat in your brain. Your thoughts begin to race as images of hot chicks fill your mind. At first, it's just a passing thought – like beating up some loser fags for fun – but then it starts to make sense somehow. You blink twice and find yourself sitting upright in bed with a hard-on that won't go away no matter how much you try to think about anything else!

You glance back at the schedule, desperately trying to process the absurdity of "Media Influence and Pop Culture" slotted for 3:00 PM. The wave of confusion hits you again, making your head spin as you grapple with the chaotic divergence from your original academic path. Just then, you hear a deep, gruff voice from across the room.

"Yo Jackson…you there?"

You turn to see your roommate Zeke, an absolute caricature of a neanderthal-looking meathead. Zeke is the quintessential embodiment of a gym-buffed jock, with bulging biceps and a chest so broad it almost spills out of his too-tight tank top. His face is a rugged mess of stubble and squinty eyes, and his hair is a mop of thick, unruly curls that looks like it’s never seen a comb. He’s sprawled on his bed, surrounded by a heap of sports gear and empty protein shake bottles, his demeanor a mix of lazy arrogance and casual dominance.

Your dorm room is the epitome of a Republican, football-playing bro's domain. The walls are adorned with posters of muscle-bound athletes and American flags, while the floor is littered with discarded gym clothes, beer cans fast-food wrappers. A mini fridge, stocked with enough beer and energy drinks to keep a small army fueled, sits next to a worn-out couch that has seen more game days than it probably should. The space is cluttered with an assortment of sports memorabilia, from signed footballs to framed jerseys, and the overall decor screams "Man Cave" with a patriotic twist.

“Sorry bro,” you reply, shaking off the confusion. “Just thinking about this chick Brooke in one of my classes, dude.”

Zeke snorts and gives a hearty, if slightly slurred, laugh. “Haha, you and your cheerleaders, man. You’re going to be repeating sophomore year again, you know?”

“Haha, no worries, school is for losers anyway” you say, punctuating your response with a belch. “BURRRRRP. Hey, we should head out.”

The two of you stumble out of the dorm, your stride filled with a boisterous swagger. The night is young, and you’re both on a mission to score some action. Zeke’s laughter echoes down the hall as he slaps you on the back, a gesture as friendly as it is bone-crushing. You both head towards the nearest bar, your conversation dominated by crude jokes and brash plans for the evening. As you step into the night, the crisp air is filled with the anticipation of adventure, a perfect backdrop for your football-playing fuckboy persona to shine.

The music is blasting, the beer is flowing, and the girls are everywhere. You grab a couple of cold ones and start making your way through the crowd, looking for some hotties to chat up.

As you weave through the sea of sweaty bodies, you spot her - a tall brunette with killer curves and a smile that could light up a room. She's got on this tiny little dress that shows off every inch of her toned body, and she's dancing like there's no tomorrow. You make your move towards her as if it was destiny itself calling out for you to approach her; after all who wouldn't want someone as hot as she is?

"Hey there!" You say with an exaggerated smile plastered across your face."Can I buy ya lady another drink?" Before she can even respond or give any indication whether or not she wants one more round of alcohol down her throat-you go ahead ordering two shots from one of those cute little sorority girls serving drinks at their table near by.

As you hand her the shot glass, she looks at you with those big brown eyes and takes a sip. The alcohol seems to loosen her up even more, and she starts dancing even closer to you. You can't help but stare at her perfect body moving in time with the music - it's like watching an erotic ballet unfold right before your eyes.

"So what brings a guy like you here tonight?" She asks between giggles, leaning in close enough for your nose to brush against hers ever so slightly. You grin widely as if this was some sort of secret conversation only meant for each other's ears only while reaching out grabbing hold of one those large round ass cheeks which seemingly belongs on goddess herself; pulling them closer towards yourself until they are practically pressed against your crotch area where no doubt by now there must be quite an impressive bulge forming due solely from all these thoughts running through your mind about how amazing it would feel having such beauty wrapped around waistline all night long.

"I just couldn't resist coming when I heard there was going be party like this," You reply smoothly without breaking eye contact once throughout entire exchange."Besides who wouldn't want chance spend time someone as beautiful inside out?!"

You continue to talk with the blonde girl, your eyes wandering down to her ample cleavage as she giggles and responds to your questions. She's clearly drunk already, but that only makes her more receptive to your advances.

As you feel her up, your hands squeezing her big tits through the thin fabric of her dress, you descend into the most obnoxious republican fuckboy imaginable. Thoughts of nothing but sex and being a toolbag consume your mind as you take advantage of this drunken mess who can't wait to fuck you.

Without hesitation or remorse, you pull her closer and press your lips against hers in a forceful kiss that leaves no doubt about what's on your mind. She moans softly into mouth while one hand grasps desperately at back of neck needing something solid anchor self during this whirlwind passionate embrace between two strangers who could care less about anything else besides momentary pleasure they derive from each other right now…

"Let's get outta here," You whisper against earlobe nipping gently with teeth just enough send shiver down spine signaling impending climax soon approach if all goes according plan which it will because there are no consequences for actions taken under influence alcohol right? For now though only thing matter is satisfying primal urges buried deep within both our souls calling out loud demand release only way possible given current circumstances - sex!

[minzart]

Blazing eyes

Maleficent x Reader(GN) x Hades . ROR-VKs & You

“professor-” he slams the door close, leaving you alone… you naturally louch yourself to the door and try to pry it open, sadly it won't budge “cursed old fucking man -OPEN! ABRACADABRA! PRESTO! BIBIDBOBIDIBO! COMONNNNNN BITCH-”

“poor thing has lost it” Hook whispers.

“we haven't tried bitch as a pass wold tho” Morgie added in “didn't work, but it would have been so funny if it did”

“OPEN SESSAME!”

“alright alright alright” Uliana gets up from her seat “calm down, we don't bite”

“much” Hades adds and seconds later Maleficent hits his head firmly.

Or... how you got recruited as a new VK and the drama that comes with being friends (and for some more) of the young villains

In a world of princesses, princes, knights, evil fairies and gods you were neither, perhaps one could say you were even less, a commoner, a plebeian with the most average sprinkle of magic yet to set foot in Merlin Academy again. Never a stand out and when your voice was heard it was almost as if the room could swallow it whole for how little it mattered in the grand scheme of things.

What would you be when you graduated? A tug? A squire? Perhaps if lucky an advisor or even a right hand confidant of a big name hero or villain. Maybe just a normal baker, who's to say, after all, the unremarkable have their own gift, destiny, profecies and duty wasn't yours to claim after all, so your life is yours and yours alone to mold, change, waste, thrive and live.

But oh that doesn't mean you can't impact lives, no, rather the opposite, you can be the last straw or the first domino that will never see the finish line but will be remembered as fondly and bitterly as the eyes that saw you last.

And our story starts not by your eyes, but by hers, a young fary sits bored out of her mind in a perfect, dreadful, evening at detention with the fools she calls… allies…. Yes, that felt… correct enough, and with the infant God she could only denominated as a passing interest at best, a boyfriend at worst.

Morgie, being the little snake that he is, can't keep still and out of the woods for long before he starts budging the magical reinforced windows, she won't blame him, after all she herself did the same thing some months ago and now the windows have a reflective spell to “keep students safe”, as if they didn't threw out weaklings out of those even before her… “sneeze incident”, as if she could even make mistakes, that was a purposeful fire breaking breath right into the window's direction and not because Uliana's cologne was too strong that day, absolutely preposterous of principal Merlin to spread that ridiculous rumor about her, she had to curse twice the students to shut their giggles that week all because of that pompous old man.

James had given up cheering for Morgie and now laid back, boots staining the desk shining his golden rook and by his pout being extremely disappointed in his eyeliner not being as sharp as it was 20 minutes ago.

“Uliana~” he called, a melodic tune echoing in the almost empty classroom “dear, scariest witch of the sea, seafoam of my dreams”

“call me that one more time and I'll give your other hand to tictoc as a gift asshole” the leader of this little band of mischief smirked, pointing her little switchblade at him, she sat at the teacher's desk, marking one more tally to their monthly visit and, before being interrupted, curiously checking to see if new marks were made by new potential allies “what do you want?”

“do you have that miraculous eyeliner in you again? I think I missed a spot” the young sea witch rolls her eyes in amusement and one single tentacle leaves her back, the black tube almost reaching Hook's good hand, then it doubled back and threw it in his bad hand's direction, the boy caugh it without much fuss and dangled it in her direction, wiggling his eyebrows in victory.

“much thanks beauty”

“your parents should have named you Narcissus”

“and you should try being a pitcher to this years baseball team”

“you would be too good for them tho” the young God spoke from behind the black fary, playfully passing the same blue flame around his fingers “I saw Jame's fumble a bit this time”

“I didn't fumble anything!”

“yes you did”

“did not”

“did too”

“did-”

The door of the class is slammed open by what Maleficent can smell is the dire's magic, his voice getting closer and closer, Uliana decides to move to the closest chair, not interested in prolonging the tedious lesson with an extra 15 minutes of more lecture.

“I'm again so thankful you could come dear” Merlin's voice echoed inside “it's so hard to find generous students like yourself, always ready to help the ones with the most difficulty”

All teens roll their eyes and look at each other's direction just to confirm that they weren't just hallucinating the most basic and fakest sweet talk to ever exist, and by all means they did experience each “baby's first manipulation” attempt, and they were not as fake sounding as his.

“you are too kind professor” the nervous little laugh gave away whoever they were wasn't as ingenious as half this school seemed to be ”I did say i wanted to try everything once at least in my years resolution papers, and I mean it”

“such admirable dedication to academics I sure hope you pass a little bit of that for this… study… group” the hesitation in Marlin's voice made Morgie snort and fall to the ground, wich made Hook tremble and poke his own eye, which prompted him to swing his hook in ager back, ready to curse the son of Morgana, but his hook went flying off its place hitting Hades’ foot, making the God scream in pain, losing control of the little flame that hit the teacher's desk making if catch fire so bright it flames so wild that a stray one reaches Uliana's pants.

It is in that moment that you and professor Merlin walk in the class, the VKs growling and cursing at each other in the middle of chaos. The professor calmly puts the fire out, as does Uliana, Hook grabs his hook back, Morgie scrambles to go back to his seat, Hades takes a deep breath, hair turning back to it's blue hue and Maleficent holds the biggest ugly laugh she can fell boiling from the deeps of her core.

Your eyes travel slowly through the most infamous trouble makers of this school, from Uliana's defiance, to Hook's flirtatious, Morgie's mischievous, Hades’ unimpressed and Maleficent's cold stare. Taking a deep breath and clenching your bag you turn 180 degrees and start marching out of class, professor Merlin was not so happy with your attitude since he decided to grab your shoulders firmly and smoothly turn you back around.

“today class, a very generous classmate offered to help me supervise you all” Merlin smiles “which is just so great because I'm need for a very important meeting and am already-”

And in that moment you made the biggest mistake you could have made that day, you defied the authority figure right in front of the punks wannabes of Merlin Academy “absolutely not” you dance around his grasp and just didn't bolt out right in that instance because the old man was blocking your path.

“now now” your name falls from his lips as if he's talking to a child “I know you have the good it takes to help those unfortunate individuals”

“I don't have shit!” you could feel all eyes turning to you, the class has your attention.

“language child!”

“I could teach math and potions and curses and counter curses to anyone, but being responsible for a whole class that will harass me to death if I don't let them out was not in our agreement sir“ you try to dance around the sorcerer again.

“watch your tone, those are very heavy accusations”

“yes we would never do something like that” Uliana puts more log to this blazing circus as Morgie tries to hide better the straw and paper balls he just finished doing in broad daylight for all to see.

Merlin cleans his throat, bringing attention back to him as he side eyes the girl “as I was saying, it will only be for some minutes! I'll be back as soon as possible” the headmaster starts to get out of the door still facing the class “I'm sure you can handle them”

“professor-” he slams the door close, leaving you alone… you naturally louch yourself to the door and try to pry it open, sadly it won't budge “cursed old fucking man -OPEN! ABRACADABRA! PRESTO! BIBIDBOBIDIBO! COMONNNNNN BITCH-”

“poor thing has lost it” Hook whispers.

“we haven't tried bitch as a pass wold tho” Morgie added in “didn't work, but it would have been so funny if it did”

“OPEN SESSAME!”

“alright alright alright” Uliana gets up from her seat “calm down, we don't bite”

“much” Hades adds and seconds later Maleficent hits his head firmly.

“we can be civil see” she shows her gang, all… sitting in various degrees of proper but sitting still nonetheless “now what's you name? I didn't catch it seeing some so…”

She looks you up and down, judging from you clothes to your hair to your posture, her month forms a thin line as she thinks in how to describe you ”comum, sticking it to that old man was kinda impressive”

You rest your head in the door, a defeated sigh leaves your lips with your name in it, Uliana tests it a few times and sits in the closest table “you don't happen to have famous parents do you?”

“take a guess” you mumble, choosing to sit down and accept your fate.

“that explains why I don't remember seeing you around here”

“we are in the same classes…”

“I skip those, anyways, so the headmaster is in a meeting? Do you know what class it’s happening in? ”

“why would I know?”

“You two just seemed so close y'know” You roll your eyes, a headache already forming inside your head.

“he got my name wrong but sure whatever makes my life easier, did any of you try breaking the windows?”

“Morgie dear was just about to start biting them” an offended “hey” can be heard in the background as the boy momentarily stops gossiping with his friend.

“do you know if it's a spell? A charm? A ward? We need to get going and I think you would be happy with us gonne too”

“it could be a potion for all that i know”

“you are quite useless aren't you?” her eyes lock with yours, daring you to fight back… you double down.

“you have no idea” you raise your chin and summon your biggest smile “a snail is more useful than I!”

You immediately let your facade down, head resting between your closed arms “just leave me be and continue doing whatever it is that you do”

The girl grins in amusement “aren't you spunky, color me impressed” she gets out of your table and lowers herself to your eye level “I see some potential, we could be friends, what do you say?”

“...” for a moment, the young sea witch thinks “hook, line, and sinker” but her expectations are shattered as you point behind her and says “your rescue has arrived”

Turning around she sees her little group of misfits, the ones that were still out there one stacked on top of the other, curse book in hand, they wave excitedly to her and signal for all to move out of the way.

Hades immediately gets up pulling Maleficent with him, and a blast breaks the glass “it wasn't supposed to shatter it!” The caster panics, making their little tower lose balance and fall, hopefully they weren't hurt too badly.

Uliana sighs annoyed, but moves to the window anyway “out we go then! Don't think I forgot about you, I'll be keeping a close eye, and if you change your mind, you can find us it's not that hard” she looks at you as her four tentacles graciously take her down and out of detention.

Hook winks at your direction and jumps out “pleasure meeting you sweet, sorry we couldn't talk longer schemes to make, pranks to pull you know the drill”

“bye!” Morgie waves at you as he also jumps out.

Hades moves to leave, a half wave at your direction as he waits for the horned fae take his hand, Maleficent looks at you up and down, he eyes lock with yours, they glow a neon green and you feel as there are eyes everywhere “see you around”

At least it's only you, the shattered window and deep feeling of dread creeping in your back.

[madaqueue]

HOW IS IT THAT YOU GO ABOUT DEFINING GOOD...

QUINTOBER 2024

welcome to my first ever kinktober! this is not the official schedule, and there will be about one new fic posted per week - see below for the sign up form to be tagged and descriptions of each one! specific warnings will be listed and tagged where applicable. i am also participating in ficsforgaza's kinktober, so watch out for my 10/6 post as a part of this collaboration! get ready to get spooky ♡

sign up form | ffg kinktober | tag: #quintober2024

note: almost all of these fics will contain some level of dubcon. as such, i did not separately list it on this page, but it will be listed in the content warnings + tags for each individual post. all dark content will be tagged "cw [content]" (ex: #cw dubcon). please read all warnings + block tags as necessary!

...AND EVIL?

10/6 - OMEGAVERSE | SATORU GOJO

alpha!gojo x omega!f!reader

of course your doting boyfriend satoru cares about you - he walks you to work every morning, packs your lunches, makes you tea every night before bed. he'd do anything for you, so of course he'll help you with your heat.

10/12 - GUNPLAY | TOJI FUSHIGURO

serial killer!toji x f!reader

the sensationalized bullshit around some dangerous serial killer tormenting the city is honestly pathetic. so no, you don't see the point in changing your routine, because you aren't a coward like everyone else. that is, until one wrong turn brings you face to face with him.

10/19 - DOUBLE PENETRATION | RYOMEN SUKUNA

trueform!sukuna x f!reader

every night, the king of curses repeats the same routine - waltzing through the halls, often covered in blood (of course not his own - never his own; after all, he was the king for a reason), choosing from one of his many concubines, and storming into his chambers. every night, the screams echoed through the empty temple; every morning, the girl he bedded was gone. you figured you'd take your chances when you ventured onto his estate, following the promise of comfort and lavishness. but when he chooses you, you can't help but dread the unknown fate waiting on the other side.

10/26 - MEDICAL/INTOX | SHOKO IEIRI

surgeon!shoko x f!reader

"all-consuming love." who is consumed, and who is loved? shoko loves by knowing, by exploring, by experimenting. and you will always feed her curiosity. you will always let her consume.

10/31 - VAMPIRES | SUGURU GETO

vampire!geto x f!reader

there was almost no information on the mysterious cult nestled into the mountainside near your hometown, with even less knowledge about its leader. curiosity sets you on your path to investigate, but something else manages to keep you.

I'M ONLY USING WHAT THE GODS GAVE ME.

[the-modern-typewriter]

if you like, would you do a snippet about the daughter of a vampire hunter who frees a captive vampire from her father?

The vampire looked only a little older than her. Seventeen, maybe. Eighteen. Myna knew that didn't count for much - you couldn't tell a vampire's age just by looking at them, but still.

She was beautiful too, of course, in the way that all vampires in some way were. Her bloody eyes were striking, ethereal things that tracked Myna's every movement into the room. They paused on the keys clutched tightly in Myna's hand and then flicked to her face. The vampire's head tilted.

Myna stopped in front of her, just out of reach.

"Will you attack me if I release you?" Myna asked.

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

It was a good question. Myna wet her lips, nervously, and the vampire's gaze darted to those next.

"No," the vampire said. "I have no desire to linger here, not even to hurt him."

But the vampire did want to hurt her father. That much was obvious, but also understandable. Maybe Myna was making a mistake. Maybe she was under a thrall that was simply masquerading itself as morality, because though desire was more insidious it was easier to resist. Maybe she would only know when the vampire was gone, and she could think clearly, or maybe she would always wonder.

Myna hesitated, shifting her grip on the keys.

"He hurts you."

"He does not like my kind."

"Your kind are monsters."

"And your father's behaviour is monstrous." The vampire shrugged, light and almost careless. Almost. She raised a delicate eyebrow. "But you know that or you wouldn't be thinking about doing what you're doing."

Myna gulped.

She'd been raised to believe that vampires were pure predator, unnatural and evil, but the more she had actually seen of them the less she could possibly believe that true. The less she saw of...her the less Myna could believe it.

Her father said that was how vampires operated. They mimicked passion, love, the human things to ensure their own safety.

Myna usually felt like she was faking it too, though.

Most of the other girls at school thought hunting was archaic, barbaric. It also felt an entirely different thing to kill a vampire and to keep one one captive for weeks on end in a converted wine cellar.

Most girls always seemed to know what to say, while Myna felt like her script had got lost somewhere and so she kept reading her cues all wrong.

If faking was the standard for being inhuman, for being evil, then what did that make her?

"How old are you?" It was a silly question, in the grand scheme of absolutely everything.

The vampire blinked. "Twenty three."

It felt ancient. It felt a world away. Twenty three meant life away from her father's house and no more school and the freedom to do whatever she wanted. She knew, though, that it wasn't very long at all. She knew what a human lifespan was supposed to be. She knew how old vampires could get.

"How old are you?" The vampire's tone was strangely soft.

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen," the vampire echoed. A wistful sort of smile curled her lips. "Sweet sixteen girl."

"I'm not sweet."

"No." The vampire said it almost musingly. "You're something much more enticing. More interesting."

Enticing. Interesting.

Myna cleared her throat. She felt heat rise, ridiculous and unbidden to her cheeks, and stepped closer. She was glad she didn't fumble the locks, but her heartbeat still picked up the second the metal hit the floor.

She scurried back swiftly, even as she was aware her swiftness was a snail compared to what the vampire was.

The vampire stood, slowly, even to Myna's human eyes, like she was trying not to scare her.

"Thank you." The vampire seemed a little unsure. She wet her lips in turn, and Myna's gaze darted treacherously to them. "It gets better," she said. "I promise."

Myna looked down, because the words weren't what she'd expected and she didn't know what exactly she'd wanted. "You should go."

When she glanced up again, the vampire stood right in front of her, barely a breath away. Myna's breath caught.

"You could come with me," the vampire said. "Your father will be angry with you for freeing me."

Myna's stomach churned, but she squared her shoulders. "He won't hurt me."

"Tell him I thralled you," the vampire said. She reached her hand up, pressing the pad of her thumb over Myna's bottom lip. "He'll believe it."

"Uhuh."

The vampire smiled; wicked and feral and everything that Myna thought she might be too, if she was only brave enough. The vampire pressed the sweetest of kisses to Myna's lips.

"All a vampire is," the vampire whispered, "is everything human with the volume turned up. Your father doesn't like what is reflected back when he thinks of us. Humans can be awful."

"And me?" Myna managed.

"You," the vampire said, "will be feral when you finally get around to unlocking your own cage. I look forward to it, sweet sixteen."

Then, she was gone.

And Myna could taste power on her tongue.

[gigabyte-flare]

Denim

[A Gigabyte Flare One Shot]

Summary: Your boyfriend comes home from an assignment still wearing his gear coupled with a pair of jeans you had gotten him, the sight of him driving you wild.

Word Count: 1.2k

Pairing: RE4R!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: Kissing, unprotected p in v, creampie, mention of firearms

A/N: This is 5000% self indulgent. I've been playing through Resident Evil 4 Remake yet again with this Special Rescue Agent mod and oh my god those jeans are so fucking sexy on him. I needed to write this to get it out of my system. You're welcome 🤣

A quick reminder that I no longer do tag lists

The door to your apartment bursts open, your boyfriend walking through briskly before closing the door behind him. You could tell from the corner of your eye he was still wearing his tactical gear and gun holster around his waist, having just come back from another grueling mission for the U.S. government to god knows where. A hint of blue draws your attention even further, your eyes now locked on the denim that perfectly accentuates his waist and backside.

“Hey, sorry I’m late babe. I had to fill out paperwork before they could let me come home. They didn’t even give me a chance to change my gear--”

Standing over the kitchen sink, you’re not even listening to your boyfriend at this point because you are way too focused on how absolutely fine he looks in the jeans you had bought him some time ago. Your mouth is hanging open and you drop the sponge you were holding into the dish water, making a subtle splash sound as your heart starts pounding in your chest. You didn’t think he even liked the jeans you got him because he had never worn them.

Until now, that is.

“Babe? Are you alright?” Leon asks, tilting his head at you and raising an eyebrow as he turns to face you.

You blink a few times, shaking your head to snap you out of your lust filled daze, returning your focus back to the dirty dishes as you fish through the water to grab the sponge, “yeah sorry! Long day…” you haphazardly reply.

“Right…” Leon says, nodding slightly before clearing his throat to continue, “let me get this gear off and I’ll come help you.”

Leon turns to walk into the bedroom, his heavy boots echoing through the apartment. You allow yourself another look as he walks off, your breath catching in your throat. It’s not just the jeans that made him look so… attractive. It’s the way the straps of his gun holster and various pouches attached to his belt hugged his thighs and how they perfectly shaped Leon’s toned backside. You unknowingly have a death grip on the sponge as hordes of less than appropriate thoughts fill your mind, causing you to bite your bottom lip.

“Stop…” you say softly; not even realizing you had said it out loud until Leon stops in his tracks and turns around to face you again.

“Hm? What’s up?” he asks before a knowing smirk begins to cross his lips as he puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, I…” you stammer before dropping the sponge back into the sink, “you just look really fucking hot in those jeans, Leon.”

He lets out a playful laugh before approaching you; you swear he’s swaying his hips as he walks on purpose just to rile you up, and it works. Now standing in front of you, his gloved fingers tracing along your jawline before cupping the back of your head, his fingers carding through your hair. His blue eyes boring into yours, piercing directly into your very soul. 

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice low and sultry before he leans in, burying his face into the crook of your neck, feeling his lips and tongue upon your skin.

Immediately, your knees are weak and the only sound you manage to get out is a strained whimper as he pushes his body into yours. Your hands, having a mind of their own, reach down around his waist, slipping inside the back pockets of his jeans before gripping his toned ass. Leon lets out a low chuckle against your neck, feeling it reverberate through your body. 

Leon’s hands run down the sides of your body before settling on your waist. He shifts both of you away from the sink before lifting you up by your waist, setting you onto the countertop. He then lifts your sundress up over your knees, gathering it onto your plush thighs before his fingers hook around the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them off and tossing them aside.

Knowing what’s to come, you shift yourself so that you’re balancing on the edge of the counter on your backside, using your hands to brace yourself against the counter. You watch Leon start to remove his belt and holster, but you reach out, grabbing his wrist to stop him.

“Keep it on. It’s really sexy,” you say, smiling at him.

He lets out another chuckle before kissing you deeply on the lips, “whatever you want, babe. Let me just make sure the pistol’s safety is on.” 

Leon takes a step back briefly, pulling his Sentinel Nine out of its holster, hearing the click of him engaging the safety before returning it to its holster. He steps towards you again and you watch in anticipation as his fingers undo his jeans, pushing them and his boxers just enough so that his hardening length springs free. You watch his gloved hand wrap around his length, giving it a few strokes before he lines himself up with your soaked entrance.

As he slowly sheathes himself inside you, your legs wrap themselves around his waist and your hands work on removing the straps and buckles keeping his tactical vest in place. Once unbuckled, he shrugs it off himself and it lands on the kitchen floor with a loud thud, leaving him in just his tight, black athletic t-shirt. Now that he doesn’t have the bulky vest on, he wastes no time pressing himself against your body, his hips pistoning into your welcoming heat.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, soft moans escaping you before you lock your lips with his. Your pussy walls clench around his cock, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your body, giving you goosebumps on your arms.

“Oh fuck! Feels so good, Leon…” you breathe out as Leon drives you towards the edge, feeling your orgasm coil in your belly, ready to snap at any moment. 

“Yeah? I’m the only one who’s made you feel this good, aren’t I?” Leon asks, his tone husky and full of playful arrogance.

“Yes!” you cry out, the coil finally snapping, your release completely soaking him, leaving the telltale white ring around the base of his cock.

“Son of a bitch…!” Leon growls, increasing the pace of his thrusts inside you as he chases his own release. He leans in close, his breath tickling your ear before he whispers, “where do you want my cum, sweetheart?”

“Inside!” you whimper, your legs trembling from your earlier orgasm as your arms cling to his back, “please…!”

“You got it babe,” he replies, his hips practically hammering into your body before pressing himself as hard and deep inside you as he can possibly go, painting your walls white with his love. 

The warmth of his cum filling you pulls a long and loud moan out of you, your eyes practically rolling into the back of your head and you melt in his embrace. Leon lets out another low chuckle as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back with both of his hands as he gives you soft kisses on your cheek.

“Remind me to wear these jeans more often.”

[tonkatsubowl]

love sick.

✱ warning — the reader is the yandere.

how would the xianzhou boys react to you as a yandere?

blade is definitely into this side of you. however, there are times where he had to calm you down. it was surprising that someone like blade even knew limits...especially when it came to necessary manslaughter.

"y/n." you ignored blade's voice, the warmth of a deceased woman's blood splattering upon your visage as you took another one's life.

this "innocent" woman in particular got a little too bold and tried to flirt with blade, trying seducing him to a form of prostitution sale. of course, he was immensely loyal to you... but he wasn't surprised for the woman's death, as he saw this coming. was he upset at you? definitely not, for he would do the same thing if a man touched or spoke to you in a disgusting way.

"y/n." he called again. "she's dead."

his hand reached towards your shoulder, stopping you in place. you breathed the fresh scent of iron, your distraught and psychotic eyes casting towards blade, and immediately your gaze had softened. decorated with blood, an innocent smile creeps towards your lips as you turn to embrace your lover.

"i just wanted to make sure she learned her lesson too." you reply, snuggling your face into blade's chest, smearing the woman's blood from your face all over his clothing.

"i'm sure she did. but now we have to bury the body."

"she doesn't deserve a burial," you nearly snap, "i'll just burn her body to crisp."

blade's gaze softens, pressing his thumb against your lips, "shh. take it easy, y/n. i'll handle it."

your eyes sparkle, but you nodded. you knew kafka didn't like seeing you in this mess, but you enjoyed it whenever you came back to the stellaron hunters and kafka had a handkerchief in hand. though, she did scold you a few times... and now blade doesn't want you to have that sort of attention from kafka.

dan heng would definitely try to find ways to not trigger this side of you. he knew you have a good heart and you would do anything to help and save the astral express team, but whenever it came to other women flirting with him and trying to seduce him... that was when you snapped.

you definitely couldn't control this side of you, and himeko and welt would continue to deeply monitor your well being whenever these sorts of things happened. there were multiple incidents where you've taken a few lives because they simply looked at dan heng's direction... but you've improved a bit? you were at least killing women and random people who decided to flirt with your lover, rather than anyone who sneezed in his direction at least.

"y/n, please..." the sounds of you ripping a woman's head apart from her body echoed through the halls, covering your body with her beautiful blood. you breathed, smiling through it all. unable to think.

but dan heng couldn't stop you. he was too late.

"y/n!"

it was an innocent saleswoman who used flirtation to gain sales, and it was nothing more... nothing less. it was purely business related. but your jealousy got the best of you.

his voice finally snap you back to reality, your hand raised to stab her one more time came to a stop. you drop your weapon, looking to dan heng. your eyes softened, no longer were they... so psychotic. so evil.

"ah. there you are! i was looking for you," you innocently beamed, waddling up to him as if nothing had occurred.

right, this was an issue, too. you killed, and you don't remember what happened. or rather you just acted like nothing happened.

"are you okay? i really missed you," you innocently said to dan heng as you embraced him, his arms reluctantly returning the hug.

if he didn't return the affection, you would become worse.

"i was moreso worried about you, but i missed you too," dan heng said in a soft tone, "let's clean you up."

he'll have to report another incident to welt and himeko.

jing yuan has monitored your well being for a while, and has used different methods of therapeutic sessions to help you maintain this side of you... or get rid of it. he knew you had a killer instinct that's hidden inside of you that you cannot control, whatsoever. and it was... terrifying. not even yanqing or fu xuan really trusted you, even doubting their general because of you.

"get rid of them. they're going to cause you trouble." fu xuan would say to jing yuan. and boy, if you heard that? a life would be taken away. and it wouldn't be yours. you were significantly stronger than fu xuan, which was why she tends to stay away from you.

yanqing didn't want to make a comment. he knew you were always listening at one point. there was an incident where you nearly killed fu xuan because of her comments, but after some restraint, magic and a bit of therapeutic sessions, you had... improved. a bit. just a bit.

"i believe in them." jing yuan would say. "i never want to give up on them."

and even if you were currently killing some random woman right now for talking about wishing to be wed to general jing yuan, he would still love you. he would try to change you.

"that's enough, y/n."

he came to retrieve you after knowing you were headed out to kill this woman. your hands stopped as he reached out, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to his chest. "that's enough."

you breathed, leaning into his touch, innocently smiling faintly. you were finally "awake", no longer focused on a mere corpse. "oh, jing yuan," you cooed, "sorry, i got distracted. i was heading out to grab you a drink, and—"

"it's alright," jing yuan murmured, eyeing on the corpse. goodness, you were getting collectively worse with these murders. never had he seen these types of deaths before, even in his years on the battlefield. "let's get you back home. i'll have the cloud knights clean this up for you."

it was time for some therapeutic sessions again.

[fanfic-obsessed]

Well Technically...

It is not often that I get an idea that includes Vader (with the genocide and horror that is implied) that makes me giggle.  This however made me giggle. 

So Vader returns to the light right before he dies and comes back as Anakin the Force ghost.  Now despite what it appears this is not a kindness.  Anakin spends decades following his kids and the galaxy at large watching how little his existence mattered (galactically Anakin Skywalker was barely more than a recognizable name, and even that was diminishing as the people who knew of the ‘hero without fear’ died off; Vader would be forgotten even more quickly because no one wanted to remember him) even as he saw the long term consequences of his life (Luke’s struggle with his own identity-both as a man and a Jedi-, Leia’s struggle with her ancestry-finding out that your blood father killed all your other available parents was not a good feeling, Reva healing from the trauma he directly caused, all the ways that Ahsoka had to reshape her own soul to patch the holes Anakin put there, the echoes of the clones that died at his hand and command and the horror of the ones that survived). He has to watch his grandson not only make his mistakes but somehow make them worse, which was something that he did not know was possible. We get all the way through the the sequels, with a heavy emphasis on Anakin watching how the consequences of his actions (particularly the slaughter of the Jedi but many of the the things he did both during the empire and during the war) while acknowledging that he is not even remembered enough to be cursed, how the galaxy has spun on, not just without him but in spite of him and he is not even a footnote. 

After Palpatine’s final, for now, death, Anakin is approached (for lack of a better term) by something shaped like Obi Wan Kenobi, circa the beginning of the clone wars. When this being speaks, it speaks with two voices at once, the Daughter and the Son. It asks if he could go back to before his Fall and change things, would he.

Anakin is sure he would, there are so many things he would do differently. 

The being says that it can send him back to just before his tipping point, where his Fall and all the evil he did became inevitable, but cannot send him back further than that.  Anakin agrees. Just before he sent back the being tells him that should his Fall become inevitable again, they would shred his mind and soul and it would be more excruciating than any pain he had ever experienced. 

Anakin, who had spent 20 years in agony, now had one(1) fear. 

Anakin “closed” his eyes in the Force, wondering when he would be sent back to (Killing Padme, Marching on the Temple, Believing Palpatine over Fives) only to open his eyes as his mother took her last breath. He was back on Tatooine, in the Tusken camp. 

Anakin was confused, this was the point of no return? He had not even thought about the Tusken camp in decades, had not truly considered them at all since Padme absolved him of their slaughter.

But this was also an Anakin that had spent decades in pain, and then decades observing. He was much more patient, by necessity if  not choice, less likely to act on violent impulse then the last time. Also the majority of his rage died in a cloud of lightning with the Emperor.  Instead of killing the Tuskens in a rage, he wept over his mother’s body in the grief he denied himself the first time. The reaction surprises the Tuskens so much (due both to the nature of Tatooine and the animosity between them and the moisture farmers they had not seen human tears of grief before) that they let Anakin take the body and leave. 

They still bury Shmi and go to rescue Obi Wan (though it does not end in a marriage this time). The War still starts but Anakin is also running around trying to fix things, including himself (and actually doing all the actual emotional work on figuring out and fixing his own issues), meditating (Frankly Obi Wan is starting to be concerned that anakin is possessed), trying to not kill anyone (because he really isn't sure what the tipping point about the Tuskens was and does not want to risk it), get the chips discovered in such a way that they do not tip off the Sith (He brings a few clones, including Fives to the temple to Spar and 'accidentally' hits Fives hard enough to knock him out and pracitcally forces Master Che do a deep enough scan), make a list of the people he killed to try and do something nice for them. At some point he decides his ‘penance’ for his life as Vader was that he would somehow bring all the currently known Sith back to the Light (including Palpatine).

In the Force, the Daughter is watching all this, her head in her hand repeating over and over ‘The point of no return was murdering children, you moron. All you have to do is not murder children’. And everything he is doing works towards that goal, but she doesn’t expect him to fix the universe (in my head it is a bit akin to asking someone to tell you an equation that use 2 and equals 4, expecting 2+2 or 2*2 but instead them confidently saying((2xSqRt(100))-40+36)/4)

The Son is watching this all with Force popcorn, this is the most entertaining thing to happen in ages. 

It is important to note that the Dark in this does not mean Evil. It means selfish, which is not the same thing.  You can be a selfish dick and still not be evil.  Mostly in this case it means that for those that inhabit the dark their priority is 1)Their own wants and needs; 2)The needs of the people they like, as long as it doesn’t inconvenience them; 3) The wants or needs of others if it benefits them in some way.  The Son was bored by what the Empire did to the Force, and he found having the Light there (and everything Anakin was doing) entertaining. 

I just keep picturing the Daughter, in the Force, exasperated with Anakin because, yes everything he is doing is good for him and the galaxy but his ONLY job is ‘don’t murder children’ and it never even occurs to Anakin that that was the only act he needed to avoid. 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Liminal (RL!Mia Winters x MC/Reader)

Fandom: Resident Evil 8/Resident Lover Genre: Fluff and angst and fluff and angst Rating: Idk T? for blood. kind of. Warnings: Major character death, major spoilers (mainly implied) for Resident Lover, minor violence (not in detail) Summary: Mia's memories layer over each other, nineteen lives and hundreds of different loops, confusing and muddling her perception of the present. There is only one constant: Love. Notes: Less of a series of scenes and more like a lot of musing, with a tiny, tiny "scene" at the end. Most of the Mia/MC vibes are implied (referenced past fwb situation, but it's implied that they had feelings beyond that). References to the MC dating a few of the other characters because loops.

She doesn’t intentionally seek the memories out, doesn’t chase the heart-killer of nostalgia, the wretched thing hiding rot behind a shiny facade. But neither does she spend any effort to avoid the trappings of the past. When the moments come, when deja vu greets her, Mia only ever lets it wash over her. Peacefully. Hauntingly. After this many lives, it is the easiest lesson to heed.

Sometimes the memories come with a smile, a soft exhale that flows into a snicker. The first time she watches you on stage, pouring your heart out as Romeo, she can’t help but remember having to help you cram for your Language Arts final. Recalls the way your lips pouted after a particularly exasperated sigh; she can trace the mental image of the way those lips curled back into a smile at one of her dumb jokes. It’s the joke itself she can’t remember. A jab at Shakespeare, probably, the man an easy choice of target.

There’s a moment (it repeats, by God it repeats, a dozen times over the loops, every instance layered on top of the last) where she sits next to you on a couch meant for three. Instinct makes her legs twitch, yearning to prop her feet up on your lap, not letting anybody sit between you. Instead, she suppresses a smile, and watches as one of your roommates all but sits on top of you. It doesn’t matter which one; in Mia’s eyes, they’re both better than Miranda, if only in this moment, for this purpose.

Other memories make her breath hitch in her throat, words stuck to the sides of her mouth like cotton, another stone to sink in her stomach. These are the ones that blend together the most, twisting further with every loop, muddling her perception of which life she’s in. Most come by accident, echoing the way she’s met you before. A bump in the hallway, papers scattering, both crouching down to pick everything up. Sudden rainfall making you scramble to share an umbrella, going back and forth between who gets most of the cover. Teaming up to take down the reigning asshole at whatever drinking game the campus is currently obsessed with.

“You look familiar- have we met before?” You’ll ask, once in a blue moon of a loop, except this time it’s more than reuniting with a childhood friend. This time it’s reaching out to pluck the heartstrings of your soulmate. One of your soulmates, that is. Mia’s response only ever comes with unearned confidence, mirth dancing on her tongue, deflecting, deflecting, denying- a hint of flirting, maybe, when she can afford it. Getting you to blush had been a favorite pastime of hers, once, twice, many times. Even if it never extended into anything more official than sharing a bed.

Seeing you at parties makes her feel like so little has changed. Always the same drink of choice, always too readily egged on by friends. If she squinted, it would be easy to put herself in Daniela’s place at your side, and so Mia never lets her gaze linger for too long. When the cups get too deep for you, it’s far too easy to stop herself from intervening. She never did before. Even when she should have. Those are the timelines where Angie does more for you than Mia’s past self could ever dream of.

It almost makes up for the time she finds your body crumpled in front of the doll’s car, crimson splashed across the bumper. She stares, only for a moment, wondering when she stopped feeling anything at the sight of your corpse. Then she catches a glimpse of three familiar fanatics in the crowd, makes note of the way their horror differs from those around them. Figures their attempts at keeping you out of the spotlight would go too far, eventually. Figures that the real nostalgia greets her fingers as they wrap around the handle of her knife. Revenge was an old friend- just one rarely visited these days.

Hard for her to thrive on revenge when she’s got the bloodiest hands of them all. Strange how the feelings shifted over time, guilt warping into freeing comfort. The first time she killed you, the first time she brought on a new loop across a knife’s edge, she almost threw up. Stared at the deep cuts and lost herself in the memory of finding Miranda cradling your lifeless body, the end of your past incarnation. It made her stomach churn, made her heart drop, and fully solidified her need to make sure the loop would meet a perfect end (the only way to guarantee you’d never meet that fate again).

By now, the blood flows freely, remorse a trinket left forgotten on dusty shelves. It’s for the best. Better her than someone else, better for her to soak your bond in blood than to let it rot in the open. Ending the loop fills her with relief, with joy, as she invokes her promise to give you not just a happy ending, but the right one. She loses track of how many times she’s knocked you down or out, how many loops she’s filled with blood, how many times she’s allowed you the comfort of bleeding out in her arms.

Ironic, then, that you never accuse her of murdering you, only someone far less important. More ironic yet that the finger of blame forces her to recall the life that bound your souls together. But that memory doesn’t perfectly layer over the present, when she’s not burning by your side, dying with your name on her lips. The way you look at her almost makes her miss the flames (the next moment she focuses on has your hands touch in passing, knuckles brushing up against each other, and she feels an entirely different kind of fire).

There are times where she wonders how much you remember. Not consciously, not truly, but which memories are etched into your soul itself. Now those are the moments that test her resolve, that tempt her to chain herself to pursuing the past the same way that Miranda does. All it takes to make her heart stop is for you to tilt your head to the side, eyes not quite narrowed, a sly smile paired with a twinkle in your eye. Something about that expression always lets her know you’re on the verge of remembering something. Half of the time you’ll follow it up with a carefully worded question, never sure if Mia feels the same deja vu that you do.

Your timing isn’t always perfect; she can’t blame you, not with the way her memories layer over each other, fighting to see which controls her present.

One hand in her pocket, clutching her switchblade, the other placed gently on your shoulder. Now that the election is over (again. how many times have you won? why do you never walk away, even when Bela begs you?), she needs to remove you. But your eyes light up as soon as she touches you. Head tilt? Check. Sly smile? Check. You should be scared by the way she’s looking at you, by the way she has you cornered on the balcony, but somehow your mind has skipped past the familiar danger and right into the familiar flirting. Aren’t you supposed to be in love with Bela this time around?

“Care to dance?” You ask, offering your hand. How long has it been since the two of you danced?... Not since Miranda refused to go with you, a lifetime or two or five ago, long before the loop. Mia had been the one to ask you then. Her expression now must mirror what yours had been that day. Surprise, amusement, and adoration. Of course she agrees.

By the time Bela interrupts, the way she does in too many loops, Mia is grateful. It had been hard enough to avoid kissing you in that past life, it was almost impossible now. Still, the Dimitrescu stands frozen for a moment, her own layered memories not finding any match for the sight. She’s supposed to be tackling Mia, knocking her off the balcony, body breaking in the bushes below. Neither of them move, trying to calculate a route to familiar endings.

Mia misjudges her decision, ruins the feelings, guarantees that you’ll harbor a hesitance to dance with her for all loops and lives to follow. She holds your hand, she holds her knife. She holds your hand, she takes your life. For once, Bela is the one who’s two steps behind, her shove coming too late, even if it still carries Mia off of the ledge.

Death never takes either of you for terribly long. Miranda pulls back the fog of limbo, breaks the rules, makes the void spit you both back out, resetting the loop. One wakes up with memories of everything, the other with only impressions. Lingering pieces of nineteen strange dreams, and a hundred futures cycling over one another with interlocking grooves, the only set pattern being love and love and wretched, bloody love. Mia doesn’t chase the nostalgia, doesn’t seek out the ways she knows will lead to love, to the familiar warmth of your heart next to hers. Why would she? All roads lead back to you.

[queersatanic]

(A Case Against) Identifying with Satanism in the Modern World

First, let’s make sure there’s no misunderstanding.

Most Satanists do not worship or even believe in a literal, supernatural devil. It is absolutely not the norm for Satanists to abuse or ritually harm children or animals; if anything, less than the general population, even. Satanists do not have much institutional power or influence in the world; most of what you hear along those lines eventually ends up being thinly-veiled antisemitism, frankly.

So who are Satanists, really? Mostly we’re just regular folk with some religious trauma.

If you’ve been raised by Christian reactionaries and particularly if told that you personally are evil because you have typical intrusive thoughts and human feelings, it’s going to mess you up. Or maybe you have an understanding of your own body, gender identity, and/or sexuality that your Christian family and church disapprove of. It can be quite natural to abandon trying to live up the expectations of those who will always hate you. When you notice that family members can justify abuse, rooting for genocide, and calling rank cruelty the way of heaven, it’s not surprising if you are one of so many who echo Huck Finn in saying, “All right then. I’ll go to hell.”

When you have watched those who say they are of-God make for years a convincing case that Satan is the logical and compassionate choice, why would a thinking, caring person not say, “Yes, I am of the devil. Be Gay, Do Crime, Hail Satan”?

Yet you should resist this temptation.

[themonotonysyndrome]

Ě̸̡̞̱̘̹̮̫͚̯͍͕̟̪͂̀̋̉̾͛̂̑̅͜͝c̴̢̺̟̣̠̤̽͋͒̄̄͂̆̿͗̑̊̒̒̕ḧ̷͇͍͉͉̺͈͙́̀͆̀̒̒̅̒͒̔̽ó̶͔̜̓͛̓̂̔̆͌́͆̉͂͘͝͠es of regrets

So! I saw this post from @rivyx (if you like, I can untag you. Just wanna give credit where credit is due):

And I thought:

"Man. It's been a while since I broke my own heart. Oh! Angst between Geordi and Cutie? How about I make Geordi regret for making Cutie believe that they need to multiate and hide the magical part of themselves and even the Empowered world because he doesn't understand a Telepath's needs?"

Hence. This oneshot. Shout out to @moonandstarlightsposts for helping me come up with the title!

(Yes. Yes. I know. Cutie was canonically at fault, too. I just wanna focus on Geordi regretting his actions for a change.)

-

Summary: Second chances come and go. But for Geordi and Cutie, perhaps they should have let it go by.

First comes the awkwardness. 

It’s to be expected. A break was decided - no, needed - for the both of them after… well. No point in digging up bad memories. The two of them were heading down a dangerous spiral, and Geordi could no longer ignore the red flags. He’d been through too much to drown in toxicity and abuse again. Whether his partner realised it or not. And that’s the part that crushed his heart. A heart that Geordi painstakingly put back together with liquid gold and long nights of tearful frustrations. He told them about Ben. He told them how his ex callously disregarded his boundaries. And Cutie just - 

Therapy was something they agreed to during their break. Geordi needed to address old trauma that re-open like wounds and Cutie - 

‘I… I hope this isn’t me coming across as presumptuous, but one of my coworkers is a really good therapist. I think you’ll like him! His name is Cam - ’

‘I still have my old therapist’s number. Um. Thanks, though.’

‘O-Oh! Right. Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I just… never mind.’

That was the last text that Cutie sent. Even after they moved out of his apartment, the two continued to exchange careful messages with one another, awkwardly making sure not to step on each other’s landmines. However, as days gone by, the texts became more and more superficial: ’Morning. Have you eaten?’. ‘Just cereal. Thanks for checking up on me.’ ‘The weather forecast mentioned a thunderstorm. Don’t forget an umbrella, ok?’. When Cutie brought the subject of therapists to the table - 

The texts stopped after that. 

Geordi had no idea how lonely his existence truly was without Ben and Cutie. The two-bedroom apartment became too big. He cooked too much for a single person. His left side felt too exposed whenever his coworkers dragged him out for drinks and karaoke. It hurts. He has a habit of rubbing his left arm nowadays. 

His therapist is a kind woman, the kind that has laugh lines all over her face. Older than him, more at ease with her place in the world, unlike Geordi. She never judges him whenever he finds the courage to unravel before her. Ugly, jagged broken pieces for a heart. Gold and bitter tears for the next few months. 

Soon, a year passes. 

Something settled within Geordi then. New foundations were built. The world is a little less lonely now that he has opened up to his coworkers, reached out to some cousins on phones and slowly put himself out there again. He had fallen in love with building LEGOs recently. A hobby that happily kept him occupied while a slow, reverb version of Evil by Melanie Martinez plays in the background of the living room. 

It took a while, but he finally reached a point and mental headspace to put Cutie back into the equation. 

His therapist's words constantly echo in his head, grounding him whenever his fingertips run on the rim of their favourite mug, red with little ladybugs on the ceramic. Witty, funny, confident, mischievous and kind - Cutie’s best would always outshine their worst in Geordi’s eyes. Perhaps that’s why he subconsciously ignores the raising red flags the more and more they tested his boundaries. Anyway, being with Cutie brought out the best of Geordi in return, which he never even knew existed. He loved them, plain and simple. He loves learning about them and their world every day of the week. He was so happy and content whenever they were in his arms. Growing old together was something he thought about when they drove back home from his folks’. Cutie was fast asleep, with their head gently resting against the window of the car. That moment was magical in its own way. 

Geordi misses them. His incredible, one-of-a-kind partner. 

He thinks about them more often than not nowadays, wondering how therapy is going for them. Had they fallen in love with any new hobbies? Did Cutie make any new friends outside of the Department? If so, he wonders what they’re like. 

Thoughts turn to yearning. Yearning turns to Geordi, picking up his phone and texting Cutie first for once.

‘Hey. Good morning. How are you?’

The two of them never used to be awkward when they were a couple. Feeling hopeful, Geordi puts aside his phone as he continues about his day. Fixing himself a hearty lunch using a recipe that he can’t wait to share with Cutie and goes about doing the laundry afterwards. It’s only after his evening shower that a notification lights up on his phone screen. 

‘Hey. I’m alright. You?’

Superficial. That’s OK, though. Geordi is not giving up. 

The two resume texting every day soon enough as if the distance weren’t ever there. It makes him happy to be updated with every little thing that is going on in Cutie’s life. He spams GIFs and emojis at every picture they share and they, in return, slowly start to send over recorded audio of their little laughter and quips. It makes him miss them all the more. Enough to replay those audios over and over again whenever he can’t sleep at night. During those nights, his phone would always be on the right side of the bed.

Texting eventually evolves to calling when Geordi wakes up from a rather bad nightmare. Something so vague that it slipped from the recess of his conscious as he panted for air. Without even thinking about it, he presses on a familiar number. His call is answered almost immediately. 

“Geordi? Why are you awake around this hour?”

Relief floods into his very being. They once fondly tease him that, no, their voice isn’t magic. Unlike Vampires and their special eyes, Telepaths specialised in minds instead. It’s his love that makes their voice special and it’s love that dispels the lingering nightmare. 

“Geordi?” Cutie’s voice is hesitant at the end of the line. “Is everything ok? Do you have someone nearby that you can call for help?” 

“No! No, no. I’m fine.” Comes his quick assurance. The shirt that he brought to sleep is drenched in sweat. His hair is matted to his forehead. He feels gross, and yet he doesn’t want to put Cutie on loudspeaker while he cleans himself up. “I just… really miss you. So much.” 

Cutie’s reply is a whisper, “I-I miss you too. Can I ask if that’s the reason why you called me?” 

“Yeah… had a nightmare; can’t remember what it was about. What I do remember is how you used to bring me to the kitchen, and you’d make warm chocolate milk for the both of us to help. You’d then talked me through it, helped me calm me down. Did I ever thank you for that? Thank you, by the way.” 

“You’re welcome. I like taking care of you. And, uh, you did thank me. Always.” 

Geordi lets out a ragged sigh. Those happy moments were just what he needed. “Did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to.” 

“Nah, you’re good. I was doing some leftover documents for an assignment.” 

Cutie never used to stay up past midnight. They like to sleep early whenever they can due to how mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing their job as an intel extraction officer can be. Cutie often rants about how the Department inefficiently run things, especially when it comes to bureaucracy. Perhaps this is one of their new habits? Speaking of which - 

“How’s work treating you? Did you get that promotion?” 

“Work’s alright. Are you feeling better now?” 

Well, his heart was no longer racing, that’s for sure. But he still wants to hear their voice even through the static. “Like magic. You’re always the perfect cure for everything.” He waits for Cutie to laugh in that out-of-breath sort whenever he compliments them. Light and carefree.

Instead, they hum. 

“Glad to hear it. Are you going to try and go back to sleep?” 

“Only when you are, Cutie.” Geordi tries to flirt and perhaps coax them to rest for the evening. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll go to bed in a bit. Um. If that’s all - ”

Perhaps it’s because the nightmare that he can no longer recall had something to do with Cutie. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t heard their voice properly in so, so long. Whatever it is, it gave Geordi a burst of courage. He quickly asks before Cutie can hang up, “Wait, wait! Can I see you, Cutie? I just want to talk. Please?” He swallowed thickly. “I think we’re ready to discuss about… us.” 

A thoughtful silence from Cutie. 

“I’d like that. Where do you want to meet up?” 

Geordi’s night becomes much sweeter after that. They talk and plan until his eyes grow heavy and Cutie’s documents are filed away. They even put him on loudspeaker and brought him to the bathroom so they could continue talking while they showered. God, the sounds of running water alone fill him with wants and images. He can’t stop picturing himself in that shower with them. So you can’t blame how incredibly giddy Geordi is when he finally sees Cutie walk up to the cafe the next day. They offered him a small smile as they made themselves comfortable across the table. Healthy and rocking a new fashion style when Geordi is busy absorbing every little detail about them. He could honestly stare at them like a work of art in the Louvre. 

“So I’m here…” Cutie says rather unnecessarily. They scratch their cheek nervously. “You wanted to talk?” 

He snaps out of a daze. Shit, he got distracted by his thoughts! For a split second, Geordi can’t help but wonder if they heard his inner ramblings. Judging by Cutie’s guarded expression, he lets out a sigh of relief. It sets his heart at ease to learn about this new side of Cutie. “Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to meet up with me. You look… god, Cutie. You look amazing.” 

“Thanks! You’re not too bad on the eye yourself.” Cutie’s smile is wider now. “We’ve practically caught up to speed with each other lives for a while now. So, this is it. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it this time. I promise.” 

That assurance dissolves any doubts that Geordi might have harboured. He’s more sure about his next few words than ever before. “I still want us to be together, Cutie. That never changed. Even when we were on a break, I had no one else. I love you, even when you broke my heart. Do you… do you still feel the same?” 

Cutie reaches out to hold his hand, which is gripping a fork so tightly. He didn’t even realise it. The moment when skin meets skin, a familiar warmth spread across his arm. It’s like sunshine thawing out the chills in his bone marrow. He lets go of the fork in favour of holding their hand and squeezes it. “My feelings haven’t changed too. I love you so damn much, Geordi. I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry for hurting you. Words alone aren’t enough to promise you that I won’t do it again, but I’ll make sure my actions make up for it. From now on, you’ll lead where this relationship is going. I’ll follow” Steely determination glimmers behind Cutie’s eyes. God, they look so hot! Would his therapist finally judge him if he asked Cutie to drag him to the bathroom for a quickie? It’s been too long since they’re in him. 

“Geordi? Are you ok? You look flush.” Some of that hesitation creeps back into Cutie. Dimming that spark of fire. He panics when their hand tugs back. 

“Yeah! Sorry. My head’s a bit of a mess.” He begins to explain. Here, he lowered his voice; his eyes lidded. “Maybe you can make sense of it? You might like what you find, Cutie…” 

“Oh!” For some reason, Cutie looks positively alarmed. A deer in a headlight. He had never seen that kind of look on their face before. Their sudden reaction threw Geordi off guard. Any lustful thoughts are completely replaced with concern now. “Maybe later. So, uh, where do we go from here? I can’t move back in just yet due to my apartment lease. Or do you want things to stay as they are right now for a little while longer?” 

Continue this distance between them? Geordi doesn’t think he’s that strong of a man.

“Feel free to move in any time you can. My place is your home. You know that.” 

That gorgeous smile slowly returns. This is Cutie at their best. After that day, things begin falling into place without a hitch. Cutie is back in his life. They bring their clothes and toiletries over when their lease is up - 

“You kept my mug?” 

“Of course I did, silly. Why would I throw it out?” 

“Right… right. Sorry.” 

“Cutie? Is something wrong?” 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Say, that recipe you bookmarked earlier, why don’t you let me take a crack at it? I’ll handle dinner tonight!” 

- their routines fall into one once more, and Geordi couldn’t be happier. His world is no longer filled with silence and bitterness.

Second comes the realisation. 

Geordi has been riding high on cloud nine ever since Cutie settled back into his apartment, into his life. Waking up to their sleeping face feels like a dream that he never wants to end. Their giggling when he rouses them with kisses is a bonus. He loves greeting the morning sun with a partner who is happy and satiated from the night before. And if Cutie is in the mood to play? Well! He’s more than happy to ruin the sheets for the third time in the span of six hours. 

And don’t even get him started on domestic bliss. 

Since Cutie’s work hours are a lot more flexible than Geordi’s, he’s forever grateful that they always have a pot of hot coffee ready for him on the table and a sweet kiss before he dashes out for the day. If he returns before traffic picks up in the evening, the couple would either go out for a dinner date or stay at home and binge-watch a new series while they eat in the living room. They alternate in cooking and cleaning depending on their schedule, but Cutie seems to have a habit of doing both whenever they can. The coworkers that he invited over for DnD sessions would whistle and nudge him on the shoulder when they looked around the spotless apartment, praising him for scoring the perfect partner after Cutie left them with a tray of snacks and drinks. Internally, Geordi preens. 

When the weekends roll around, and it’s just the two of them lazying together in their sweats and old t-shirts, Geordi and Cutie would spend time together by combining their new hobbies. Geordi would lose himself in another LEGO building project while Cutie reads a novel on their phone on the couch. His favourite playlists play on and on, wrapping the couple in a peaceful cocoon. 

That is until - 

Geordi blinks, back in the present, when he suddenly hears the sliding door of the balcony softly shut. He sees Cutie outside talking on the phone, their back against him. He watches them moving their free hand animatedly for a few seconds longer before focusing back on the tower that he had been building. When the sliding door shuts again, he absentmindedly asks, “Hey, Cutie? What are you in the mood for lunch? Do you want to go to that Chinese restaurant down the street or…” His words trail off the moment he notices the frustrated lines on his partner's forehead. Their eyes were exhausted all of a sudden. Before he could say anything, his partner flashed an apologetic smile. 

“Work called. Something came up. I need to step out in a bit, but I should have some time to make lunch - ”

Geordi stops them right there and then. He doesn’t want them to get more stressed out, especially when an emergency - he assumed - just happened. “No, no. Don’t sweat it. How about you go get ready while I make us lunch? I’d rather you have something in your stomach before you leave.” He replies, already up on his feet. 

Deer in a headlight on Cutie. Again. What’s going on? “I can do it. It’s your rest day after all - ”

“Nu-uh. You just get your pretty ass in the shower, alright? I’ll have your favourites ready as soon as you step out of our bedroom door again.” Geordi assures them, but in reality? He’s so confused. They never so stressed out about cooking before. Seriously, what’s going on? 

Cutie eventually nods. They kiss him on the cheek and make a beeline for the bathroom while Geordi takes out a wok and spatula. Their strange behaviour remains in his mind as he makes spicy stir-fry noodles. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve been going along with everything he likes nowadays. Cooking his favourite meals, making sure the laundry is clean and folded, helping him with the LEGOs, hanging out with his friends and letting him initiate intimacy and sex every time. They laugh when he tells jokes, as cheesy as they are. Apart from their clothes and toiletries, they haven’t brought back their Digimon plushies, or any of their physical books on the shelves. They hate horror movies, but when he absentmindedly suggests they watch Saint Maud, they agree without any hesitation. 

It’s like they’re a satellite, faithfully orbiting Geordi’s every need and want. Why… why did he never notice that before? And when was the last time they went out to Cutie’s favourite restaurant again? When was the last time they did what Cutie wanted for a change? 

Ah. Geordi remembers now. It was before they went on a break. 

Something’s wrong with Cutie. Shit! Why didn’t he notice it before!? Was he truly caught up in his own world that he utterly neglected his partner’s? 

The noodles are hot and plated, ready on the table, but Geordi feels so cold and empty. Guilt was heavy in his stomach. His grin is stiff when Cutie finally emerges wearing their standard work fit. Even in black slacks and a white collared shirt, Cutie looks like a model ready for the runway. They tuck into their meal, but Geordi doesn’t have much appetite for it. So many thoughts clash with one another in his head like angry hornets. He doesn’t even know where to start or what to ask. At times like this, Cutie would slip into his mind and act as his anchor. But ever since they got back together again - 

“What time would you be coming home?” Is what comes out from Geordi’s lips, frustrated with himself. 

Cutie stops washing their dishes to turn around. “If all goes well? In the evening. Probably before midnight, so you don’t have to wait up or put aside dinner for me. I can just grab something when I leave the office.” 

And that’s another thing that Geordi just now realised. They don’t talk about work as much as they did before. When asked, sure, Cutie would always answer him, but it was never more than a, “Oh, my cases? Some old, same old.”, “These documents are pretty boring, actually. Something for the higher-ups to keep in their record.”, “The therapist I mentioned before? Oh, you mean Cam? He’s still working on the floor above mine.” Lukewarm. Tepid. Those are the kinds of replies that Cutie would often give him before the conversation seamlessly shifts to another topic. 

Not once have they performed magic around him. In fact, ever since they got back together again, Cutie’s voice is constantly absent in his mind. 

Suddenly, Geordi feels sick. He forces himself to put on a brave face, a mask that tells his partner that everything is alright, because their eyebrows begin to furrow in hesitation. 

And now he knows why. 

“Call me when you leave?” Geordi tries not to plead. His voice didn’t crack, that good. The last thing he wants is to get the love of his life in trouble with their superiors. They never did tell him if they received that promotion or not. 

It’s a bittersweet victory when Cutie smiles again. “Sure! Have fun with your project, baby.” 

They exchange a long kiss; he wonders if they find it weird that Geordi is reluctant to pull their lips away from him. He weeps and weeps into his hands when they leave the apartment. What has he done? Oh god, Cutie… he didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to drive them into cutting a part of themselves in order to make him happy. He didn’t mean to be so blinded when they made themselves smaller and smaller if that’s what they thought would make him happy. Would let them stay in his life. 

He didn’t mean to hurt Cutie. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen! He thought that - he had hoped they got better, not - why couldn’t they just talk - has he become Ben? 

Mrs Potato Head plays on and on while Geordi struggles to breathe. 

Finally, in comes the heartbreak. 

Geordi didn’t even wait for Cutie to come back. The moment he regained control of himself, he ran out with his phone and wallet. His eyes are rimmed-red, just like the setting sun behind him. He knows which streets are veiled against people like him; he just hopes he can ask for help from any Empowered folks who might be entering the Department. He has to fix this. He desperately needs to talk to Cutie. He needs them to know that he loves every part of them, that he loves the magical world as much as they do. 

However, when he cuts through the park, he freezes. 

Sitting on a bench a little further from the playground is his partner, crying in the arms of a stranger. Cracks begin to form in Geordi’s heart. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but judging from how the stranger does the talking and Cutie sighs and sniffles, it clued him in pretty quickly that they’re talking through him via telepathy. The stranger smiles sadly and offers them a handkerchief. His body language is serene, but the expression on his beautiful face is tight and worried. Is he a coworker? Another lover? Geordi doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Stricken, he watches them pat the stranger’s hand and gathers up their things. Leaving him on the bench as Cutie makes their way out of the park. 

It’s at that moment that Geordi’s phone rings. He answers the call without a word. 

“Hey, baby. Just left the office.” Cutie’s voice is hoarse. They clear their throat. This time, they sound more like themselves again - fake and bright. “Turns out one of the interns needed a stand-in instructor for tomorrow’s fieldwork. Since I’m on the way home, do you want me to grab anything?” 

Geordi watches them wait at the same bus stop from which he just got off. “Why haven’t you talked to me through my head?” 

“…Geordi, I’m out right now. Can we maybe talk about this at home?” 

“OK. Why have you stopped ironing your work clothes with your hands?” 

“I-I like using your new iron instead. What’s going on, Geordi? Did I do something wrong? Look, tell me how I can fix it, please? I don’t… I don’t know what I did wrong…” 

Is this how it will always be when they’re together? Hurting each other whether they mean to or not? Acts of love turning into subservience? 

The weaker side of him can’t help but wonder if it was a mistake for him and Cutie to get back together again if it means new sorrows and new regrets will always sour their relationship. 

[raiynnah]

Academic Rivals (Wolfstar)

word count: 664

"Ugh, he's speaking Latin, that's so pretentious." 

"Remus, you speak Latin," Lily replies, rolling her eyes in exasperation. He ignores her.

"I bet he was born with a silver spoonful of dead languages stuck in his mouth.”

"What a delightful image."

“I hope he chokes on that spoon,” Remus continues, crossing his arms and glaring across the room where James Potter’s thundering laugh echoes from as Sirius Black grins in a way that could rival the sun. Lily scoffs. 

"What a prick, no regard for other people's peace and quiet."

"Lily, you have no regard for anyone's peace and quiet." And it's true, she can yell her lungs out when angered. 

"Shut up and stop staring at Sirius before he and his annoying best friend come bother us." 

"I'm not staring!" Lily grabs her backpack, throwing it over her shoulder just as the bell rings to mark the end of lunch. Her salad is still mostly uneaten next to Remus’ sandwich, both of them having been too wrapped up in conversation to really eat.

"Totally are,” she says back before glaring at James again, who seemed to have developed a sixth sense quick enough to wave at her excitedly at the same time. She picks up her newest book of feminine literature and her half-eaten salad, huffing in irritation at the boy that hasn’t left her alone since he found out she existed. Remus follows her lead, wiping imaginary dust off his uniform as he grabs his Latin textbook, and starts to head to class. From a few tables over, Sirius Black scowls at him but he pretends not to notice.

“Meet up after school?” he asks her, “My mom is baking.”

“Anything for Hope Lupin’s pastries,” she says, winking at him. “Tell me, is she still sure she doesn’t want to run away with me?”

“No, Lily.” Remus clicks his tongue disapprovingly but can’t help but smile at his best friend. “She’s still not accepting your marriage proposals.” Lily sighs.

“A shame, that.” Remus nudges at her as they take a turn in the hallway.

“If you’re that desperate for marriage…” He starts and looks pointedly at her.

“Don’t you dare, Lupin! If I accept a date with James Potter, take me to see a doctor because it will never, ever happen!” She’s almost shouting now as she shakes her fist at him in anger. Remus’ cringes at the weird looks they get from the people around them.

“Alright, alright, pretend I didn’t say anything,” he replies, palms out placatingly. She glowers at him playfully as they enter their classroom, which is less haunted by dead languages than it is the smell of jocks like Sirius Black, who somehow made it to class before them.

Remus sits at his desk, deliberately not looking at the desk that is unfortunately situated right next to him, and waits for class to begin. Professor McGonagall sits at the teacher’ desk, hands clasped together tightly, and dares to smile as she sends Remus to his execution without even a warning.

“For your next project you will be required to translate an excerpt from the writings of Cicero, which I will assign to you in a minute,” she tells the class mercilessly, “And you will work with the person next to you.”

The person next to you. Sirius. Remus almost complains but one look from McGonagall silences him, as if she knew that some people would argue and is ready to smite them at the smallest hint of rebellion. Work with his sworn enemy or face his professor’s disapproving glare. In his peripheral vision he sees Sirius watching him contemplatively, most likely stuck in the same dilemma.

Suddenly, a crumpled note hits him in the face. Remus frowns as it lands on his desk, pretending not to notice before succumbing to his curiosity. He unravels the note cautiously. Who knows what evils could be hidden in this wrinkled piece of notepad paper?

auribus teneo lupum

Remus snorts. Clever.

Meaning 'holding a wolf by its ears' aka being in a dangerous situation where both holding on and letting go could be deadly. Kind of like 'stuck between a rock and a hard place'. Obviously also a play on Remus' last name

[whoreish-behaviour]

Revenant 7

Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6

Navi!Colonel Quaritch x Na'vi!Reader

Warnings >~< = Man-handling / I'm planning for the next chapter to be quite dark, just a heads up if i stick to that.

'Please do not fight. It won't work.' You tried to reason with the distraught people before you, their cries making your heart drop to your stomach.

You felt your body beginning to seize up, every cell in your body screaming that you that this was wrong.

You weren't meant to sit here and tell these people to roll over and surrender. You were't meant to stand amongst the people that held guns to the innocent.

You weren't meant to be with sky people.

Even if they were made to look like you, a wolf in sheep's clothing is all they were.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you dropped to your knees and sat back in front of the couple before you, whose arms were desperately reaching out to each other.

The soldiers behind them didn't budge an inch.

'Please, do you know of a Jake Sully?' You begged. 'They will leave once you tell me.'

Again they shook their heads, tears rolling down the woman's face as children's screams echoed around. Your lip trembled as you saw her physically crumble, shoulders dropping.

'Please stop this! We don't know! They have my baby, please!' You watched as the woman cried, her body trying to shuffle closer to yours - making sure you had heard her.

'They do not know..' You looked to the ground on the left of you, where Miles stood, holding the device with a picture of Jake Sully.

'You sure?' You nodded, trying to blink back your tears.

You didn't look when his body moved out of your peripheral, too busy trying to push away the memories of when he did this to you - an awful reminder that he wasn't a good person.

'Let them go! We're leaving, light it up!'

You gasped and snapped your eyes up, ears stood tall as you processed what you had just heard.

Miles wasn't even paying attention as the soldiers roughly threw the people to the ground, one of them reaching into their back pocket for their gun.

The same gun that was used to destroy your home.

Just like before, your body moved before you could even think about what you were doing, your legs carrying you in a sprint towards the soldier with pure destruction in his hands.

You rammed your body into his back, his startled gasp reaching your eyes as he fell to the floor - gun falling from his grip.

Recovering quickly, you grabbed it from the sand and stood protectively in front of the hut that was about to be lit - hissing when the soldier looked up at you in surprise.

'The fuck are you doin'' You watched as Miles came closer, voice angry and ears flat.

He quickly looked to the soldier on the floor who stood up, brushing himself clean before staring back at you.

You didn't answer, you didn't even know yourself.

But you couldn't allow them to further traumatise people because they were no longer 'of use'.

Hissing in response, you gripped the gun tighter as he stepped closer - slow and predatory as his tail swung behind him.

'I won't let you Colonel.' You spat, snarling your fangs threateningly.

'Give me. The. Gun.' He replied slowly, snarling back at you.

You waited until he was close enough, less than a metre away before crouching and attempting to swipe your tail on the back of his knees - the force heavy.

But not enough to knock him off his feet - or even make him stumble..

Within a second, he was gripping the hair at the nape of your neck from where you were still crouching - answering your cries with his growls of anger.

He pulled you until you were pressed up against his legs, his massive form looming over you and shadowing your vision as he snatched the gun from you.

Hissing again, you reached up and tried to dig your nails into his palm - his grip only tightening.

'You never fuckin' listen. Maybe I should leave your ass purple next time.'

He pulled you up until you were nose to nose, the tips of your feet on the sand.

'You are evil! No different.' You snarled heatedly.

He was quiet for a moment, both your breathing heavy and noses flared.

'I never said I was.'

His eyes left yours momentarily, bouncing over your features before he turned away, dropping you back into your feet.

You cried out as he dragged you, your unsteady feet failing to support you and sending you down.

The colonel however didn't release you, didn't even look back as he continued to haul your thrashing body until you were both back at his Ikran.

Reaching into one of the many compartments on his vest, he pulled out two handcuffs - placing him between his teeth before turning to your figure on the floor.

You didn't fight, what would be the point? Only hissing and whipping your tail behind you to show him just how pissed off you were.

Once your hands were secure, he grabbed your ankles - pressing them tightly together before looping the orange plastic tight to your skin.

'Wanna act like a baby, always bitchin' and moaning - then fine. Your gonna be just as helpless as one too.' He scolded, eyes intently set on yours before he stood up.

The colonel watched as you turned to face away from him, a snare set on yours lips.

He would've said you almost looked cute, pump lips pouted and nose all scrunched up - had you of just listened.

Had you of just given him the gun when asked - instead of trying to start a fight you wouldn't even have the slightest chance of winning.

But no, you had to show him that he had indeed not tamed you at all. That you were still wild as anything, his blatant authority meaning absolutely nothing to you.

It pissed him off.

You didn't argue when he picked you up, eyes looking anywhere but his face.

You held off your sound of surprise when you felt him lay you over the Ikran, like you were some cheap cargo. His hand warm as he placed it on the small of your back, holding you steady as he climbed on.

The embarrassing position made you snarl to yourself, teeth grinding at his audacity.

The colonel swallowed down his chuckle when your quiet noises of protest reached his ears, a smirk breaking across his face.

He gripped your body again, shifting you up and closer to him so you were laid across his lap instead, your chest resting on his thigh and arms dangling.

Grasping his Ikran's reins, he commanded it up - feeling your body shake. Moving his hand to rest against your back, securing you to him - he watched as his team followed him shortly after.

...

'Nothin'?'

The colonel watched as you shook your head at him, eyes still cast down and your ears flat

He sighed deeply before looking over your head from your sitting position and at the hostages around him, his crew's rough treatment of them nothing new.

Sliding a hand down his face, he shut his eyes and thought.

It had been hours and this was clearly not working.

It was taking far too long to get to each clan, rounding everyone up in the village was a bitch and a half and the whole ordeal was clearing stressing you the fuck out.

You had been quiet, not a word that wasn't Na'vi and or directed at the villagers leaving your lips. He had almost forgotten what your ears looked like when they weren't down.

It was time for a new tactic.

He looked down at you and made sure you were safely tucked away near his Ikran before walking over to his second in command.

'Lyle.' He nodded to the blue soldier, who nodded back - blue sunglasses reflecting the light before throwing the hostage in his grip to the ground.

'This aint' workin' out.' He cut to the chase, eyeing the man at their feet begging for his life.

'Nah, they're stone walls.' The blue soldier replied, shaking his head.

'We keep turnin' up the heat - he's just gonna keep running..' The colonel looked down, crossing his arms over his chest before an idea popped into his head.

Running his tongue over his fangs, he looked to his second in command who was hanging onto his last words.

'We gotta draw him out.'

...

The Ikran landing on the roof of the ship winded you slightly, the hand on your back keeping you steady as your breathed out.

You felt the Colonel shift below, his hips sliding out from under you before he lifting up and off the beast.

You waited patiently, gasping when you felt him brush up behind you - your cheeks flushing as images of yesterday when you were in this exact same position, the colonel between your thighs-

His hands around your waist cut your thoughts off, inwardly thanking him as your brain refocused while he lifted you up, twisting you so you were now facing him.

'Still ignoring me?' He bend down to your eye level but you looked away, chin lifted and silently answering his question.

He sighed, movement of him shaking his head just visible out the corner of your eye.

You still didn't speak as he bend over slightly, grasping your hips once again and throwing you over his shoulder - your still tied legs preventing you from walking.

'Keep this shit up and I'll give you another reason you can't walk..' You felt his hand slide up your side and down to your ass, squeezing the sore flesh tightly.

'..that don't involve restraints.' Once the words had left his mouth, only then did he let go.

You gasped at his boldness before hissing, fist clenching at his blatant confidence.

You felt him chuckle, the sound warming your cheeks as you continued to scowl.

Your body bounced as he walked, carefully jumping down off the roof of the ship and onto landing, the hand on your side moving higher up and circling your waist more to make sure you didn't slip.

You ignored the feeling in your stomach as the Colonel pulled you backwards, sliding your body down his front until your feet landed on the ground.

Finding your balance, you looked to the floor - tucking your tail close to you and ignoring the harsh stare on your face, daring you to look at him.

The Colonel felt himself huff when you failed to give him even a speck of your attention, his tail flicking behind in annoyance at your refusal.

Fine, he thought - your brattiness finally getting to him,

Two could play at that game.

Comments welcome >>

Part 8

Kofi <3

Taglist = @namor-is-the-way @kimqueenofhell @simplefools @gremlinfuck @jupekali @cypherpt5fttaehyung @pturnersblog @girlblogger2002 @inkareds @apollonshootafar @lovejessejay @applesnbannasss @spookyspecterino @s-sabbas @ateandleftnocrumbz @witxhy-lexx @generational-tragedy @anbanananna @honestlyka @perseny @yuugenmomo @hungrhay @darkengene @nin3kyuu @blossom618 @cherrychupachup @sofiebstar @prty-poisxn @bloodyziggy @esposadomd @oyasumimosura @aerangi

[totallynotcoffeeturtle]

Palm Kisses and Plum Wine

Genshin masterlist

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, confessions, affectionate drunk heizou Summary: What is one to do when there is a drunk detective in your lap at midnight?

This is bad. Very very very bad. Not because you committed some unspeakable atrocities for the best detective in all of Inazuma to be climbing into your house through the open window, but because said detective, namely Heizou, is your boyfriend and is extremely, horrendously drunk. 

Your pretty man, your favorite human being on this whole godforsaken continent is already adept at making your heart race like no tomorrow. And him now with no inhibitions? A menace to society, especially your poor overworked heart. You quietly stare up at Heizou’s slim figure straddling your lap, your hands clasped in his while he mutters whatever loving, sugar-filled sentences that appear in his mind. You cannot help but wonder inwardly how you even got into this situation.

To understand your current situation fully, you must turn back time to less than an hour ago. 

You were going to get a cup of water and something else to entertain yourself with for the night when you heard a rustle from the kitchen. You froze up. Usually, just Heizou’s reputation and the sheer frequency of him coming over is enough to chase anyone with evil intentions away. You gripped tightly onto the bottle of milk nearby and prepared yourself for a bitter struggle… Only to see the ‘criminal’ was Heizou, utterly drunk and could not find his keys for whatever reason (They were in his other pocket, courtesy of his brilliantly intoxicated brain). So of course the idea his brilliant mind cooked up was to climb through your window!

At the sight of you, still very distressed due to his decision, Heizou immediately jumps over. His body slams against you and the detective pushes you down along with the momentum, putting you into a rather suggestive position. It would be a heart pounding scene if your poor lower back did not have to take both his weight and gravity. Before you can question him, the strong scent of plum wine fills your senses with the sheer proximity between your faces. On his thin lips is a soft, oh-so-smitten smile that serves to make his eyes shine even bright under the moonlight and the dim lantern you just lit up.

He pulls you up by pulling on your wrists, making you lean on him, and proceeds to cup his own face with your palms. Heizou smiles even brighter at the coolness against his flushed cheeks. “Did… did you drink?,” you ask, just to confirm your already very sure assumption. In response, the burgundy haired man nuzzles his cheeks against your hold while slowly blinking his beautiful eyes. You sigh as you attempt to calm your heart from its 100 km per hour pace. He pauses for a moment and relief washes over you. Maybe you can finally get him to bed and no longer have to deal with this awkward situation?

“Love? Let’s get you tucked in?,” you suggest. A part of you wishes to continue to stay in this position, but for the sake of both your heart and your spine, you ask him the question. Heizou stares into your eyes, his gaze hazy yet clear at the same time. His hold on your hand refuses to budge. Moments pass as he seems to fall into contemplation. You wonder if you should try and escape while he is distracted but his grip would not budge at all. 

Slowly, his face turns between your palms, his cool lips making contact with the thenar sends a shiver up your spine. Heizou’s gorgeous eyes curve into little crescents at the warmth practically glowing from your pretty face, much like a smug cat getting away with messing up your house. But he doesn’t stop there, no no, he wants you to lose all of your composure for him. The detective’s whispers seem to echo in the quiet of the night, “I love you…” and he repeats his confession continuously, only ceasing for the brief moments he kisses your palm with reverence in his eyes. His peach blossom eyes reflect your flustered expression like a spring lake, no longer attempting to hold back his affection, every single thought he had been holding onto spills out in tides. Heizou kisses your palms slowly, each time lingering like he just wants the moment to be frozen forever. Between kisses, he makes sure to confess until you are completely sure of the feelings he holds until you are drowned in a sea of his adoration for you.

Heizou only stops when he falls asleep in the middle of kissing your left hand while still mumbling about how perfect you are in his eyes and how he would ‘arrest all the criminals in the world to keep you safe and sound’. In the end, you decide to drag him to your bedroom and let him cuddle you until the morning.

(Extra: Heizou screams like a maiden at the sight of you sleeping beside him when he woke up. He is genuinely worried that he might have hurt you in some way the night before and promises to take responsibility. So you tell him to explain to your neighbors as to why he sneaked in last night. Through the one that every single existence can see easily. At midnight.)

A/N: ngl this is the longest drabble i've posted yet lul and also my first ever heizou drabble so 🎉🎉🎉 i swear i will make a proper taglist soon pls and happi pride month! Signora x reader drabble soon bc i need her hands on my neck asap!!!